Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
MAGGIE
"S tart talking."
My voice lands like a match struck in a quiet room—low, firm, and utterly non-negotiable. I don’t raise it. It doesn’t waver. But it cuts through the air between us like a blade, sharpened by disbelief and something far more dangerous—clarity. My spine is straight, chin tipped forward, hands curled at my sides like I’m holding myself back from throwing something. It’s the kind of stillness that comes just before the storm. My eyes, wide and wild, pin him in place like a knife through glass.
The golden glow that flickered in his irises moments before—unmistakable, impossible—hangs between us like smoke that hasn’t cleared. I saw it. I know what I saw. Now I want the truth—and nothing less. His voice isn’t loud, but it doesn’t need to be. The weight behind it is enough to make him still. The glow in his eyes is fading, but not fast enough to pretend it hadn’t been there. Not fast enough to pretend I hadn’t seen it.
He exhales, slow and steady. "I’m not just a Texas Ranger, Maggie. I’m a wolf-shifter."
My brows shoot up, but I don’t move. I don’t laugh or scoff or call him crazy. I just stare. Then say flatly, "Come again?"
"A shifter. Not metaphorically. Not symbolically. Not a nickname. I turn into a wolf. Kari too. All of Team W."
My lips part, close again, then part once more, as if words are just out of reach. My gaze bounces from the door to the window and finally back to him, a flicker of disbelief still clouding my features. "You mean… as in some kind of weird were-wolf part man, part wolf? The whole cinematic horror reel—fur sprouting, bones cracking?"
He shakes his head. "Not at all, and it has nothing to do with a full moon. When we transition—when we move from human to wolf or back again—there’s always a surge of energy. It builds fast, burns through you like lightning under the skin. And right at the edge, there’s this mist. Thick. Pale. It curls around us, drawn from the air like it's responding to the pull of something ancient. That’s not just for show—it’s raw magic. The boundary between forms softens, and that mist? That’s the moment where both exist at once. Wolf and human. The in-between. It’s brief. But it’s always there."
"You expect me to believe I’ve been running a bakery while the cast of a supernatural crime drama runs tactical ops in my alleyway?"
"It’s not fiction, Maggie. There are three species—purebred humans, purebred wolves, and hybrids like me. We evolved along different evolutionary lines, right beside purebred humans like you. Hidden, mostly. Quiet when we can be. Somehow, the governor found out about Rush and he recruited the rest of Team W. The governor is the only one, outside the team, who knows about our true nature. We are shifters with control, loyalty, and purpose."
I shake my head, pacing now, agitation rippling through every step. Then my eyes snap up, wide with sudden realization. "Wait. Are you telling me... Kari, too? She's like you?"
Gideon meets my gaze without flinching. "Yeah. She is. Born same as me. She’s a wolf-shifter too. Always has been."
My mouth drops open. "Jesus. I’ve known her my whole life and she never…"
"She’s good at keeping secrets. We all have to be. Never doubt that Kari has always been your friend. She sent me because she trusts me. Because she knew you were in danger."
"And she conveniently forgot to mention you might howl at the moon?"
He steps forward, quiet but unrelenting. "You wanted answers. That’s the truth. You’ve been pulled into something big, and the people responsible don’t care what species you are. You’re a target because you didn’t back down. Because your bakery is a keystone in their little plan."
"And you? What does this make me to you?"
His jaw clenches. "You’re my mate."
The room drops into silence, dense and electric.
I blink. "Your what now?"
"Mate. It’s instinctual. Soul-deep. It’s not about logic. Not about choice. It’s just... true."
"So you’re telling me everything that’s been happening between us—the chemistry, the sex—was some pre-programmed biological imperative?"
He gives a short laugh, stepping in until our bodies nearly touch. "Maggie, I’ve wanted you since before I even knew what you smelled like. The mate bond didn’t make me kiss you. It just made it harder to stop."
I look at him through narrowed eyes. "So what stopped you?"
"Kari."
That makes me laugh, a sharp burst of sound. "You’re scared of your sister?"
He groans, running a hand down his face. "She can be mean when she likes… and sneaky. I’m going to catch hell from her."
I grin, wicked and knowing. "She already knows."
His head snaps up. "What?"
"I called her, and she guessed. She was positively gleeful..."
He curses under his breath. "I’ll bet. You do know she will never let me hear the end of this."
I move then, fast and fierce, grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him down into a kiss that’s messy, angry, and full of fire. My teeth graze his bottom lip. My breath is sharp against his skin.
"Then prove it’s not just some kind of primal instinct," I whisper.
“If we do this, there’s no going back. If I claim you as my mate, you will no longer be wholly human.”
“I want to be one with you.”
The grin that tugs at the corners of his mouth bares his teeth, slow and wild, like something ancient and hungry is waking just beneath his skin.
We collide with the explosive force of a dam obliterating its barriers, our hands and mouths driven by a ravenous, insatiable, almost painful desire. Clothes disappear in a whirlwind of frantic, feverish motions, discarded like leaves torn from trees in a hurricane. I push him back toward the couch, my palms pressing firmly against his chest, feeling the scorching heat radiating from his skin stretched taut over sinewy, defined muscle. I climb into his lap, straddling him, grinding down against his arousal with a moan that resonates through our very cores like a deep, primal hum.
His hands seize my thighs with a commanding, almost ferocious grip, guiding me into place with a raw dominance that makes my breath catch in my throat. I crave the cutting edge, hunger for the ferocity of it.
"You still want proof?" he growls, his voice a rough, gravelly challenge.
"I want you," I breathe, my voice a whisper drenched in need.
He plunges into me with a smooth, claiming thrust, and I gasp, my fingers digging into his shoulders, nails carving crescent-shaped indentations into his skin like tiny, intimate signatures of possession.
Our rhythm is unyielding, relentless, driven by a desperate, all-consuming hunger. My back arches as he fills me over and over, each thrust a searing brand, each movement a vow resonating deep within my very bones. Sweat slicks our skin, our bodies moving together with a perfect, primal urgency.
His mouth is everywhere—tracing my throat, gliding over my collarbone, caressing my breasts—his teeth grazing the edge of pain, a tantalizing threat hovering in the air. I bite into his neck and he growls, the sound reverberating through my chest like a deep, rumbling purr.
"You're mine," he declares, his voice possessive and unwavering.
"Then take me," I challenge fiercely.
And he does. As my climax erupts within me, loud and blinding, Gideon sinks his teeth in a spot just to the side of the hollow of my throat—the curve where my neck meets my shoulder melded—in a deep, savage and instinctive bite that seals our bond with primal finality. His scent melds with mine, an indelible mark of our union.
I cry out, my body clenching around him, and everything explodes into a searing crescendo—my muscles tightening, my nerves alight, as a wave of white-hot sensation tears through me with breathtaking force. My vision goes hazy at the edges, breath stolen from my lungs, as if the world itself has narrowed to the place where we connect. Around us, the air thickens, charged and humming, pulsing with something too wild and elemental to name. It isn’t just pleasure—it’s transformation. A crackling surge that leaves me gasping, clinging to him as if letting go would mean being unmoored from gravity itself.
My body collapses into him, muscles trembling and nerves frayed to the edge of sensation. I sag against his chest, boneless, breathless, my head lolling to the side as the last ripple of pleasure fades into a warm, dizzy haze. Gideon catches me easily, one arm locking around my back, the other cradling my thighs as he lifts me. My flushed skin is damp with sweat; a soft gasp parts my lips, as if my mind has outpaced my body. I murmur something unintelligible, then go utterly still—my body limp, my breath slow. Not broken. Not defeated. Just undone. Completely and entirely his. Gideon holds me against him like something precious, his jaw tight, his pulse still racing. I pass out in his arms, consumed by the intensity of what we’ve just shared—claimed, marked, and transformed.
When I wake, the loft is still cloaked in quiet darkness, broken only by the faint orange line of streetlight bleeding through the blinds. I hold Gideon close, our bodies intertwined beneath the thin cotton sheet; our skin is warm and damp from sleep and sex. The ache in my muscles throbs with delicious satisfaction—low, deep, and earned. My head rests against his chest, the slow rise and fall beneath my ear matching the soft rumble of his breathing. His arm lies heavily and possessively across my waist, even in unconsciousness, and he has wrapped his legs around mine, as if he has no intention of letting go.
The weight of the night clings to me in the best way—body sore, heartbeat steady, breath slow. My skin still holds the scent of him, musky and wild and uniquely Gideon, and for a long moment I stay there, letting it wrap around me like armor against whatever comes next. But something pulls me from the haze. A flicker of instinct. A sense.
I lift my head slowly, groaning a little as my body protests the movement. Then I turn toward the window—glass black and reflective at this hour, the faint glimmer of city lights painting my silhouette in faint silver.
I push myself upright, my body slow to cooperate, a dull ache spreading through my limbs like a reminder of everything that passed between us. The cotton sheet slips down my back as I shift forward, breath catching as my toes find the cool floor. I blink into the low glow of city lights bleeding through the window and catch movement in the glass. My reflection.
I rise, drawn toward it. My body feels foreign and familiar all at once. I stand before the window, bare and breathless, staring into myself.
And there it is. What I see in that reflection makes me go still. My eyes. They glimmer with a faint golden hue—muted, pulsing like embers banked under ash. Not a trick of the light. Not imagined. Alive with something new.
My pulse kicks hard, slamming through me like a starting bell. My lips part, dry and slightly trembling, the breath caught behind them. And then the truth unfurls—slow and all-consuming. It doesn’t crash into me like a sudden impact. It creeps in like tidewater, rising inch by inch, until it soaks everything I thought I knew, warm and disorienting, leaving nothing untouched.
I’ve changed. My eyes shimmer with an otherworldly light, a color caught between molten amber and sunlight through whiskey. Not the exact hue of Gideon's, but close enough to send a tremor through my chest. They aren’t just reflecting light—they’re emitting it, soft and steady, like a lit match held behind my irises.
My hand goes to the prominent bite mark at the hollow of my throat, fingertips brushing lightly over the sensitive, swollen flesh. It throbs faintly beneath my touch; not painful, but undeniably alive—as if it carries its own pulse, separate from mine. A living brand, heat still blooming beneath the surface. I don’t know if it’s my imagination or something more, but the surrounding skin feels warmer, as though it has absorbed part of him and is keeping it close. The moment my fingers graze the curve, I feel him stir behind me.
Gideon’s arms slide around me from behind, strong and sure, drawing me back against the solid wall of his chest. His bare skin presses to mine, warm and grounding. He dips his head, the stubble of his jaw grazing my neck, and nuzzles into the spot he marked. A low sound escapes him—not quite a growl, not quite a sigh—just the raw sound of possession and contentment. I shiver as his lips ghost over the fresh mark.
"You feel different," he murmurs, voice rough against my skin.
"I am," I whisper, eyes locked on our reflection in the window. My gaze flicks at the glowing embers of my eyes. "Aren’t I?"
He presses a kiss to my shoulder. "Yeah, baby. You are."