Chapter 24 Shadows at the Gate #3
I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the way my vision swam and my legs threatened to give out. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that came after shifting twice in rapid succession and getting the shit kicked out of me by something twice my size.
But none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was—
“Nate,” I called out, spinning toward the tree line where I'd last seen him. My heart hammered against my ribs as I scanned the shadows, looking for any sign of movement.
I found him near the edge of the clearing, Sienna crouched beside him with her hands pressed to his shoulder. Even from a distance, I could see the dark stain spreading across his jacket, could smell the copper tang of fresh blood mixing with pine and earth.
My wolf snarled under my skin, fury and terror warring for dominance. He was hurt. My mate was hurt, and I'd been too busy playing hero to protect him.
“How bad?” I asked, dropping to my knees beside them. My hands were shaking as I reached for him, and I had to clench them into fists to stop the tremor.
“Not as bad as it looks,” Sienna said, her hands steady as she pressed a makeshift bandage against Nate's shoulder.
Blood had soaked through his jacket, but he was sitting upright, alert, very much alive.
“Claws caught him when that rogue went down.
Missed anything vital, but he's going to need stitches.”
Relief hit me so hard my knees nearly gave out. “Nate.”
“I'm okay,” he said quickly, reaching for me with his good arm. “Really, I'm okay. But Evan, you look like you went through a blender.”
I caught his hand, needing the contact to prove he was real, that he was safe. “I'll heal.”
“Yeah, well, I'd prefer if you didn't have to quite so often.” His voice was steady but I could see the shock lingering in his eyes, the way he kept glancing at the spot where the rogue Alpha had been standing.
“Sienna,” I turned to the pack's healer, gratitude thick in my throat. “Thank you. For getting to him, for—”
She waved me off with blood-stained fingers. “He's pack now, isn't he? We protect our own.” Her expression softened slightly. “Besides, he didn't panic. Stayed put when I told him to, let me work. Smart boy.”
“I have my moments,” Nate said dryly.
That's when Dad's voice cut across the clearing like a blade through silk. “So. You finally showed them.”
I turned to find him staring at Gideon with an expression that was entirely too calm, too unsurprised. Like he'd been waiting for this moment instead of shocked by it.
The bottom dropped out of my stomach. “You knew.”
It wasn't a question.
Dad's silence was answer enough.
I struggled to my feet, fury blazing through exhaustion and blood loss. Nate tried to steady me, but I was too angry to accept comfort. “How long?”
“Since before you were born.” Dad's voice carried the weight of decades, of choices made in shadow and silence. “Gideon's been our ally for over twenty years.”
“Ally.” The word tasted like betrayal. “Is that what you call lying to me my entire fucking life?”
“I call it keeping you safe.”
The casual dismissal made rage burn brighter than any claw mark. “Safe from what? From knowing that the man who taught me to change oil was also a goddamn wizard? From understanding that our family's survival depended on magical alliances I wasn't trusted to know about?”
Dad's eyes flashed with Alpha authority, the kind that made lesser wolves bare their throats. “You're upset. We'll discuss this when you're calm.”
“Don't.” Command rang through my voice, surprising us both. “Don't you dare dismiss this like I'm throwing a tantrum. Don't pretend that lying to me about fundamental parts of my own life was for my own good.”
Nate moved to stand beside me, his uninjured shoulder pressing against mine. Solid. Steady. Absolutely fearless despite having just watched his boyfriend turn into a mythological creature and fight monsters.
“He trusted me with the truth,” Nate said quietly, meeting Dad's stare without flinching. “Maybe it's time you did the same with him.”
The clearing went silent except for wind through pine needles and the distant sound of something wild calling in the forest depths. Dad's gaze moved between us, calculating, weighing variables I couldn't begin to guess at.
Finally, he nodded. “We'll talk. All of us. But not here, not now. The wards need repair, and we need to figure out how they were breached.”
Gideon stepped forward, rolling his shoulders like he was working out kinks from an old injury. “I can patch them. Won't be permanent—my reserves are pretty fucking depleted after tonight—but it'll hold until I can do a proper rebuild.”
“You sure?” Dad asked, concern flickering across his features. “You look like you're about to keel over.”
“I'm fine,” Gideon said, which was clearly a lie judging by the way he swayed slightly on his feet. “Just need to borrow a little something from the forest itself.”
He moved to the center of the clearing, kneeling beside one of the ancient stones.
His hands pressed flat against the granite, and I watched his magic shift, changing from the bright starfire of battle to something deeper, earthier.
Power that felt like roots and rain and the slow, patient growth of centuries.
“The old bargains still hold,” he murmured, more to himself than to us. “The forest remembers.”
Light began to seep from the stone beneath his palms—not the blazing aurora of before, but something quieter, more subtle. It spread outward in gentle waves, following lines of power I couldn't see but could feel thrumming in my bones.
The broken wards began to knit themselves back together, invisible threads of protection weaving through the air like spider silk made of moonbeams. It was beautiful and terrifying and wrong all at the same time, watching magic reshape reality according to will and word and the kind of knowledge most people spent lifetimes pretending didn't exist.
When the last thread snapped into place, Gideon slumped forward, catching himself on his forearms before he could face-plant into sacred ground.
“That'll do for now,” he gasped, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool night air. “Should hold for a few days, maybe a week if we're lucky. But we need a permanent solution before—”
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. We all knew what came after temporary fixes failed.
War. Blood.