Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
The last thing Rowan remembered was the taste of his own blood and Axel’s triumphant snarl echoing across the challenge circle.
He came back to consciousness slowly, his body was a symphony of pain, starting at his skull and radiating outward through every nerve ending. The metallic tang of blood coated his mouth, and when he tried to move, fire shot through his ribs where Axel’s claws had found their mark.
“Easy, son,” Maurice grunted. “Don’t try to get up yet.”
Rowan forced his eyes open, squinting against the harsh morning light which stabbed through his retina like hot needles.
The challenge circle was empty, except for Maurice and Lena.
They looked as exhausted as he felt. Rowan squeezed his eyes shut, not only to block out the sunlight but to eradicate the image of his ageing alpha.
The alpha wolf who once led the Bayou Wolf MC and the more secret werewolf pack was fading before his eyes.
Lena was little better. They were both old and growing more powerless by the day.
It was no wonder Axel had felt he needed to challenge for leadership.
“Summer,” he croaked. “Where is she?”
“Safe,” Lena said quickly, but she avoided his gaze. “Her phone was traced to a hunting cabin about twenty miles out. Marcus went to find her. She’s on her way back.”
Relief swamped him, followed by immediate rage.
He remembered the call with Summer, begging her to wait, but knowing if the call was genuine, she’d never forgive him for allowing a child to bleed to death.
They’d trapped his mate, forced her to feel every moment of his battle and his defeat through their bond, ensuring she experienced every moment of his humiliation as intimately as if it were her own.
And, unlike the last challenge, she was unable to come to his side to support him.
“Axel?” he growled, trying to push himself upright despite the torturous pain in his torso.
“Is Alpha now,” Maurice said flatly. “By pack law and by right of combat.”
The words smacked harder than any of the blows Axel had rained upon him. Rowan sank back onto the ground. He had lost everything: his position, his future, his ability to protect the pack he’d devoted his life to serving.
“The terms?” He whispered.
Maurice’s jaw tightened. “You fought well, son. Fought longer than anyone expected after…” He gestured vaguely at Rowan’s wounds. “Whatever poison Axel used on his claws, it slowed your healing, clouded your judgment.”
“Poison?” Rowan tried to push his way through the fog clouding his thoughts. His wounds should have started healing immediately after the challenge ended, but they still burned his flesh. “So he cheated?”
“Something to level the playing field, Axel claimed. He said pack law allows certain… enhancements during formal challenges.” Maurice’s tone revealed his low opinion of Axel’s ploy. “But you refused to yield, even at the end. That counts for something.”
Rowan closed his eyes, remembering the moment when Axel’s claws had opened his throat just enough to draw blood without killing. The formal end of the challenge, when tradition demanded he submit or die.
There was an alternative. He couldn’t stay and watch Axel take his role as Alpha. He’d chosen the third option.
“Excommunication,” he said quietly.
“Exile,” Maurice confirmed. “You and Summer both, if she chooses to go with you. Pack law is clear—you’re no longer a Bayou Wolf. You’re no longer welcome on pack territory.”
The finality of it settled over Rowan like a shroud. Thirty-five years of his life, thirty-five years of loyalty, service and belonging, all erased in a single fight.
“How long do I have?”
“Until sunset.” Lena’s voice was thick with emotion. She glanced up at the sky. “You have a few hours. Long enough to heal, gather your things, say goodbye.”
Rowan nodded, and then winced. Even the simple movement sent fresh waves of agony through his skull. “Help me up.”
“Son, you should rest?—”
“Help me up.” His pack enforcer authority still colored his voice despite his defeat, and both Maurice and Lena responded rapidly to his command.
They got him to his feet, supporting his weight as the world tilted dangerously around him. Every step toward his home was agony, every breath a reminder of how completely he’d failed.
But Summer was coming back to him, nothing else mattered now.
Summer woke with a start, disgusted with herself that she could have slept while her mate was lying dead. Where? In their cabin? Had Maurice and Lena been allowed to give Rowan last rites? She should be there. She should show her mate she still loved him even though he was dead.
Pushing herself from the floor, she heard a motorbike engine outside. She rushed to the door, trying to force it open again. Taking a step back, she braced herself against the door frame and kicked the door just above the lock.
“Ow, what the hell, Summer!” Marcus bent over double on the walkway. Summer’s foot had connected with his stomach. “This is the thanks I get for coming to rescue you? Well, thanks a bunch, girl!”
“Marcus, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you taking care of Rowan?”
“He sent me to help you.”
“He sent you? Rowan sent you? He’s alive?”
“Yeah, just about, but Axel beat him up bad. He organized everything. He had his men trick you into coming out here. They rigged a temporary bar on the outside. Impossible to break from the inside, but easy enough from out here. It just snapped off. Come on, it’s time to get going.
You’ll have to ride with me. They smashed your car up pretty good. ”
Summer snatched up her medical bag and raced down the steps after Marcus. He’s alive, he’s alive. She paid no attention to the lack of a mate bond connection. It will come back when he’s well again, she assured herself.
She swung her leg over the back of Marcus’s bike and placed one hand around his waist, and clung on as he drove her back to Rowan.
The cabin door stood open when Summer arrived, her hands still shaking from the desperate ride back through winding bayou roads.
Her mind flicked to the lock on the cabin door.
Once she’d broken through the wood, there was no sign of any padlock.
Now it was just weathered timber and rusty hinges; the door she’d kicked looked like it had been hanging loose for months.
Had she imagined it all? But no, Marcus assured her the trap was for real.
The locked door, trapping her while Rowan fought for his life, was all part of Axel’s elaborate game.
Summer hoped he was ready to make amends.
Her pain from when the mate bond went silent so suddenly, so completely…
she’d been certain her mate was dead. She was going to make Axel pay.
But here she was, riding away freely from the cabin, it was no longer the elaborate trap from the night before. Maybe the trauma of feeling Rowan’s pain had affected her perception. Maybe desperation had made her paranoid.
She didn’t care about her doubts. Not when she could feel their bond again. The mark was no longer completely cold; just weak and feeble, but it was present. Rowan was alive.
The drive back to pack territory passed in a blur of Spanish moss and dark water, Marcus’s hand heavy on the accelerator as he raced her toward the man she’d thought she’d lost forever.
When he finally pulled up to their cabin, Lena was waiting on the porch.
Her expression indicated there could be some very difficult conversations ahead.
“He’s inside,” Lena said without preamble. “Hurt bad, but he’ll live.”
“What happened?” Summer was already moving toward the door, her medical training warring with her desperate need to see Rowan with her own eyes.
“Alpha challenge. Axel finally made his move.” Lena’s voice was carefully neutral. “Rowan fought well, but…”
“But he lost?” The words were ashes in Summer’s mouth.
“He lost.” Lena nodded in confirmation.
Summer found Rowan sitting on the edge of their bed, his torso wrapped in bloodstained bandages which didn’t hide the extent of his injuries. When he looked up at her, his amber eyes held a pain that went deeper than his wounds.
“Summer.” He breathed out her name, and she was across the room in seconds, her hands framing his face as she searched for signs of permanent damage.
“I thought you were dead,” she whispered, her thumbs tracing the sharp line of his cheekbones. “The bond snuffed out, and I thought?—”
“I’m here.” His arms came around her waist, pulling her between his spread thighs with desperate strength. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
But as he held her, even as she breathed in his familiar scent and felt the solid warmth of his muscular body against hers, she felt the wrongness deep down.
There was a trace of decay in his scent that had never been there before.
His embrace was too careful, too controlled.
She was used to him treating her carefully, but she was always conscious of the strength underneath.
Today she was unsure if that strength was still there.
“Let me see,” she said, stepping back to examine his wounds. Her medical training took over as she unwrapped the bandages, cataloging his injuries with all the detachment and focus that had carried her through countless trauma cases.
Claw marks across his ribs, deep enough to scar if he were not a wolf. Bruising painted his torso in shades of purple and black. A gash along his throat made her stomach clench with the knowledge of how close she’d come to losing him permanently.
But it was the edges of the wounds which caused her frown. Instead of the clean healing she’d expect from werewolf physiology, the torn flesh was angry and inflamed, weeping a foul-smelling fluid. Her nose twitched as she tried to avoid breathing in the odor.
“These aren’t healing properly,” she said, reaching for her medical kit. “Something’s interfering with your natural recovery.”