Chapter 30
Thirty
Neil
Blake looms over Doyle, visibly seething with rage, every muscle coiled with tension and his bared teeth only inches from the older alpha’s face. Shock flickers over Doyle’s face for half a second before he roars and shoves the wolf off him.
The motion has enough power behind it that Blake skids backward across the gravel at least a foot, the distance giving Doyle enough space to shift into a large gray wolf. He shakes off his clothes and bares his teeth at my golden mate, growling low in his chest.
Blake mirrors him, lowering his head as his lips curl away from his teeth.
He snarls, spittle dripping from his mouth, and feints a lunge.
All his attention is on Doyle. His anger is an almost physical thing, and his eyes are blank, cold, cruel even.
There’s no emotion, no humanity. No Blake. Only the wolf.
This is the closest to truly feral I’ve ever seen him.
My body goes cold, mouth dry as my gaze darts to Solomon, then to the two praetorians. None of them are trying to step in, but Solomon in particular is studying Blake very intensely, eyes narrowed as if cataloging every piece of evidence, every marker that screams feral.
At some unknown or unconscious signal, the two wolves go into motion. They leap at each other, a whirlwind of fangs and claws as they grapple on the ground. The fight is dirty, fast, and brutal, each one struggling to gain the upper hand.
A loud yelp sends a shard of ice into my stomach as Doyle jumps on top of Blake and drives him to the ground, teeth bared and aiming for his neck.
Blake kicks up with his hind legs, trying to tear at Doyle’s belly with his claws as Doyle leans down, mouth open, teeth gleaming, closer and closer to Blake’s vulnerable throat.
But Blake has literally been fighting for his life for years and he’s not out yet.
With a sudden burst of movement, Blake twists his body out from underneath Doyle, flipping them so Doyle lands on his side. He pounces and snaps at Doyle’s throat, but Doyle manages to kick him off and scramble to his feet.
Doyle eyes Blake for a moment before glancing to either side as if looking for an escape route. His eyes land on me, something indecipherable in their depths, and then he does absolutely the last thing I would’ve expected: he shifts.
“You see,” he snarls, gesturing toward Blake pacing and growling a couple of feet in front of him. “It’s clearly feral. By law, it should be put down.” He looks to the praetorians and snaps, “Well? Do your fucking job already.”
My heart about stops in my chest at his words, but the praetorians don’t move.
Doyle sneers at them, then sends a poisonous glare my way. “I’ll win one way or another. A Pyrrhic victory is still a victory.” He lifts his chin and holds his arms out from his sides, then takes a single step toward the growling golden wolf. “How about it, mongrel? Prove you aren’t feral.”
I watch in horrified understanding as Doyle takes another step forward. Rather than a triumvirate prison, he’s angling for suicide by shifter with the added benefit of petty revenge.
If Blake kills Doyle outside of an actual fight, it will practically guarantee he’s ruled a feral.
And then the triumvirate will do exactly what Doyle wants: put him down.
Doyle closes his eyes and tilts his head to the side in a sign of submission, unresisting, not fighting back.
He takes another step forward, and Blake springs, taking Doyle to the ground.
I yell his name, beg him to stop, wait, but it’s as if he doesn’t even hear me.
Without pause, he leans down, wraps his jaws around Doyle’s throat, and violently shakes his head.
A wet ripping noise.
Blood splattering.
Doyle’s dying gurgles.
Then my blood-covered mate stands over Doyle’s body like a predator protecting his kill, sides heaving with heavy breaths.
His head jerks up when someone behind me moves and he bares his teeth in a snarl, eyes blank and empty.
No sign at all of human-level sentience even though the threat has been eliminated.
Solomon’s lips thin, and from the corner of my eye, I see him making some signal to the praetorians. The two triumvirate officers split up and start slowly moving toward Blake, one from either side in an attempt to flank him.
Acid climbs the back of my throat, my stomach churning. This is everything I feared since locking eyes with the half-feral wolf in the ring. We made it out of the casino, made it all the way halfway across the country, but now… this is it.
They’re going to kill him. Put him down.
And, even dead, Doyle wins.
No. I’m not going to let that happen.
I dart forward and turn to face down the two praetorians, positioning myself between them and my fated mate. Yes, he killed Doyle, but the asshole deserved that, and worse, and I refuse to let them punish Blake for doing the world a favor. They’ll have to go through me first.
“Neil, please step away from him.” Solomon moves forward, hands up in a calming gesture.
Blake snarls and tries to lunge at the Alpha, but I move to the side to block him. “He’s not feral,” I say frantically. “He’s just overwhelmed. He’ll come back.”
He has to.
Solomon gives me a skeptical look, but stops coming closer and signals for the praetorians to do so as well.
“He’s not feral,” I repeat. A stab of pain in the back of my neck gives me an idea. “It’s the mating frenzy. We’re fated mates. We haven’t completed the bond yet.”
The two praetorians share a look, and Solomon frowns slightly.
“He’s not dangerous,” I say. Not to me. “I’ll prove it.”
Sidestepping the body, I drop to my knees and throw my arms around Blake’s neck. A low growl still rumbles in his chest, his teeth bared as his gaze bounces between Solomon and the praetorians.
“Shhhh,” I say, stroking his fur, not caring about the fact that Doyle’s blood is getting all over me.
But Blake keeps growling. Not at me, but at everyone else. And the volume only rises when the praetorians start moving forward again.
“Stop,” I say, a frantic edge to my voice. “You have to give him a chance. You have to…”
“Neil,” says Solomon, voice low, calming, fucking patronizing. “I know this is hard, but you need to step away. They won’t hurt him, not until—”
“But right now he’ll hurt them,” I say. “And that will sign his death warrant. Give him a chance. Give us a chance. You saw how Doyle set him up. If you kill him, Doyle wins.”
“The circumstances will be—”
“What can I do to prove to you he isn’t feral?” I ask, pleading.
“Have him shift back,” says one of the praetorians. “Submit to an interrogation.”
“He can’t,” I say. “The—”
“Then we have no choice,” says Solomon, his voice laced with pity. “I’m sorry.”
“He can’t shift because of the collar, you absolute dumbasses,” says a familiar and very welcome voice. Raquel. “Jeez, I swear the shifters in my fanfics are smarter than this.”
I let out a watery chuckle and rise to my feet, careful to stay between Blake and the praetorians as Raquel makes her way across the clearing and throws herself into my arms. The fact that she’s a human is another potential complication, but I can’t find it in myself to care at the moment.
Because, no matter what, Raquel is on my side. Blake’s side.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says, sniffling. “The parking lot for this place is, like, a mile away, and I can’t run half as fast as your wolfed-out boyfriend.” She tightens her hold, burying her face against my shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re okay,”
“Well, that’s kind of relative,” I mutter. “Because in about ten seconds, those guys are going to remember they’re supposed to kill my mate.”
“The hell they will,” she says. She sniffles again and wipes at her eyes before releasing me and turning to face the other shifters.
She gestures at her own chest. “Killing humans is a big no-no, right?” The praetorians exchange a look.
“And Neil, he’s an omega, which makes him valuable or something.
” She narrows her eyes at Solomon and crosses her arms over her chest. “Well, you’ll have to go through both of us to get to Blake. ”
Solomon presses his lips together, the indecision clear on his face.
A flash of movement to my right captures my attention as Taylor jogs past the praetorians, ignoring their—and Solomon’s—protests. He stops a short distance away, warily eying Blake, and tosses me something. Instinctively, I reach up and catch whatever he threw.
It’s a keyring.
“For the collar,” says Taylor. He rubs at his neck. “I had the displeasure of wearing something similar, and I held on to one of the keys just in case.”
“Thank you,” I say, immediately kneeling and fumbling the key into the lock.
The collar releases with a soft click, the metal ring parting and falling to the ground. I stroke my hand over Blake’s head, waiting, hoping…
But he’s not shifting. His muscles are still tensed, ears back, teeth bared.
“Please,” I whisper, pressing my forehead against his fur. “Please come back to me. I can’t lose you now. Not like this. Not after everything we went through to get here.”
No response. No change.
“Shift, damn you!” I yell, grabbing his snout and forcing him to meet my eyes. “I know you’re in there. If you don’t shift, Doyle wins. Is that what you want?”
Raquel rests her hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “You got this.”
But I’m not so sure I do. Blake and I haven’t known each other very long. We haven’t completed the bond yet. What if… what if it’s not enough? What if I’m not enough?
“Please,” I say for what feels like the millionth time. “I can’t... I can’t… do this without you. I don’t want to. I’m so tired of being alone.”
Raquel is going to let me have it for that last bit later, but I don’t care because something changes.
Blake goes still. He stops growling and the tension drains out of his body as he leans into me and lets out a low whine.
He nuzzles my neck, then licks a stripe up my cheek.
Rising to his feet, he shuffles backward a little as a shudder moves over him, fur receding and bones cracking as his human form emerges agonizingly slowly.
He’s slightly out of breath, naked, and covered in dirt and blood, but he’s here. With me.
“Oh thank god,” says Raquel. “You had me a little worried I’d have to make good on that wolfskin rug threat.”
Blake chuckles, the corner of his mouth curling upward. “Me too.” He reaches up to cup my cheek. “Thank you.”
Instead of responding, I throw my arms around him, the momentum taking both of us to the ground. He lets out a tiny grunt when my weight lands on top of him, but that doesn’t stop him from kissing me back when my lips find his.
I came so close to losing him.
If just one small thing had gone wrong…
Someone clears their throat and heat fills my cheeks.
“If we could, uh, take this inside, maybe?” says Solomon, a hint of hesitation in his voice. “I think there are still some things that need to be discussed.”
Blake gently squeezes my hips, then carefully moves me to the side so he can stand. He cups his hands in front of his groin, then darts a glance at Solomon and tips his head slightly to the side. “Alpha.”
Solomon acknowledges the show of respect with a sharp nod, then strides forward. Blake stiffens, but remains in place as Solomon approaches, stopping less than a foot in front of Blake and holding out a hand.
“It is a pleasure to officially meet you, and I’m relieved things were able to be resolved without further bloodshed,” says Solomon in that low, calm voice. The corner of his mouth twitches. “If Taylor didn’t kill me for screwing this whole thing up, your brother certainly would.”
Blake’s mouth drops open and his eyes fly up to meet Solomon’s. “My brother? You know Ollie?”
“I do,” he replies. “Without his help, we never could have infiltrated Rockcastle and taken down the trafficking operation. Just like we might never have been able to uncover Doyle’s treachery without you and Neil.” A small smile tugs at his lips. “It seems that being a hero runs in the family.”
“Thank you, Alpha.”
Solomon waves him off. “Come,” he says, clapping Blake on the shoulder. “Let’s get you cleaned up and find you something to wear.”
Blake reaches out to grab my hand, and I smile up at him. There are still plenty of things left to figure out—like where we’re going to live—but for now, this is enough. I have my mate. I have my best friend. And none of us are in imminent danger. Everything else can wait.
Raquel links her arm through mine and we all file back into the house, leaving Doyle’s body in the dirt where it belongs.
Good riddance to a bad rubbish.