Chapter 7 - Thalia
Days pass before we speak again.
When we do, we’re on patrol. Neither of us wanted to take this shift together, but I suspect it was Keira and the others' design that put us here. They know as well as we do that we need to get along if we want to be good partners.
Still, I don’t have to like it.
Early morning fog clings to Rosecreek's borders like a shroud, turning familiar landmarks into looming shadows. A thin, crusted layer of snow coats the leafy ground, frozen into a shimmering crust. Beside me, Rafael moves with predator's grace, his boots silent on the frost-covered ground. Our breath fogs in front of our faces, spinning silver clouds as thin as lace in the air.
We've been at this for hours—patrolling the perimeter in tense silence, both hyper-aware of the other's presence but pretending we're alone. It would almost be funny if it weren't so exhausting.
"Northeast quadrant clear," Rafael murmurs into his radio, his voice professional, detached. As if I can’t see right through him, right to the core of his hatred, mistrust, confusion and annoyance.
I scan the treeline, grateful for the excuse not to look at him. The forest beyond Rosecreek's borders is still and dark, with branches heavy from yesterday's ice storm. The perfect cover for anyone wanting to slip through our defenses.
My phone feels heavy in my pocket—no messages from the Smoke since our last check-in days ago, but that doesn't mean they're not watching. They're always watching. In my nightmares, everyone I know stands just out of sight, at the dark corners of a large, empty room, watching me stagger around, looking for the exit.
"You're distracted," Rafael says suddenly, breaking me from my thoughts.
"I'm focused on our surroundings," I lie, keeping my voice neutral.
"I can watch the trees and you at the same time." There's an edge to his tone that makes my wolf stir uneasily. "I'm good at multitasking."
"Is that what you call stalking?"
"Is that what you call surveillance?"
I bite back a sharper retort. This is exactly what I didn't want—to be trapped with him, trading barbed words while my guilt eats me alive.
If he only knew.
A twig snaps in the darkness.
We both freeze, instantly alert. Rafael's scent shifts subtly—pine and rain turning sharper, more metallic.
Moving on autopilot, I lunge silently to the side, pressing a modified flashbang into the dirt, in the direction of the sound.
"Three o'clock," Rafael breathes, barely audible. "Behind the fallen oak."
I nod, already moving into position. Whatever distance lies between us, we work together seamlessly in the field. It would be impressive if it weren't so dangerous—this easy synchronization, this instinctive trust that contradicts everything I'm supposed to be doing here.
Another snap, closer now. And with it, a scent that makes my blood run cold.
I know that scent.
Marcus Sutton worked a job alongside me more than a year ago. He was unpleasant, too, though I could hold my own against his advances. A brutal enforcer with a taste for violence and a memory like a steel trap.
If he sees me here...
Before I can think too hard about it, I launch myself at Rafael, tackling him behind a large boulder. His grunt of surprise is cut off by gunfire.
"Contact!" Rafael barks into his radio, rolling us deeper into cover. "Northern perimeter, multiple hostiles—"
More gunfire drowns out his words. I catch glimpses of movement through the fog—at least five figures moving with military precision.
This isn't some random attack. They're organized and well-equipped.
And Marcus is leading them.
"We need to fall back," I hiss, trying to keep my face turned away from where I know he'll be looking. "There's too many—"
A bullet chips stone inches from my head. Rafael's arm shoots out, pulling me closer, shielding me with his body. The gesture is so automatic and protective that I forget everything else for a moment—the danger, the lies, all of it. I just feel safe.
"Backup's coming," he says, his breath warm against my ear. "We just need to hold—"
"There!" Marcus's voice cuts through the fog. My heart stops. "Behind the rocks!"
Rafael tenses, ready to move, but I grab his arm. "Wait."
"What—"
"Trust me." The words taste bitter on my tongue. "Just... wait."
I count in my head. One. Two. Three—
The explosion rocks the forest as my modified flashbang detonates precisely where I knew our enemy would step.
"Now!" I shout, and we move as one.
I slide my gun from its holster at my waist and click off the safety, rolling to the left. Rafael shifts mid-leap, his slender wolf form darker than the shadows themselves. I stay human—faster that way, more precise. We don’t need to negotiate how we’ll do this. We have an instinct for one another.
He takes the brunt of the attack while I slip through the chaos, disabling opponents with quick strikes to vulnerable points.
I fire two shots at the back of Marcus’ head, still staying out of his line of sight. Both miss—he’s fast, diving to the ground, rolling.
Bodies flash around us. I hear a scream and see Rafael, with blood dripping from his snout, hurtling past me through the gloom toward another body, a shifter, moving fast in my direction. I reload, backing up against a tree.
Marcus recovers faster than I expected. His form comes in flashes as gunfire pops blindly around us. Through the clearing smoke, I see him raise his rifle—aimed not at me but at Rafael's exposed flank.
I don't think. Don't plan. I just move.
The bullet grazes the outside of my shoulder instead of Rafael's heart. The impact spins me around, and the world goes grey at the edges for a moment. I hear Rafael's enraged roar, feel the ground shake as he charges.
When my vision clears, Marcus is down, Rafael's jaws at his throat. The other attackers are retreating, melting back into the fog. In the distance, I hear the pack's response team approaching.
"Thalia?" Rafael's voice is rough as he shifts back, his hands gentler than they have any right to be as they probe my wound. He wraps one arm around my back to prop me up, a mercenary move, but there’s some tenderness there somehow. "Stay with me. Why did you—that bullet was meant for—"
"I'm just full of surprises," I manage through gritted teeth. “It was a graze, Rafael. I’m fine. Just shock.”
His eyes meet mine, full of confusion. He somehow looks very young in that moment, as if he truly doesn’t understand. As if he wants to know why I might possibly do that for him.
In an instant, he looks away. I try to sit up, but the world spins. I end up back against his chest.
"This needs attention," Rafael says, his voice tight. His hands are warm against my cold skin as he applies pressure to the wound. “The wound is shallow, but it’s bleeding a lot.”
"I know." Frustrated with his hands on me, I try to stand, but my legs buckle. Rafael reaches to catch me, but I shove at him until he backs off, then stagger toward a nearby tree, catching myself against it. "I can walk."
"Doesn’t look like it." There's no heat in his words, just worry. He lingers too close. I can almost hear the rabbit-fast pounding of his heart.
I close my eyes, unable to look at him as he stands over me. Unable to admit that watching him about to be shot had triggered something primal and terrifying inside me—something that had nothing to do with my mission and everything to do with the way he makes me feel.
Fog swirls around us as the last of the flashbang’s smoke clears, leaving a rancid smell like burnt plastic. Not far from us, west of our location, I hear the pack's response team engaging with the remaining attackers—a shouted order from Ado, the briefest snippet of a laugh from Zane, his signature sardonic snicker.
"They came prepared," Rafael says, his voice rumbling in his chest. "Pretty good for some random thugs.”
No, they weren't random thugs. Whoever they were, Marcus doesn’t work for anyone who pays less than his rate. He’s a well-paid, well-established mercenary. A hitman.
He was likely sent to help assassinate Aris, I realize, with a chill. Destabilize the pack, take out its high-ranked members. Finish the job the Haverwoods started.
Holding myself against the tree, counting my breaths, I take a long moment and see it all play out in front of me, measuring my options. They can’t know I knew one of them—that’ll only raise questions.
But they have to be alerted that these were serious criminals, that this was an organized attempt at assassination. But, then again, if I tell them, I risk angering the Smoke, who have interests in taking Aris and the Rosecreek team down for their part in ‘meddling’ in the shifter criminal underworld—our world.
My world.
But I have to find some way to tell them. This will happen again, I know. No matter who, they will have enemies for a long time to come. And they should know who those enemies are. Right?
Maia’s face flashes through my mind. I miss her with a sudden, fearsome ache in my gut. She always knows what to say. I wish I could hug her right now.
"Let me help you back," Rafael says quietly, reaching for my arm again. His touch is hesitant now, almost gentle. It makes everything worse.
"I said I'm fine." I push off from the tree, ignoring how the world tilts slightly. Blood seeps through my fingers, where I press them against my shoulder. "Go help the others. Make sure Mar—make sure they're all secured."
He catches my slip—I can tell by how his head tilts slightly—but he doesn't comment. Instead, he watches me with those light brown eyes that see too much, which makes me want to tell him everything and nothing all at once.
"You took a bullet for me," he says softly.
"Don't read into it." I start walking, each step careful and measured. The snow crunches under my boots, stained red, where blood drips from my wound. "We're partners.”
He calls my name again, stumbles after me, then stops. His stare burns into my back before he begins following at a distance, crunching through the ice ten feet behind me.
I don't answer. Can't answer.
The fog follows us back toward Rosecreek, wrapping around us like a shroud. Behind us, I hear the pack securing the scene, Bigby barking orders, Percy’s low whistle as they discover our attackers' arsenal. Soon, they'll have questions.
Soon, I'll have to decide what truths to tell and which to bury.