Chapter 11 #2
I shrugged. “Alive. Exhausted. She showered and crashed.”
Bronc wasted no time. “Good. We’ll keep it short. Report.”
I kept it clinical, just the facts: the infiltration, the extraction.
I didn’t mention the way Harper looked at me when I pulled her from the van, or the way her body had collapsed into mine when she realized it was real.
I didn’t mention the part of me that wanted to run back and check on her every five minutes, or the wolf inside me that kept howling for more.
Wrecker interrupted. “Maltraz showed up two hours before extraction.”
I nodded. “Yup. Full regalia. Steiner was playing the lapdog, but make no mistake—Maltraz owns that operation.”
Bronc frowned. “Trafficking?”
“Confirmed. Humans, wolves. All spelled and bound. They move them through the city and out by the ship channel. That’s where Steiner comes in. He owns the dock. The club looks like a pit stop. The real work happens though the train yards.”
Wrecker’s chest puffed out. “This info comes from Parker’s endless research.”
I wanted to shiver. “Seems last night was more than just a business meeting, however. He was there for a VIP room visit.”
I hesitated, and as sick as it made me, then told the truth. “Harper was given to Maltraz for the VIP session. When we pulled her out, she was… not herself. Wrecker can confirm—she didn’t even react when he cut the tracker out.”
A ripple of anger went around the table. Gunner’s jaw ticked. Big Papa let out a quiet breath and closed his eyes for a second.
“Goddamn,” Bronc said. “Any risk she’s been spelled?”
I shook my head. “Aspen and Oscar swept her. No residue.”
“She’s not a danger to the pack,” I said, my voice harder than I intended. “If she were, I’d have taken her far from here..”
Big Papa’s hand landed heavy on my shoulder, steadying. “Nobody doubts you, Jess.”
Wrecker leaned in. “Question is, what’s our next move? You know Steiner will come looking. And Maltraz will want a pound of flesh.”
I spoke with confidence. “He’s gotta figure out it was us first. We blocked the cameras. When I was with her two weeks ago, I scrambled audio and video. I don’t doubt they’ll figure it out eventually, but it’ll take them a while.”
Bronc didn’t hesitate. “We need to tighten up security. Wrecker, you and Parker get surveillance juiced up. We’ll continue with recon. Papa, if Aspen and Oscar could maybe work on wards around the compound and be sure Harper is protected with some magic as well as muscle?”
Papa gave one of his famous small grins.
“I can tell you they put an anti-tracking ward on her when we were about ten miles out of The Woodlands. She’d asked me about it, noting that Steiner has a few witches on staff.
Any decent with can scry a location if they had the right tools, and she wanted to prevent them from tracking Harper. ”
Bronc shook his head. “You know, for your little witch to have been a dud her entire life, she sure has embraced her new powers. We are blessed to have her in our pack.”
Papa beamed. “She will be thrilled to know you said that, Alpha. I assume it’s fine for me to relay?”
“I’ll tell her myself if you don’t,” Bronc told him before telling me to stay with Harper until we knew more.
I nodded. It wasn’t an order so much as a benediction.
Pearl’s head popped through the doorway, hair piled high and a tray of coffee mugs balanced on one hand. “Y’all look like death warmed over,” she said, setting the tray down. “I brought scones—Aspen’s latest. Blueberry lemon. Eat, or I’ll tell the world you boys are a bunch of ninnies.”
She made her rounds, kissing each of us on the cheek, but lingered a second longer on me. She whispered, “It’s all gonna be okay sweet boy. It’ll be better than you could ever have dreamed.” Then she sailed out, singing Patsy Cline off-key.
Gunner snorted into his coffee.
Bronc shook his head. “Best damn mama in the state,” he muttered.
He turned back to business. “Gunner, get the security teams spun up. I’ll coordinate with Rafe’s people. I want the king to know what’s coming. The last thing we need is another dead alpha laid at the feet of Iron Valor. I don’t want another Council inquiry with our name on it.”
Wrecker saluted, mock-serious. “Nothing more I’d love to do than kill that motherfucker myself. But yeah, let’s let the king’s men take the heat.”
The meeting broke up fast. I made it to the end of the hall before Big Papa caught up.
He stopped me with a look. “You alright, son?”
“I’m fine,” I lied.
He didn’t buy it. “You’re not fine. You’re angry, and you’re scared.”
“Shouldn’t I be?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. But you don’t have to carry it alone.”
I stared at the floor. “She already left me once? What if she doesn’t want to stay?”
Papa’s smile was slow and sad. “Then you let her go. But you give her the chance first.”
He patted my back, almost knocking the wind out of me. “Remember: ‘Freedom is a gift, not a test.’”
I managed a smile. “Thanks, Papa.”
He squeezed my shoulder once more, then headed upstairs.
Outside, the sun was high and sharp, bleaching the grass to bone. I felt the itch under my skin—the urge to run, to shift, to let the wolf take over.
Gunner appeared at my side, hands in his pockets. “You wanna run?” he asked.
I grinned. “Hell yes.”
Wrecker materialized out of nowhere, already stripping off his shirt. “Last one to the ridge buys first round at Pearl’s tonight.”
We took off, laughing like idiots, and didn’t stop until the trees swallowed us whole.
We bolted across the compound like we were being chased by devils.
Maybe we were. Gunner led, legs eating up the ground with an easy cowboy lope.
Wrecker pushed hard, staying just behind him, his hair flying in the wind like a banner of war.
I brought up the rear, steady as a metronome, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing me sweat.
We hit the tree line at full speed, and nobody hesitated.
Gunner peeled off his shirt, boots flying in opposite directions.
Wrecker yanked his jeans down in a single rip, leaving them inside out and abandoned in the leaves.
I waited until the last possible second, then stripped to the skin, letting the cold air hit me all at once.
For a second, the world was nothing but heartbeats and the tang of pine in my nose.
Then I shifted.
Bones went soft, then hard. Muscles stretched, snapped, reformed.
My hands curled into claws, my vision exploded from gray-scale to Technicolor, and every sound in the world dialed up to eleven.
My wolf came roaring to the surface, a surge of pure animal that wiped away every thought of Harper, every memory of loss, every worry about tomorrow. All that mattered was the run.
I loped after them, paws hitting the earth in a rhythm older than language.
Gunner was already ahead, his wolf a big, russet blur tearing through the brush.
Wrecker’s gray coat flickered in and out of the shadows, always doubling back to snap at Gunner’s heels or circle around and try to trip him up.
We were three points of a triangle, each pulling the others forward, faster and faster until the world blurred into streaks of color and scent.
We hit the first ridge, and Gunner jumped it in one bound, tail flagged in challenge. Wrecker slid sideways, grabbed a mouthful of Gunner’s ruff, and yanked him off balance. They rolled together, a tangle of fur and bared teeth, until Gunner broke loose and sprinted for the next rise.
I let them fight it out for the lead. I liked the view from the rear, liked the way the sun dappled through the branches and made every hair on my pelt stand on end.
I could smell everything—the old cigarette butts from last year’s poker game, the loam where Parker buried her coffee grounds, the musk of deer hiding somewhere to the left.
I catalogued it all, sorting friend from foe, threat from safety.
My wolf thrummed with the knowledge that nothing in these woods could hurt us.
We ran for miles. Sometimes we split up, carving new paths through the scrub and fallen logs; sometimes we regrouped and chased each other like pups.
Wrecker was the fastest, but Gunner had stamina, and I had the patience to wait for my moment.
When it came, I cut hard right, launched myself over a fallen log, and knocked both of them into a heap at the base of a pine tree.
We wrestled in the dirt, three grown men reduced to snarling, yipping idiots. It felt good. It felt clean.
When we tired, we lay side by side, tongues lolling, the steam rising off our bodies in the cool late morning air. For a long time, none of us moved. The only sound was the wind in the needles and the soft whuff of our own breath.
This was freedom. This was the only place in the world I didn’t have to think, didn’t have to carry the weight of my own history.
Wrecker stood first, shook the dirt from his coat, and nudged me with his nose. Gunner groaned, rolled over, and then we all three started running again, faster this time, pushing until our lungs burned and our paws bled.
We chased the sun all the way to the top of the high ridge, where the whole of Iron Valor’s land spread out below us in gold and green.
We stood together, side by side, and howled.
The sound echoed down into the valley, wild and fearless, a reminder to every creature for miles that this was our territory.
For a moment, I forgot about everything else. There was no Harper, no Bronc, no Steiner, no past or future or second guessing. There was only the run, the wind, the brotherhood of the pack.
I laughed—a wolf’s laugh, sharp and bright—and the others joined in, voices mingling and rising until it felt like we could shatter the sky.
We were alive. We were together.
And for the first time in as long as I could remember, that was enough.