Chapter 21
CADE
It takes every ounce of strength I have not to tear that sorceress apart for her role in what Malrik has become.
The urge isn’t fleeting or impulsive—it’s steady, simmering beneath my skin, coiled tight in my chest like something waiting for permission to snap.
Knowing what was done to him, what was taken, what was twisted…
It doesn’t excuse the monster he’s become, but it makes it far too easy to see where it all began.
And that understanding only fuels the part of me that wants to make someone pay for it.
For all of it.
But I don’t act. I don’t let it take hold.
Because as much as I want blood, I know that isn’t what Rowan needs from me right now.
She doesn’t need a weapon at her side. She needs something stronger than that, something steadier. And no matter how much hearing that Malrik has been shaping this outcome, laying the groundwork for her to fall, makes me want to burn the world to ash before he ever gets the chance…
I force it down.
I give her control instead of chaos.
A partner she can rely on when everything else starts to fracture.
We won’t let him touch her, my wolf vows, the promise low and absolute, echoing a thought I’ve already had more times than I can count since Talira began speaking.
We might not have a choice, I return, the truth bitter but unavoidable, because when I look at Rowan, I know exactly what’s coming.
My mate isn’t afraid of this fight.
She isn’t hesitating. She isn’t waiting to be protected or saved.
She’s already stepping toward it, and whether any of us like it or not, she’s going to face Malrik head-on.
Because that’s who she is.
Rowan doesn’t let others carry her burdens. She doesn’t sacrifice people for the sake of an easier outcome. Even now, knowing what he’s planning, knowing what he wants from her, there’s no part of her that’s considering stepping back or letting someone else take her place.
I feel that truth as clearly as I feel the bond between us.
“Well, buttered bunions,” Iris muses beside us once Talira disappears as quietly as she arrived, the air shifting back into something almost normal. “That wasn’t how I expected that conversation to go.”
Liz moves first, already climbing back into the driver’s seat of the UTV, her expression thoughtful in a way that doesn’t quite hide the edge beneath it.
“I’m not surprised,” she says, glancing back at us.
“After everything we’ve learned, RikRot trying to prove a point, so the world finally sees him differently tracks a little too well. ”
Rowan lets out a soft snort, the sound a welcome break in the heaviness settling around us. “I guess RikRot is his new name, huh?”
Liz shrugs. Iris beams like she’s just coined something brilliant.
Before Rowan can follow them toward the vehicle, I reach out and catch her arm, the need for a moment alone with her cutting through everything else.
“Would you like to run back together?” I ask quietly.
We’d already done so last night, already felt the pack move as one beneath the moon, but this isn’t about that. This is about space. About grounding. About reminding both of us that, before the war planning and whatever comes next, we still have each other.
She studies me for half a second, something soft passing through the bond, before she nods and glances back toward the others. “We’ll meet you at the pack house.”
Archie leaves his perch on her shoulders without needing to be asked and jumps into Liz’s lap.
“Don’t worry, sugar plum,” Iris calls out as she climbs into the passenger seat, entirely too pleased with herself. “We’ll have his demise sorted by the time you get there. No crusty old throwaway is going to hurt my grandbaby. Not on my watch. Not after all this time.”
I don’t bother responding. Whatever plan they come up with in the span of a short ride isn’t going to solve what’s coming. But they can have their moment.
Because right now—I have mine.
As the engine fades into the distance, I let my wolf rise fully to the surface, no longer holding him back.
The shift takes me in a rush. Bones snapping and reforming, muscle tearing and rebuilding, skin splitting before knitting itself back together in a way that should feel wrong after all these years, but never does.
It’s violent and familiar all at once, a transformation I once tried to outrun and now can’t imagine living without.
By the time my paws hit the earth, everything sharpens.
The world snaps into place with brutal clarity—the scent of damp soil and pine flooding my senses, the distant movement of animals threading through the forest, the subtle shift of wind against my fur. Every instinct wakes at once. Track. Protect. Hunt. Destroy.
Rowan’s wolf bursts forward beside me in a flash of silver-white, her movement immediate and effortless, like she was always meant to exist in this form. There’s a grace to her that most wolves never achieve, something instinctual and undeniable that draws attention even when she isn’t trying.
Mine surges forward without hesitation, matching her stride for stride.
For a few breaths, we run in silence, the forest opening ahead of us as if it recognizes who we are—branches parting, terrain steady beneath our feet, the rhythm of the run settling deep into muscle memory.
But she doesn’t let the quiet last.
Don’t let what she said make your thoughts spiral, her voice slips into mine, soft but firm, brushing against my consciousness like something warm and grounding. That’s exactly what he wants.
Gods. Nothing has ever sounded better than her voice in my head. Even now, when the topic is the last thing I want to dwell on, I can’t help the way something inside me settles at the sound of her. This connection, this closeness, it’s not something I’ll ever take for granted.
Still, I huff as I leap over a fallen log, landing hard and steady on the other side, the tension refusing to fully release.
We just learned the man hunting you was created by people who thought they could control him.
And now he thinks he can control me, she replies without hesitation, her tone calm but edged with something sharper beneath it. Control the outcome of whatever we’re about to face. But we know better.
I want to match that certainty. I want to believe it as easily as she does.
And part of me does, because I’ve seen what she’s capable of, felt the depth of her power, watched her stand in the face of things that would break most people and refuse to bend.
But I’ve also lived long enough to know that power doesn’t always guarantee control. That things go wrong. That the supernatural world has a way of twisting even the best intentions into something unrecognizable.
Rowan darts ahead, faster now, glancing back at me as her tail flicks in a clear challenge.
She’s trying to distract me, and even now with everything hanging over us, I let her because she’s right and I need to make sure she knows I support her convictions. Even if I’m terrified.
My wolf pushes forward, closing the distance between us in a blur of muscle and instinct until I’m at her side again, our strides falling back into sync as naturally as breathing.
You’re right, I tell her, the admission settling deeper than I expect. You’re not something to control. You’re something the world isn’t ready for.
She slows just enough for our flanks to brush together.
I know, she says. But I’m not waiting for it to catch up.
The bond pulses between us—steady and unbreakable.
And for a moment, everything else falls away.
No Malrik. No prophecy.
Just the rhythm of our bodies moving as one, the forest opening before us, and the undeniable truth of what we’ve found together.
By the time the pack house comes into view through the trees, the weight of reality settles back in, but it doesn’t crush or overwhelm like before. Sharper. Focused. Purpose-driven.
We shift back to human form just before reaching the clearing, clothes snapping back into place as magic whispers over our skin while we slow to a walk.
Entering the house, the front room is already full and waiting. The energy inside is different from the night before—less celebratory, more focused, like everyone here understands that whatever comes next isn’t something we can outrun.
Bram stands near the hearth, arms crossed, his stance deceptively relaxed, but his attention piqued, tracking every movement in the room.
Marius remains beside him, quieter but no less present, his posture grounded in a way that speaks of readiness rather than restraint.
Jocelyn sits nearby, her presence softer on the surface, but there’s a strength beneath it that’s impossible to ignore, while Liz leans casually against the wall, watching everything with that same calculating awareness she always carries.
Iris, of course, has claimed a chair like she owns the entire building, her expression already bordering on impatience.
The moment Rowan steps inside, everything else fades.
Jocelyn is on her feet in the next breath, crossing the space between them without hesitation. Rowan barely has time to react before she’s pulled into her mother’s arms, the embrace tight but careful, protective without being fragile.
“I’m okay,” Rowan says softly, though the way she holds on says just as much as the words.
“I know,” Jocelyn replies, pulling back just enough to look at her, her hands lingering at Rowan’s arms like she needs to confirm it for herself. “That’s not why I’m hugging you.”
There’s something in that—something deeper than relief—that settles through the room.
Marius steps forward next, his presence solid as he places a firm hand on Rowan’s shoulder, grounding without overwhelming.