I whimper, my pussy pulsing with a violent, rhythmic throb that sends a flood of juices down my thighs. The localized scent of my arousal—heavy, musk-sweet, and sharp—fills the small space of the Vault, reacting to the raw pheromones of the blood-soaked man holding me. My clit is engorged, a hard, sensitive bud screaming for the friction of his rough, calloused hands.
His massive, blood-stained hands dive under the hoodie, his rough palms scraping against my bare skin as he grips my hips to grind me against him. The thick, rigid pillar of his cock slams into my pelvic bone, a massive, unyielding weight of iron muscle through his heavy denim. It’s a promise of the deep, thorough stretching he’s going to give my pussy—filling me until I can’t breathe, burying his balls against my tits until I’m nothing but a vessel for his seed.
"Mine," he snarls into my throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin over my pulse point as he prepares to mark me again. "You’re fucking mine, Alexandria. Every inch of this pussy, every drop of this sweat. I’m going to ruin you for any other man who ever thinks about looking at you."
The raw authority in his voice makes my clit swell, engorged and aching for the friction of his hands. My lace panties are a sodden, useless wreck, soaked through with the heavy, musky scent of my arousal. I want him to rip them aside. I want his thick, hot seed filling me until I can’t breathe. I want to be marked, bruised, and thoroughly taken by the monster who just bled for me.
Tristan freezes, his muscles locking as he presses his forehead to mine, his entire body shuddering with the brutal effort of holding back. The sounds of the Vault—the hum of the air, the distant rocking of Savannah’s chair—fade into the background.
"I love you," he says. The words hang in the air, heavy and absolute. "I realized it when I saw your footprint on that ledge. I knew it when I carried you through the mud and rain. And when I was out there today... when I felt that knife hit my shoulder... the only thing I could think was that I hadn't told you yet."
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. "I love you too, Tristan."
He kisses me again, tenderly this time, a seal on a contract written in blood. He pulls the edges of the hoodie tighter around me, cocooning me against him.
"I have to tell Logan," he says quietly. "That you're patched in. Old Lady status. Immediate effect. If anyone has a problem with it, they can take it up with my rifle."
"And if the people who hired those men come back?"
Tristan pulls back, his expression turning to granite. "Let them come. They didn't know who they were messing with before. Now? Now they’ve touched what’s mine."
He brushes his lips against my temple. "We’ll burn the whole world down if we have to, Alex. But you? You’re safe. You’re home."
I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady, powerful beat of his heart. I know Savannah is on the other side of that wall, her own love story bought with the same blood and steel Tristan just used for me. But as I look toward the door, I see Shane leaning against the frame, his eyes dark and haunted as he watches the perimeter.
There’s a coldness in him that even this victory can’t thaw—a storm brewing in the quietest Gunnar that makes me wonder who will be the one to finally break his silence.
But that’s a war for another day.
Right now, I am safe in the eye of Tristan’s storm.
10
TRISTAN
The air in the Chapel is thick enough to chew on, smelling of stale cigarette smoke, gun oil, and the aggressive testosterone my brothers emit just by existing. I don’t sit in my usual chair. I can’t. I stand at the head of the dark oak table, a monolithic slab of wood that has seen more blood and liquor than the floor of the Timber Trail Tavern. My arms are crossed over my chest, muscles coiled tight, but my attention isn't on the map spread out in front of Logan. My gaze locks on the woman sitting in the wheelchair beside me.
Alexandria. She appears small in the chaotic, scarred interior of the clubhouse meeting room. Her leg is propped up, still encased in the heavy tactical splint and dark pressure bandages I’ve been maintaining. I’ve reinforced the bracing, but she’s still weeks away from putting weight on it. She wears my black hoodie, the sleeves falling over her hands, and her hair is a messy, honey-toned halo catching the low light of the hanging bulbs. She shed the victim skin somewhere on the ridge. Now she looks like a queen on a throne she didn't ask for but intends to keep.
"Tell me again," Logan growls, leaning forward. His grip on the table is so brutal the ancient oak groans under the pressure. He stares at the hard drive sitting in the center of the wood like it’s a bomb.
"This drive contains the encrypted master files for the environmental impact study. The cloud backups are locked behind a biometric key only I can activate. Without me and this physical drive, their falsified reports would stand. They didn't just want the data; they wanted the only person who could verify it gone. Ramirez was betting that if I died 'accidentally' on the ridge, he could bribe a local official to bypass the encryption or simply declare the habitat study 'lost' due to my death."
Austin leans back in his chair, spinning a knife on the wood. "Which means the mercenaries they hired to kill you to stop the release of this data?—"
"Are out of a paycheck," Chase finishes, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "And out of a target. If the info is public, killing her doesn't stop anything. It adds a murder charge to a failed investment. Once Alexandria presents this data via video link to the board tomorrow, she won't just be a candidate anymore. She’ll be the lead conservator for the Grizzly Peak District. Her Ph.D. won't just be a degree—it’ll be a legal shield that even Ramirez’s millions can’t pierce. She’s the new Queen of the Ridge, and the law is officially on the Gunnars' side."
"It ends the siege," I rumble, my voice vibrating through the room. "The moment that data hits the servers of the Pine Valley Gazette and the state attorney's office, she’s safe."
Logan looks up at me. His eyes are dark, assessing. We are the kings of this mountain, but we play a dangerous game with thelaw. Handing over evidence to authorities goes against every instinct in our blood, but this isn't about us. It’s about her.
"Do it," Logan commands. He looks at Chase. "Get it to James. Tell him to file the injunctions and leak the rest to the press. Burn that development company to the ground legally. Our 'cleaners' in the DA's office are already framing the ridge shootout as a localized clash between rival mercenary factions. With the mercenaries' records being what they are, the police won't dig too deep into why they were on our land. We'll win this in the courtroom while the bodies are handled off the books."
Chase snatches up the drive. "With pleasure."
The tension in the room snaps, replaced by the grim satisfaction of a war won. But one piece of business remains. Logan shifts his gaze to Alexandria. He looks at the cuts on her face, the splint on her leg, and then he looks at me. He sees the way I stand over her—not just guarding her, but hovering. Consumed. He sees the claim I’ve staked in the air around her, a perimeter that no one, not even my president, is allowed to cross.
"The threat is gone," Logan says, his voice deceptively calm. "The rescue team has been asking questions. Marcus is sniffing around. Dr. Grace is pissed we haven't brought her in. You could take her back to town, Tristan. Drop her at the clinic. Let her go back to her life."
