Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
GIDEON
T he scent of her still clings to me—vanilla, rich and familiar, threaded now with something untamed. It’s like heat woven into silk, primal and unforgettable. I am seared with Maggie’s essence, her voice echoing— “ You’re mine, too” —etched into my chest like a second heartbeat. It wasn’t just sex. It never is. The way she takes me, owns me with her mouth, her fingers, her fire—it cracks something wide open inside me. Something ancient. Something raw. Something that howls her name with every breath I take.
I lie there for an hour after she falls asleep. My arm curves around her waist, fingers lightly tracing the edge of her hip like I’m memorizing her. Her body molds against mine, breath soft and steady, but I don’t find sleep. I can’t. Not with her scent still flooding my senses, not with the awareness of how different—how irreversible—everything has become. I feel the change blooming in her blood, can almost hear the echo of it in her pulse. The bond has taken root, deeper than anything I’ve known before. And Maggie—my mate, my fire—has taken root in me. She isn’t just mine now. She’s part of me. And the knowing of it pulses beneath my skin like a promise too big for words.
And God help me, it isn’t her changing that scares me. It’s what comes after. The quiet moments when she’ll look at me and maybe realize she’s made a mistake. That she could’ve chosen easier, safer, simpler. That loving me means chaos and scars and truths too heavy to carry. If she walks away, I’ll live with the regret forever. But if she stays—if she loves me back—there’ll be no armor left to hide behind. No more pretending this is about duty or instinct or the timing of a mission gone sideways. It’ll just be me, raw and exposed, the man beneath the soldier, hoping she’ll choose me not out of fate, but out of fire. And that kind of hope? That terrifies me more than anything with teeth or claws ever could.
Because that kind of love isn’t mission-grade or forged in combat. The worth of that kind of love isn’t determined by your ability to withstand punishment or obey orders. It’s surrender—open and visceral, the kind that turns you inside out and dares you to stay that way. It demands vulnerability, not strategy. No armor. No fallback plan. Just truth. And I’ve spent my entire adult life making sure nobody ever sees me without my metaphorical Kevlar. Letting Maggie see all the way in? That’s more terrifying than walking into enemy fire without backup.
I rise from the bed with careful slowness, lingering for one last look at her. The sheet clings to the curve of her bare back, her hair tousled across the pillow, one hand reaching across the mattress like she’s searched for me in sleep. It tugs something deep inside me—tender and raw and rooted in something more than instinct. I want to stay. To crawl back in beside her, wrap my arms around her and forget for just one more hour that the world outside our bed still burns.
But the duty runs louder, deeper—etched into my bones long before fate ever whispered Maggie’s name. I scribble a quick note, my handwriting less controlled than usual:
Gage’s inside. Dalton is watching the block. I’ll be back. You’re safe.
I set it on her nightstand, anchor it with the pen she always uses to correct invoices, then bend low, lips brushing her temple. “Sleep. I’ve got you,” I murmur, my voice no more than a rasp carried on breath and promise.
I need to drive. Not far—just enough to put distance between myself and the all-consuming gravity of Maggie. Not that distance dulls her. She’s in my skin, my bloodstream, my bones. The loft has become saturated—thick with the memory of her bare body arched against mine, the sound of her voice like honey poured over a growl. She’s taken me, claimed me, left me trembling with the sharp, stunning reality of belonging. And when she whispered, You’re mine, too, it didn’t just knock me off-kilter. It carved into me—proof that someone sees me, wants me, not for the uniform or the strength, but for the quiet beneath all that steel. That’s what scares me. Because now that I have it, I can’t stop needing it. And needing her? That’s a vulnerability no amount of training has ever prepared me for.
The truck’s tires thrum a low rhythm against the blacktop as I roll along the seawall, wind tearing across my skin, bracing and briny. The salt air does little to cool the wildfire crawling under my skin. Every breath only reminds me of her—her scent, her voice, the imprint of her body under my hands. Distance is supposed to help, to put space between need and impulse. Instead, it only amplifies the ache, making my knuckles tighten around the wheel. My instincts aren’t quiet. They’re roaring, primal and possessive, demanding I turn back, haul her against me, and make damn sure she never forgets who she belongs to. And worse—who I belong to now.
Ragged grasses and a whisper of salt-heavy wind surround a windswept slab of concrete that juts out toward the sea like the edge of the world; the lookout point remains deserted. I roll to a slow stop; the headlights catching a flicker of sea spray before I cut the engine. Silence floods in, thick and expectant. Above, the moon hangs full and merciless, casting a glow so bright it turns the ocean into a roiling expanse of molten silver, broken only by the jagged rise of black rocks and the restless hiss of tide against shore. It’s a place for confessions—quiet, wild ones whispered to the dark.
I don’t summon the wolf—not tonight. It’s not that kind of need. The animal presence inside me is already awake, prowling just beneath my skin, restless and keyed-up. Not because it needs freedom, but because it’s focused entirely on Maggie. Her safety. Her scent. That unmistakable pull of belonging. It’s instinct sharpened to a blade, a territorial compulsion that vibrates through every muscle and tendon. Not freedom. Possession. Protection. That soul-deep loyalty only my kind knows, fierce and ancient and absolute.
But it isn’t just the need to protect that has me bracing both hands on the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to the moment. It’s the raw ache of something deeper—something with roots and claws and no off switch. Love, not the clean kind that looks good on paper, but the feral kind that tangles around your ribs and refuses to let go. It slowly, then suddenly, overtakes me, etching itself into my bones. And it isn’t just love for Maggie—it’s the terrifying realization that I need her. That she sees past the soldier, past the control, and loves what she finds. That she can strip me bare with a look and make me want to be undone. And that? That kind of surrender? It’s more dangerous than any enemy I’ve ever faced.
“You look like hell,” Kari drawls, her boots crunching against the gravel with a dramatic lack of stealth that’s probably on purpose. “You brooding, or just rehearsing your tortured hero monologue?”
I don’t flinch, but I do grin and continue to stare out at the ocean. “When did you get so sneaky?”
“I was born sneaky, and when I’m checking on my big brother after he marks my best friend for life, I’m especially sneaky.”
I drag a hand down my face. “She should hate me.”
Kari gets in the truck, sitting beside me with her arms folded. “But she doesn’t. Because you’re not an idiot. Well. Not entirely... at least not most of the time.”
I glance at her, eyes shadowed and serious. “I’ve loved her for years, Kari. Since before I even had words for what it meant. I just… I didn’t think I could keep her. That I’d ruin her.”
Kari’s expression softens. “You’re not scared of losing her. You’re scared she’ll finally see how much she’s always meant to you—and hold you to it.”
I look down at my hands. Calloused. Strong. Capable of building and breaking in equal measure. “I’d give her everything.”
“Then maybe stop acting like you don’t deserve it.”
We sit in silence for a long moment until my phone buzzes against my thigh. I pull it out, thumb the screen, and read the message from Gage:
They’re moving tonight. The rogue shifter pack, Granger-affiliated. Warehouse grid near the docks.
I read it twice, the message burning a hole in my gut, then drag a hand down my jaw, clenching it tight as I stare out at the endless churn of waves below. The wind slaps cold against my face, but it doesn’t cool the heat rising in my chest—heat that smells like blood, betrayal, and the promise of a fight that’s just become personal.
“Trouble?” Kari asks, watching me carefully.
“Yeah,” I say, voice low. “Gage just texted—they’re coming in tonight. We’ve got a location.” I straighten, my focus snapping back into place. “I’ll get the team and recon with Maggie. We need to get you to safety.”
“Why does Maggie get to recon, and I get shuffled off to ‘safety?’”
“Because she is my mate, and you are still my little sister.”
Kari snorts as I hang up a call with Deacon, who’s just confirmed Gage is en route to her location. “What, you’re sending me a chaperone now?” she says, arching an eyebrow with theatrical indignation. “You do realize I’m perfectly capable of handling myself—and that I once stabbed a guy with my favorite pen at a signing, right?”
* * *
Back at the loft, Maggie’s asleep on her side of the bed, the sheet tangled around her legs, her hair a chaotic halo of blonde waves across the pillow. I kneel beside her, just watching for a long minute, taking in the rise and fall of her breath, the soft crease between her eyebrows. Even in sleep, she never really lets go.
I brush a curl from her temple, fingers trailing down to her neck where the mark pulses steady and sure.
“I didn’t fall for the wolf,” I whisper against her skin. “I fell for the fire.”
My phone buzzes.
Gage: Kari is safe. Two targets confirmed. You and M take the east dock. Dalton will meet you at the pier at midnight.
I stand, already moving, already switching gears. I leave her a note, but she’s already awake by the time I grab my gear.
“We going hunting?” she asks, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
I hesitate. “I was going to let you sleep.”
She stands, crosses the room, and starts tugging on her clothes with a glare that dares me to argue. “Oh yeah, because that’ll go well. Lock me in a tower and I’ll just burn the place down. Or pick the lock. Or bribe Dalton with baked goods until he lets me out. Either way, I’m not staying behind.”
She has a point.
We move through the shadows together, just the two of us. I lead the way, with Maggie close behind. We walk silently in the sand along the dock’s edge, scenting the wind as we do.
“Anything?” I ask.
She inhales slowly. “Sweet. Rust. Blood. And… mildew?”
I grin. “Old fishing trawler two slips over. But that blood scent? That’s real.”
We creep closer, following the scent trail until it leads us straight to the rusted door of a shipping container. Maggie presses a hand to the metal, then nods.
“Someone was here recently.”
I look at her, pride flaring in my chest. “You nailed it.”
She grins. “Told you I’m a quick study.”
I step close, voice dropping. “You’re more than that, Cupcake. You’re dangerous.”
She turns her head, meeting my gaze dead-on. “Then maybe you better quit calling me Cupcake.”
“Never happen.”