Chapter 14 - Raegan
My hands shake as I channel energy through the crystal formation, and the entire thing explodes into dust.
“Again,” Veva commands from across the training room. Her arms are crossed as she watches me destroy my third focusing stone this morning.
“I can’t control it.” My voice is hoarse from three hours of failed attempts to harness abilities I never asked for. “Every time I try to project energy, it goes nuclear.”
Ash appears at my elbow with a glass of water and another crystal. “You’re trying too hard. The power responds to emotion, not force.”
“My emotions want to blow things up right now.”
“Because you’re terrified,” she notes. “Fear makes everything unstable.”
She’s not wrong. Ever since the attack on Wyn two days ago, I’ve been consumed by a panic I can’t shake. An image of him dying in that canyon plays on repeat in my mind, and each time I see it, my newfound abilities spike beyond my control.
We continue training for another hour before I finally reach my limit. My legs shake from exhaustion, and the psychic feedback from extended power use makes my skull throb.
“That’s enough for today,” Veva declares. “Push too hard and you’ll burn yourself out.”
After they leave, I spend the afternoon researching historical precedents in the books Matriarch Lydia brought me.
The patterns are there, clear as daylight once you know what to look for.
Territory after territory falling to the same systematic approach—infiltration, intelligence gathering, economic disruption, then overwhelming force.
The MO is always to target bloodline abilities first. Psychics, casters, anyone with supernatural gifts that could be used against them or weaponized for their benefit.
Thornridge has found a method that works, and they’re using it.
By evening, my head is pounding from hours of reading, but the intelligence picture is clearer.
Thornridge moves during periods of internal conflict—pack leadership disputes, economic instability, natural disasters that divide attention and resources.
Like an Amanzite discovery that makes us targets for every opportunistic force in the region.
I need some aspirin from the medical bay, but when I pass the armory, I hear the sound of metal against metal. Someone’s inside, working with the weapons cache.
The keypad beeps as I enter my access code. Wyn is standing at the main workbench with his back to me, checking rifle mechanisms.
“What are you doing up so late?” I ask.
He doesn’t turn around. “Equipment maintenance. These rifles haven’t been properly serviced in weeks.”
“Isn’t it your day off? You should be resting. You’ve had a long few days.”
“We don’t have time for me to rest.”
I cross the room and grab his wrist, forcing him to look at me. “You were nearly killed two days ago. You need to breathe, Wyn.”
He pulls free from my grip. “Tomorrow’s patrol requires functional weapons.”
“Tomorrow’s patrol can use weapons maintained by someone who isn’t grappling with his own mortality.”
For the first time since I entered, he really looks at me. “You think I want to be out there? You think I enjoy getting shot at by professional killers?”
“Then why—”
“Because every day we delay gives them more time to position for the final assault. Our people are depending on intelligence that only comes from active reconnaissance, and taking a day off while enemies surround our territory isn’t an option.”
The honest pain in his voice catches me off guard. I can see the exhaustion in the lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders carry weight that goes beyond physical injury.
“You could have died,” I whisper.
“But I didn’t.”
“That’s not the point.” My voice cracks despite my attempts to stay strong. “What if something had happened? What if you’d bled out in some canyon where nobody could find you?”
“Would that have mattered to you?” The question comes out so quiet, I almost miss it. “If I had died?”
The words stun me. Because the answer terrifies me.
“Yes,” I admit. “Of course it would have mattered.”
Something changes in his face. The mask he wears around me cracks, revealing hunger and longing and something I desperately want to be suppressed.
Before I can second-guess myself, I close the distance between us and kiss him.
This kiss carries three years of worry and relief. Every sleepless night, wondering if he was safe, every moment of terror when I thought I might lose him before we could resolve what’s between us.
His hands find my waist, and he hauls me against him. When I don’t pull away this time, he makes a sound deep in his throat that sends fire through my veins.
“Raegan,” he breathes against my lips.
“Don’t talk,” I whisper back. “Just…don’t.”
His mouth crashes against mine with years of pent-up hunger, and the supernatural bond between us flares to life, amplifying every sensation until I can barely think.
I can smell him now—that familiar scent of cedar and gunpowder and something wild that’s uniquely his. It fills my head, making me dizzy with need. My wolf recognizes his on a level that goes beyond conscious thought, and she wants to roll over and bare her throat in submission.
His hands slide under the hem of my shirt, and the contact with bare skin makes me gasp. “God, I’ve missed you,” he murmurs against my throat.
The admission breaks something loose inside me.
My hands find the hem of his T-shirt, and I shove it over his head just before his mouth finds the spot on my neck that makes me arch against him, and rational thought becomes impossible.
The bond between us sings with recognition—this is right; this is what we’ve been denying ourselves.
“We shouldn’t,” I whisper even as I tilt my head to give him better access.
“Probably not.” His teeth graze my pulse point, and I whimper. “Tell me to stop.”
I can’t. Won’t. Instead, I slide my hands around his bare back and yank him even closer, needing the contact more than I need to breathe.
He lifts me effortlessly before he settles me on the workbench, where he was just cleaning weapons. The height puts us at the perfect level, and when he steps between my legs, my panties soak from the anticipation.
His mouth returns to mine while his hands work at my clothes. When he pushes my shirt up and over my head, I don’t protest.
“God, Raegan. You’re so fucking beautiful.”
The profanity sends heat straight to my core. I’ve never heard him talk like this before, never seen him lose control the way he’s losing it now. Seeing him wild and without restraint…I spent years wanting to see this side of him.
I reach for him, needing skin-to-skin contact. When my palms flatten against his torso, he hisses at the sensation. His skin burns under my touch, and his heart races beneath my fingers.
He kisses me again, slower this time, like he’s savoring the taste of me. His tongue slides against mine, and when he pulls back, we’re both panting.
“Tell me what you want,” he commands.
“You know what I want.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
Heat floods my cheeks, but the hunger in his eyes gives me courage. “I want your hands on me.”
He rewards my honesty by reaching behind me to unclasp my bra. The fabric falls away, leaving me bare from the waist up, and his eyes go dark.
“Perfect,” he breathes out before leaning down to take one nipple in his mouth.
The wet heat of his tongue makes me cry out. My hands fist in his hair, holding him against me as he worships my breasts with his mouth. When he bites down gently, the edge of pain mixed with pleasure sends shockwaves through my entire body.
“Wyn,” I gasp.
He switches to the other breast, giving it the same devoted attention while his hands roam lower. Down my ribs, across my stomach, making me shiver despite the heat building between us.
When his fingers find the button of my jeans, I lift my hips to help him work them down my legs. The denim hits the floor, leaving me in nothing but the lacy underwear I put on this morning without thinking about who might see it.
“So wet already,” he observes as his finger traces the damp fabric between my legs.
My face burns with embarrassment, but I don’t try to close my legs. I want this. I want him to see how much I need him.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “Raegan….”
He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my underwear and slides the fabric down my legs with maddening slowness. When I’m completely bare in front of him, he steps back to look, and the reverence in his gaze makes me feel like art.
Then he’s touching me, really touching me, and his fingers explore places that have ached for him for years. When he finds my clit, I nearly come off the bench.
“Please,” I whisper, not sure what I’m asking for.
He doesn’t make me wait. One finger slides inside me, then two, and the stretch feels better than I ever could have imagined.
“So tight,” he groans. “God, you feel incredible.”
He works me with skilled fingers, finding the rhythm that makes my hips buck against his hand. His thumb circles my clit while he moves in and out of my body, and the dual sensation pushes me higher than I’ve ever been.
“That’s it,” he encourages when I start to tremble. “Let go for me.”
The orgasm builds slowly, a deep pressure that starts in my core and radiates outward.
When it finally breaks, I cry out his name as waves of pleasure crash through me.
My body clenches around his fingers, and he works me through it as he presses soft kisses to my throat while I come down. “You’re so fucking sexy when you come.”
My hands shake as I reach for his belt, desperate to return the favor. He doesn’t protest when I work the leather free, when I unbutton his jeans and push them down his hips.
When I free him from his boxers, the sight of him makes my mouth water—long and thick, the head already dark with arousal.