Chapter 17 Chris
CHRIS
The ride back to the hotel felt like a blur.
Jaime sat in the passenger seat, one hand braced against the dash, the other clenched in his lap. Color had returned to his face, but tension wrapped him tight as wire. I didn’t blame him, because I was tense too.
Everything felt too slow.
“We have to hurry,” Jaime said, already leaning forward. “They’ll be starting the morning runs.”
My wolf paced under my skin, nails scraping at the inside of my ribs. I pushed harder on the accelerator, ignoring the ache in my shoulder and the warning throb from half-healed muscle.
We skidded into the parking lot and barely shut the doors before moving. There was no need for words or hesitation. We split automatically, like we’d trained together for years instead of days.
Something had changed between us in the cabin, and both Jaime and I felt it. Jaime headed straight for the relief area. I angled toward the main hall.
Noise crashed over me the moment I crossed the doors. There was barking, announcers, and applause. The normal chaos of a dog show. Perfect cover for something ugly.
I breathed deep, sorting scent from scent. Then it hit: bitter, chemical, and wrong. My head snapped toward the water station near Ring C. A volunteer was already kneeling there, refilling bowls.
“Stop!” I shouted.
Too late. The first dog drank. A sleek shepherd, tongue lapping eagerly. Three seconds later, it stumbled. The handler dropped to her knees with a scream.
I vaulted the barrier and skidded across the grass, shouting for space, for help, for everyone to get back.
“Don’t let them drink the water!” I roared.
Panic rippled outward. Handlers yanked leashes up, bowls overturned, and dogs barked in confusion.
I was on the shepherd in seconds, fingers already glowing faintly as I pressed my palm to its chest. I wasn’t a healer, not like Ethan, but I could slow it. Stall the poison long enough.
“Jaime,” I yelled out. “Ring C. Water station.”
“I’m on the way there with the vet,” Jaime yelled back.
The shepherd shuddered but stilled under my hands. I stayed there until another handler rushed in, tears streaking her face, and Jaime arrived with the vet. Jaime nodded to me.
I was already moving again. I followed the poison’s trail like a line of fire. Marion had been busy.
He had targeted multiple stations and probably administered smaller doses. Enough to make it look like an accident or incompetence.
I rounded a corner toward Jaime when he called out to me again.
“Found one of Marion’s associates,” Jaime said grimly, jerking his chin toward a man in a volunteer vest near the storage area. “He was the one who swapped the bottles.”
A security guard stood beside him, mid-question. The man followed Jaime’s line of sight and saw us staring back. Panic broke across his face. He ran.
I took three steps, then shifted mid-run. By now, it didn’t matter if I turned. I was more effective in my wolf form.
Fur ripped free as my wolf hit the grass at full speed. The crowd screamed, scattering as I streaked past.
The volunteer made it ten feet. I slammed into him and sent him sprawling. He shrieked as I snapped my jaws inches from his throat.
“Don’t,” Jaime said calmly, appearing beside us. “We need him conscious.”
I growled but backed off as security rushed in.
“Bag it,” Jaime told them, pointing at the discarded bottles near the storage area. “That’s your poison. Check the fingerprints.”
The man sobbed, shaking. “He said it would just make them sick.”
Jaime crouched in front of him, eyes cold. “You almost killed them.”
Sirens wailed in the distance. I turned, scanning the grounds, heart still pounding. This wasn’t over. We still needed to find Marion. I searched the crowd again.
Jaime followed my gaze as my focus snapped sharp and feral.
I inhaled again, deeper this time, letting the noise of the grounds fade. Beneath the smell of dogs and panic, there it was. Marion.
My head turned before my thoughts caught up, eyes locking on a retreating figure slipping between vendor tents, moving fast.
“Chris,” Jaime said.
Marion glanced back once. That was his mistake. He ran, and so did I.
My paws burned as I vaulted barriers, shoved past startled handlers, tracked him by scent alone as it burned like a bright thread through the chaos.
He knocked over a stand. I leapt it. He veered toward the service exit. I cut him off.
“Stop!” someone yelled. Maybe security, or maybe Jaime.
Marion burst through the back gate anyway, boots slapping against pavement as he bolted across the service lane. He was fast for a human, adrenaline giving him borrowed speed, but fear has a taste.
And he was drowning in it.
I tackled him hard, driving him into the asphalt. He screamed as my weight crushed the air from his lungs. My claws came down around his collar, vision bleeding gold at the edges.
I wanted to tear him apart, but I didn’t.
Sirens wailed closer now. Footsteps thundered behind me.
“Chris!” Jaime’s voice cut through the red haze. “That’s enough.”
I froze, chest heaving. Marion sobbed beneath me, shaking so hard his teeth rattled.
Slowly, painfully, I pulled my claws back. Security swarmed in seconds, hauling Marion away as he shouted denials that unraveled into hysteria. Someone slapped cuffs on him.
Another officer read him his rights. The noise rushed back in all at once.
Cheers broke out behind us, fragile at first, then growing as handlers realized the danger was over. Dogs barked, tails wagging, blissfully unaware of how close they’d come.
I barely heard any of it. Jaime stood a few steps away. His eyes were sharp, burning with adrenaline and something else I felt echo inside my own chest.
He bent down and hugged me tight. I licked his face. We stayed like that, surrounded by chaos and relief and barking dogs, breathing each other in as if the world might tilt again if we let go.
Marion’s family cabin finally came into view through the windshield.
Cooper eased the car to a stop. I sat there for a second longer than necessary, hands braced on my knees. I was human again, dressed in borrowed clothes that hung a little loose on me.
My shoulder throbbed faintly, more reminder than pain. Jaime sat beside me in the backseat, jaw tight, eyes locked on the cabin like it might lunge if he looked away.
“You two ready?” Cooper asked from the driver’s seat.
Jaime nodded once. “Let’s do this.”
We got out together. The sheriff’s vehicles were already there, lights muted but unmistakable. Two deputies moved about, probably ready to catalogue and bag evidence.
The sheriff himself stepped forward as Cooper approached, hand already extended.
“Sheriff,” Cooper greeted.
The man shook Cooper’s hand firmly, then turned his attention to us. His gaze lingered on Jaime’s bandaged leg, then on me, sharp but not unkind.
“You the one he took?” the sheriff asked Jaime.
“Yes.”
“And you’re his partner?” the sheriff said.
I nodded. “This is Chris.”
“Well,” the sheriff said, gesturing toward the cabin, “let’s make sure this place tells the truth.”
The door creaked when one of the deputies pushed it open. That sound hit me harder than I expected.
My chest tightened as the interior came into view again, unchanged and yet completely different now that Marion was behind bars. I stepped inside, with Jaime and Cooper close behind.
The air still carried echoes of what had happened here. My wolf stirred uneasily under my skin, hackles raised at a place that had dared to hold what was mine.
Deputies fanned out immediately, methodical and efficient. Gloves were snapped on, and cameras clicked. Drawers were opened, then left open, everything documented before being touched.
“That pipe,” Jaime said, pointing. “That’s where he cuffed me.”
One of the deputies crouched, photographing the metal ring bolted into the wall. “Got it.”
Another voice came from the kitchenette. “Sheriff, you’re going to want to see this.”
They pulled out a sealed plastic tub from beneath the sink. Inside were several small bottles, partially unlabeled, the liquid inside faintly cloudy. Even from a distance, my nose caught the smell of poison.
The sheriff swore under his breath.
“Bag it,” the sheriff said.
The deputy complied immediately, sealing it.
Then someone else spoke up from the back room. “We’ve got pamphlets. A lot of them.”
I followed, heart sinking. The walls were plastered with anti-shifter propaganda, arranged carefully, obsessively. Flyers accused packs of corruption. There were dates circled. Names scribbled in the margins.
Jaime inhaled sharply beside me. I felt his hand brush mine, just for a second, grounding.
“This wasn’t random,” Cooper said quietly behind us.
“No,” I agreed. “This was planned.”
Another deputy called out, “Laptop on the desk. It’s still on.”
“Don’t touch it,” the sheriff ordered. “Bag it as is.”
Flash drives followed. A notebook was pulled from beneath the mattress. Page after page of careful notes, timelines, and maps.
The deputies continued their sweep, each piece of evidence another nail in the coffin. When they were done, the cabin looked stripped, emptied of its poison and secrets alike.
The sheriff turned to Cooper. “Between the unlawful detention, possession of toxic substances, the firearm, and this evidence of conspiracy, we’ve got enough to hold Marion and pursue his associates. Digital forensics will tie it all together.”
Cooper nodded, satisfaction tempered by exhaustion. “Good.”
The sheriff looked at Jaime and me.
“You both did the right thing. I won’t sugarcoat it. You were lucky. But you were also smart,” he said.
I thought of charging the door. Of ignoring every plan except get to Jaime.
“Lucky,” I echoed softly.
Once the deputies filed out, the cabin fell quiet again.
Cooper turned to us, his expression softer now.
“You did good work. Both of you,” Cooper said.
Jaime snorted faintly.
“Didn’t feel very controlled,” Jaime said.
“Few things do when they matter,” Cooper said. His gaze shifted to me. “You both succeeded in your mission in the end.”
I swallowed, the praise landing heavier than I expected. “I almost didn’t.”
“But you did,” he said. “That’s what matters.”
Outside, the light was fading, the world slipping back into something like normal. Cooper opened the car door for us, already shifting into wrap-up mode.
“I’ll drive you both back to the hotel,” Cooper said. “Rest. Let us handle the rest.”
Jaime looked at me. I nodded.
As we climbed into the back seat, exhaustion finally seeped into my bones. The car pulled away, the cabin shrinking behind us until it was nothing more than a dark shape among the trees.
I reached for Jaime’s hand. He squeezed back, steady and real.
Cooper drove in silence, mercifully not filling the space with questions or commentary. The road hummed beneath the tires, a low, hypnotic sound that loosened something knotted tight inside my chest.
Adrenaline drained away in slow rivulets, leaving behind the ache.
Jaime leaned back against the seat, eyes closed, his thumb brushing absent-minded circles over my knuckles. That tiny motion grounded me more than anything else could have.
He was here. Breathing. Alive. I watched the rise and fall of his chest like it was something sacred.
By the time the hotel lights came into view, my eyelids felt heavy, my thoughts sluggish around the edges. Cooper pulled up near the entrance and cut the engine.
“I’ll check in with you tomorrow,” he said quietly.
“Thanks,” Jaime said.
I echoed it a second later. The hallway felt too bright, too loud after everything we’d been through. The carpet muffled our steps as we made it back to the room.
The door clicked shut behind us, sealing us in with the familiar scent of soap, dog, and something distinctly ours now.
Pampi lifted her head from her crate, her tail thumping weakly once before she flopped back down, clearly deciding that whatever chaos we’d brought home could wait until after another nap.
Cooper informed us Tony had a grand time babysitting her.
Jaime huffed a tired laugh. “Traitor.”
“She’s exhausted,” I said. “Takes after us.”
Neither of us bothered with small talk. I peeled off my clothes slowly, joints protesting, and stepped into the bathroom with him. The shower sputtered to life, steam curling up to fog the mirror almost immediately.
The water was too hot, but neither of us complained.
Jaime leaned his forehead against mine under the spray, eyes closed, his hands resting at my waist more for balance than intent. I let my own head tip forward until it touched his shoulder, breathing him in.
Soap. Skin. That faint, familiar scent that told my wolf everything was finally right.
We washed each other without rush or expectation. Fingers tracing bruises. Palms lingering over healed skin. Careful, reverent touches that spoke of relief rather than hunger.
By the time we turned the water off, we were both wrung out.
We barely made it to the bed before collapsing onto it, limbs tangling automatically, like this was a habit we’d had for years instead of something brand new and fragile.
Jaime shifted onto his side, pulling me close until my head fit perfectly beneath his chin. We were both too tired for anything else, but we were also content in a way that went bone-deep.
I stared at the dim ceiling for a moment, listening to his breathing even out, then cleared my throat softly.
“Jaime,” I began.
“Mm?” His arm tightened slightly around me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “about before. About… not talking. Letting my head get in the way.”
He was quiet for a beat, then pressed a gentle kiss into my hair.
“It’s done,” he said. “It happens.”
“I don’t want it to happen again,” I murmured. “I don’t want to assume things or pull away when I should lean in.”
Jaime exhaled slowly, his hand sliding up my back in a soothing pass.
“Then we don’t let it,” he said. “We talk things out.”
Something in my chest loosened, warm and aching all at once. I shifted closer, fitting myself more securely against him.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay,” he echoed.
Sleep crept up on us quietly, no sharp edge to it this time. Just warmth and safety. The steady weight of Jaime’s arm around me and the knowledge that when I woke up, he’d still be there.