Chapter 8 #2
Six strides, and I was behind her. My hand covered her mouth before she could scream. Her body locked up, and the shock rolled off her in a shudder. I angled my face down, speaking low into her ear. “It’s me. I’ve got you.”
She stilled, pulse going wild against my palm. I felt her inhale, a long, desperate drag of air, and then her whole body went slack. It was almost as though she’d expected me.
“Do you trust me?” I whispered.
She nodded, just barely.
I released her mouth and caught her before she fell. She nearly collapsed, knees gone, so I hoisted her upright with a grip under her arms. I didn’t carry her. Didn’t want to hold her so intimately.
We hurried down the alley, tailing Big Papa and Wrecker to the van. Her scent, even masked by the reek of perfume and city filth, was enough to drive me mad.
Big Papa looked at her with something between rage and pity. “Let’s move, brother.”
Wrecker took point, scanning for movement.
We broke left, through the chain link, past the dead security light, and made for the Sprinter.
Parker already had the rear doors open; Aspen stood inside, hands up, eyes blazing emerald.
The moment we crossed the threshold, Aspen hissed a word that crackled with raw power, and the world shimmered.
For a second, I thought we’d stepped out of time.
The city noise went hollow, and the light shifted blue.
A ripple went through me, head to toe, but Harper didn’t flinch. She just went boneless, arms dangling.
Oscar, Aspen’s familiar, sat on her shoulder, prairie dog nose twitching. He studied Harper with a little tilt of his head, then chittered to himself. “She’s very brave,” he said, accent crisp and British. “Very brave indeed.”
I set Harper gently on the bench seat, hands on her shoulders to steady her. She didn’t look at me, not at first. Her eyes were wide, glassy, fixed on the far wall of the van.
Parker slammed the doors shut, hit the locks, and called out, “We need to roll.”
Wrecker did a circuit, checking every window, then turned his attention to Harper. “Need to do a sweep,” he said, voice low and even. He pulled a scanner from his bag, ran it behind her neck, down her arms, over her dress. The machine went red.
“Fuckers chipped her,” Wrecker spat.
He fished a small knife from his belt, glanced at me. “You want to do it?”
I nodded. “Where?”
“Behind the ear.”
I crouched in front of her, brushed her hair aside.
She didn’t flinch, just stared through me.
I found the bump—hard, round, right at the hairline.
It took five seconds to cut it out. Harper didn’t even make a sound.
Wrecker held out a sterile pad; I pressed it to the wound, wiped the blood, then tucked her hair back.
“There’s another one,” Wrecker said. “Purse.”
He opened the clutch bag slung across her chest, rifled through the lining. He found the tracker—about the size of a pea—sewn into the seam. He yanked it out, crushed it under his boot.
Harper blinked finally and looked at me. Her eyes weren’t bluebonnet-bright anymore, but dark, rimmed with red. She tried to say my name, but nothing came out.
“You’re safe,” I told her. “You’re with me now.”
Big Papa found a wool blanket and placed it over her lap. He didn’t say anything, just held her hands for a long minute. She leaned into him, eyes shut, and for a second I thought she might break down. But she didn’t.
Parker started the engine, and the van pulled away from the curb, silent as a dream.
Aspen came forward and knelt in front of Harper, and grabbed her hands.
“You’re safe,” she said, soft as velvet.
“You’re goin’ to a place where nobody’s gonna hurt you.
” Her sweet Georgia accent shone through as it always did in tense situations.
Harper nodded, but her jaw shook. She turned to look out the window, arms locked tight around her stomach.
I watched her, feeling the old helplessness creep up my spine. I wanted to hold her, fix her, kill every bastard who’d touched her. But I knew better. You can’t fix the kind of broken that comes from a place like Eyrie. You can only get them out alive.
Wrecker sat next to me, elbows on knees. “You good, Arsenal?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Never seen you freeze like that before,” he said.
“I didn’t freeze.”
He grinned, humorless. “Whatever you say.”
Harper didn’t look back at us for the rest of the drive. The team worked around her, efficient as always—comms checked, escape routes mapped, next steps briefed in shorthand. We were a machine. She was the mission, but she wasn’t part of it.
She sat shivering in the middle of the van, surrounded by warriors, a witch, a prairie dog in a suit jacket and plaid vest, and looked like she’d never be warm again.
I wanted to tell her it was over. But I knew better than to lie.
Instead, I watched her, and waited.
She was alive. That would have to be enough for now.
It took us an hour to make it to the old municipal airstrip.
The fence was a joke; the camera feed looped on a thirty-second delay, thanks to Parker.
I watched our plane through the windshield: a Gulfstream, white as bone, engines idling, lights on but cabin dark.
It looked out of place on a strip built for crop dusters and medevac.
We pulled up fast, killed the engine. Wrecker and Big Papa took point, first out, guns ready and eyes scanning the perimeter.
Nothing moved out here but tumbleweed and oil-sheen puddles.
Parker slid the van door open and helped Harper to her feet.
She was shaking, but tried to cover it with a fistful of her skirt.
I hovered, a hand at her back, but didn’t touch unless she needed it.
She hated being touched when she was scared.
We walked the tarmac single file, Oscar scurrying rode on Aspen’s shoulder who followed with a clutch of blankets and a medical kit.
The wind was cool even though it was early spring; it went through her dress and left Harper’s skin stippled with goosebumps.
She moved like her body didn’t belong to her.
I kept pace at her side, fighting the urge to pick her up and carry her the rest of the way. Soldier overruled wolf, for now.
Inside the jet, the lighting was soft and gold. I guided Harper down the aisle, careful to keep my movements slow, predictable. She flinched when my hand grazed her elbow, then shot me a look—guilty, ashamed, all nerves. I let go.
She slid into the plush seat I pointed to. I strapped her in, the belt loose enough not to pinch. She let me. Her hands trembled as she clutched them in her lap. The dark under her nails made me want to smash things.
I handed her a bottle of water. She clutched it with both hands, staring at the condensation. Wrecker took the seat behind us, feet up and eyes shut, already detached. Parker and Aspen sat opposite, both angled toward Harper, giving her space but not ignoring her.
“We’ll be in the air soon,” I said, voice low. “It’s a three-hour flight. Nothing to do but rest.”
She nodded, still not looking up.
Parker started talking, voice soft, like a lullaby. “Hey, Harper. You got this. We’re all gonna help you get through it.”
Harper gave a small nod.
Aspen reached over and covered her with a blanket and then patted her arm, feather-light. “We’re Iron Valor. You’re safe. Nobody’s gonna hurt you, okay?”
Harper tried to answer, but her throat closed. She nodded again, too fast, and blinked hard at the carpet. Her hands picked at the seatbelt.
I watched her. My wolf wanted to drag her into my lap and keep her there until she was warm and whole again, but the human part of me remembered everything—the way she’d left, the years of silence, the misery of missing her. I held back, knuckles white on the armrest.
The engines spooled up, and the cabin vibrated. The pilot’s voice came on: “Wheels up in five.” Big Papa came down the aisle, handed me a granola bar, then sat facing the aisle, feet planted, arms folded. Guardian angel mode.
As we taxied, Harper grew smaller, eyes sinking. The motion of the jet made her eyelids droop. She fought it, tried to sit up straight, but the water bottle drooped in her hands and nearly spilled. Parker rescued.
Aspen whispered, “Try to rest, honey. It’ll help.”
Harper nodded, blinking slowly now. Her head lolled back against the seat, lips parting. She was asleep before we left the ground.
I watched her, memorizing every change in her face. The dark circles were worse in this light. The bones in her cheeks stood out sharp. Her lips were pale, almost cracked. Every few seconds, her hands jerked with some dream or memory. I wanted to reach for her, but didn’t.
We hit cruising, and the cabin settled into a hush. Parker and Aspen whispered at the far end, voices low and private. Wrecker snored, feet up, arms crossed.
I watched Harper and waited for the anger to burn off.
It didn’t.
I raised the armrest between us. Her head slumped sideways. I caught it, guided it gently to my lap, and then let her sleep there. I brushed a hand over her hair, slow and careful, until the shaking stopped.
I sat that way for two hours, the hum of the engines a lullaby.
At sunrise, the plane banked left. I looked out the window.
Below us, the land was flat and gold. Dairyville, ten miles to the east, dusted in morning light. At the edge of the tarmac, I spotted a truck: Bronc’s fancy Ford idling. Waiting for us to arrive.
I woke Harper with a hand on her shoulder, soft as I could manage. She jerked awake, then went still when she saw it was me.
“We’re home,” I said.
She looked out the window, then at me. There was nothing in her eyes—not fear, not hope. Just exhaustion. But she nodded once, and let me unbuckle her.
I led her down the aisle and out into the new day.
Bronc and Juliet stood on the gravel tarmac, faces in the sun, Alpha and Luna there to receive a new member of their pack.
I’d brought her home. Now the real work started. For both of us.