CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO || HARRIS
The bonfire was still roaring when we reached the commune.
The entire pack was gathered around it, sitting vigil.
The witches were still there, too, standing off to one side.
Simone and Poppy together. Ethan and Nathaniel.
And even Tatiana and Wynn. Their faces were all drawn and exhausted, but—perhaps in solidarity with the pack—they’d all stayed.
Reed and I carried the Algea’s headless corpse between us, and the crowd parted to let us through. Together, we lifted the body onto the fire.
The flames burned higher, as if ravenous, consuming the creature’s tattered white gown and pale flesh. The smell was acrid and wrong, unnatural, but I didn’t look away. None of us did. We watched it burn.
Reed stood beside me, his shoulders squared despite the exhaustion I could feel thrumming through him. He was covered in blood, most of it his own, and there were still wounds visible on his chest and arms, though they were closing slowly.
But he was alive. We both were.
Reed turned to face the pack, and I felt the weight of his authority settle over him like a mantle. Even battered and bleeding, he was every inch the alpha.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice carrying easily over the fire.
“All of you. For everything.” His gaze swept across the gathered wolves, witches, and vampires.
“We will speak of this more. But not tonight.” He paused, and I felt the vulnerability through the bond that almost made him change his mind.
Then he finished: “I need time to recover first.”
Lindsey stepped forward, her expression softer than I’d ever seen it. “We can handle the rest, Reed. Go. Take care of yourself.”
Reed hesitated, and I could feel his instinct to stay, to oversee everything, to make sure it was done right. The old Reed would have insisted on staying until the body was nothing but ash.
But then he looked around the circle again, meeting each pair of eyes in turn.
And slowly, Reed smiled. Small and filled with exhaustion, but real. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know you will.”
I sensed the shift in him—a loosening of the knot of responsibility he’d been carrying for so long. His realization that he could rely on his pack.
He took my hand, and together we turned away from the fire.
Behind us, the Algea burned while the pack kept watch.
* * *
By the time we reached the cabin, Reed was leaning on me more heavily than he probably wanted to admit. I got him inside and guided him toward the bed, intending to help him climb into it before I moved to the couch. But before I could pull away, his hand closed around mine.
“Harris,” he said, his voice rough. “Wait. Don’t go.”
I paused and met his gaze.
His eyes searched mine, and I sensed the storm of emotions swirling inside him. Regret. Relief. Fear. And most of all, love.
“I’m sorry.” His voice sounded like it had been scraped raw. “I know words don’t really mean much, but from the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing. The idea of you dying—” His voice cracked. “I can’t even think it. It makes me crazy.”
I sat down on the edge of the bed beside him, still holding his hand. “I understand your fears better now,” I replied. “I thought I was going to lose you. And I went a little crazy, too. I get it.”
And it was true. The terror I’d felt in that dream, seeing Reed paralyzed and bleeding while the Algea stood over him—
I’d have done anything to stop it. Hell, I had done anything.
Reed’s flash of guilt was sharp and painful, a dark well of emotion between us.
“Are you sure? About this? About becoming—”
“It’s a little late for that,” I pointed out, my voice wry.
But Reed didn’t smile. He just looked at me, waiting for a real answer.
What was the truth? I still felt like me.
Except stronger. And I was connected. In the back of my mind, I could feel the rest of the pack.
It was the barest echo of what the mate bond with Reed felt like, but it was unmistakably there.
And I could almost feel the land, too—as though the forest around us was somehow inside of me and I was somehow inside of it as well.
A oneness I never could’ve explained. The connection carried with it a deep sense of rightness.
Because I belonged now, didn’t I? I was all in—anchored to a person, to a place, and to a community.
And I had purpose, too.
Not just Reed—I shared a mission with the pack: to protect this place and its inhabitants. It was a bone-deep knowing. I had awoken with it.
Being a detective wasn’t the same thing at all. That was a job, a way to earn money. The IA investigation seemed trivial now, laughable. Regardless of what happened there, I already knew I was leaving the force. I would call Davis tomorrow—or maybe the next day—and tell him.
This was different. This was a calling. The pack needed me.
And maybe I needed them, too.
I locked eyes with him. “I don’t regret anything. You’re alive. That’s all that matters.” I paused. “And I think I might like being a wolf.”
Reed’s eyes shone, and he pulled me closer, his forehead pressing against mine. “I love you,” he whispered. “I should have said it before.”
“None of that,” I said, cupping his cheek. “I love you, too.”
Because I did. I loved this stubborn, self-sacrificing, impossibly brave man who’d been so afraid of losing me that he’d tried to push me away.
I loved the way he cared for others, his need to consider all of his options before acting, the way his brow furrowed when he was reading, and the way he always made coffee exactly the way I liked it.
He was good and kind. Thoughtful. A strange mixture of tenderness, vulnerability, and strength.
Even if we weren’t bonded by fate, I still would have loved him. I wouldn’t have been able to help it.
Reed pulled back to look at me. “I was so wrong, Harris. I never should have said this was a mistake. You’re the best thing in my life—the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
Please stay,” he said, his voice going thick around the words.
It wasn’t a command, but a request. “Build a life with me here. With the pack. Please.”
I understood that, while I was a wolf now and intimately connected to the pack, this was Reed’s way of undoing his words in the bar. The bond between us thrummed with his hope and his fear.
And I realized something I hadn’t consciously noticed before. It was different now. Stronger than ever. Before, it had felt like a thread connecting us, fragile and easy to ignore if I tried. Now it felt like a bridge. Solid and impossible to dismiss.
Awe swept through me. I could feel him so clearly. His exhaustion and his pain. And his love.
Especially his love.
“Yes,” I said simply. “I’ll stay.”
Relief flooded through his expression, and he kissed me. Soft and sweet, as simple as breathing.
When we finally pulled apart, I helped him out of his torn, bloodstained clothes and into the bed. He didn’t say anything when I climbed in beside him. He just turned into my arms and pressed his face against my chest.
Within minutes, his breathing evened out.
I held him while he slept, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against mine, and I finally let myself believe everything was going to be okay.
* * *
I woke to soft light filtering through the window.
For a moment I just lay there, disoriented from the dream we’d shared.
It had been a pleasant dream—us holding hands in a tropical paradise, then bathing together beneath a waterfall of sparkling, warm water.
Serene and impossibly beautiful. Perfection.
I grinned to myself. We’d probably save a small fortune on vacations over the years.
Reed was pressed against my side, his arm slung across my chest protectively. Without even looking, I could feel him waking up beside me, his consciousness surfacing slowly. His contentment and happiness was a mirror of my own.
Reed shifted against me, and I realized two things simultaneously: I was achingly hard, and so was he.
His eyes opened, meeting mine. Still dark—not the gold of his wolf—but there was an unmistakable heat in them.
“Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
“Hi,” I said back, raising my eyebrows suggestively with a smirk. I nodded downward and added, “Need a hand?”
“As a matter of fact,” he said, grinning, suddenly more awake, “I’m gonna need more than a hand.”
Then he moved, rolling on top of me in one smooth motion, settling his weight against me. I could feel every inch of him—his heat, his skin, the hardness of his cock pressing against mine through the thin fabric of our boxers.
I groaned, my hands gripping his hips.
Reed leaned forward and kissed me, slow and deep and thorough, and I felt his need.
When he pulled back, his lips were swollen and his eyes were dark with want.
“Make love to me,” he said quietly. “Please.”
It wasn’t a command and it wasn’t the same desperate need he’d had when we first made love—he didn’t need me to grant him reprieve from having to be in charge. This was Reed was choosing to surrender himself to me.
“Yeah,” I breathed. “I can do that.”
I flipped us over, careful of his still-healing wounds—which now looked weeks old—and settled between his thighs. He looked up at me, his hair mussed and his lips parted.
He was so beautiful.
I kissed him again, then started working my way down his body. I pressed my lips to his throat, his collarbone, the edges of the mostly healed wounds on his chest. Reed’s hands fisted in the sheets as I moved lower, my mouth trailing over his stomach, his hip bones.
By the time I pulled his boxers down and took him in my mouth, he was already trembling.
“Harris,” he gasped, his voice breaking on the sound of my name.
I worked him slowly, thoroughly, using my tongue and my lips until he was writhing beneath me, his hands tangled in my hair.
When I finally pulled off, his cock was flushed and leaking, and his eyes had gone gold.