I closed the dead shifter’s eyes with one hand. I’ll carry this. I thought. I’ll carry him.
Then I stood. Killian had three coming at him at once.No. I’d not lose another pack member today. My shift was immediate as I ran back into the fire.
One by one, they fell. Until silence rose in a wave, unnatural in its swiftness.
Bodies lay scattered across the pack grounds. Blood soaked into the soil. My fur was slick with it, but I was still standing.
Still breathing.
Still burning.
The scent of Wolfe hit me before I saw him.
He tore into the clearing like he’d felt my every breath from a hundred miles away. Shifted. Wild-eyed. Covered in ash and fury.
But when he saw me—standing in the center of the field, panting, battered but whole—his steps faltered.
I shifted back slowly, shakily, blood drying on my skin, a dozen wounds burning fresh.
“I held the Hollow,” I whispered, voice cracking with the weight of it all.
Wolfe stepped forward, his gaze moving over every inch of me, and I felt the bond snap tight—singing with pain and pride.
He reached for me, and I went to him. Leaning into him as his arms wrapped around me.
“Is everyone?—”
“They’re safe,” he whispered, reaching out. I felt him grab Killian. “You’re still bleeding,” he told him. “Shift and heal.” Wolfe pressed his lips to my hair. “Are you hurt, princess?” he murmured, drawing his head back and looking down at me.
“I’ll heal.”
“There’s a lot of wounded,” Killian mumbled. “You two good?”
“Go,” Wolfe told him. “Brand, Axel, and Cody are heading to us.” Wolfe kissed my temple again. “You okay?”
“Yes.” I was now that he was here and that it was over, even though I knew it was far from over.
“Then let us see to the wounded,” Wolfe said grimly.
We worked our way through the pack, helping shifters too hurt to shift without their alpha, or carrying our dead to the clearing. We worked until the pack was healing and safe, until all those who fought with us saw their alpha amongst them once more.
The pack was unsettled.
Wolves murmured. The injured were tended to. The scent of blood still hung thick in the air, but the edge of panic had dulled into something else.
Survival. Victory. Grief.
I sat on the steps outside the pack hall—where most of our pack huddled—barefoot, my knees scraped, in a dress that wasn’t mine. Thalia had handed it to me with shaking hands and a half-hearted threat to knock me out next time I tried to lead a battle from the front lines.
I didn’t argue. I just sat.
The blood on my hands was gone, but I could still feel it. I’d barely spoken since the moment it ended. Just enough to give orders. Check the wounded. Confirm the dead.
In my mind’s eye I saw the one who had died for me. I hadn’t even known his name. A wolf had died for me, and I hadn’t even known his name.
I curled my fingers into the step, nails digging into the grain of the old stone as if I could hold myself together by force alone.
Wolfe joined me. His scent came first—oakmoss, leather, and black pepper. His scent lived in my bones now. I didn’t lift my head until I felt him settle beside me, and his thigh brushed mine as he sat.
