Chapter 5
Rennick
Icatch them both.
The baby first—small, warm, screaming like the sound itself might be the only thing sustaining her.
Seren’s daughter, Ivey, the one I’d formally met for the first time this morning, fits awkwardly against my palm and forearm, fragile in a way that makes me overly aware of the strength of my grip.
I’ve barely just secured her when Noa starts to go down.
She doesn’t try to fight it. Can’t. Not when she’s used the last of her energy to make sure the baby is safe.
Because that’s who she is—someone who guards others without thought for herself, even if her own body is threatening to hit the dirt.
I won’t let that happen.
With my free arm, I hook her around the waist and take the full force of her dead weight.
She sags into my bare chest, head lolling limply back, hair a tangled mess of sweat, dry leaves, and pine needles.
I look between her and the baby—one deathly silent, the other beyond consolation—and my mind works out the only problem that matters right now: how to keep them both safe while getting the hell out of here.
Taking the baby back first and coming back for Noa is out of the question.
Even if there wasn’t the possibility of more dark forces lurking in the trees, leaving her behind under any circumstance—even just momentarily—isn’t an option.
Not when every part of me refuses to let her be out of my reach again.
My wolf is snarling, demanding that I shift and let him take them both.
As if he thinks teeth and claws are capable of carrying them safely.
But fangs can’t cradle an infant or my delicate mate. I need my arms for this.
After one last sharp glance around my surroundings, I adjust my hold on the baby before awkwardly crouching and easing Noa’s stomach over my shoulder.
I hate this hold. It’s not the way I want to carry her, but it’s the only one that leaves me an arm free for Ivey.
It denies me the reassurance of being able to watch her face, tracking every twitch of her expression even while she’s out, and feeling her chest rise and fall against mine.
Precious cargo in hand, I make my way back toward Noa’s manor with deliberate silence.
Every one of my muscles are coiled, senses tuned for the snap of a twig or the slightest shift in the air.
I don’t know what I’ll be walking back into when I reach Ashvale—how much has been lost, or who’s still standing to defend it.
My wolf’s protective instincts infuse with my own overactive ones and demand I bring them home—to my home—far away from this ruin.
I fight the pull, but it’s there with every step and hard to ignore.
I want Noa in my territory, want her scent permeating the air of my house. My room. My bed.
Not yet, I remind myself.
The closer I get to the edge of the tree line, the shift in sound and energy tells its own story.
The clash of bodies, the battle cries, the screams. Gone.
In their place come sharp commands, the yips and barks of wolves running the town’s perimeter.
Voices call for healers, shouting names as they account for their coven members and packmates.
It hits me. We’re in the aftermath. The cleanup.
The Craddock Pack and the Ashvale Coven won and for now, the enemy is gone or dead.
Relief tries to take root, but my body doesn’t loosen. The adrenaline and fear that sliced through me when I’d first heard Noa’s pleas for help still haunt me. Their grip is relentless.
Walking through the open gate of her backyard, I note that the smoke coming from the open hatch has changed color.
No longer is there an active fire blazing below.
I don’t give myself more than a moment to ponder how it’s already been extinguished.
My protective alpha impulses driving me to get Noa and Ivey out of the open are overriding everything else.
I’m halfway to the house when movement on the opposite side of the yard catches my eye. My muscles tense, preparing to spill more blood, but at the sight of wolves jumping the iron fence and cutting through the raised garden beds and hedges, I relax.
Leading them is a cream-colored she-wolf. The fur around her left shoulder is matted and drenched in fresh blood. Her gait is uneven, each step clearly causing her immense pain, but she doesn’t let it slow her down. Behind her are three wolves I know well.
Canaan, Rhosyn, and Sigrid.
Knowing his pack members are alive, my wolf releases a breath within me.
The she-wolf barely slows and shifts mid-run. She stumbles as her paws give way to bare feet.
Seren is human again before she reaches me, her panicked blue eyes locked on the screaming bundle in my arms.
“Ivey.” her voice cracks, the name catching in her throat, as she takes her daughter from me. Her hands shake and her face grimaces, the injury—a stab wound by the looks of it—straining from the weight of the baby. Still, she holds her child tight.
Both hands now free, I waste no time adjusting Noa.
Finally, I bring her down to my chest where she belongs.
Her frame is slight in my arms and yet it’s heavy enough to be the center of my gravity.
I drop my forehead to hers for a moment and breathe her in, savoring the scent that led me to her, even if it’s still cloyed with bitter fear.
Seren retreats a step, clutching Ivey to her bare chest as she does her best to console her. She looks at Noa for a heartbeat, quickly analyzing her best friend, and then moves back to me.
Her eyes lock with mine and hold.
“Thank you,” she whispers, voice tight as she fights to keep herself together.
My head shakes. “All I did was carry them out. Noa’s the one who kept your daughter safe until I could get there.”
Seren swallows hard, presses another lingering kiss to Ivey’s blonde head before nodding at me once. With that, she turns around and makes her way toward the glassed-in sunroom that sits at the back of the house.
Canaan and Rhosyn shift back just as Noa’s best friend disappears through the open door.
Both give me a quick once-over, and I do the same to them.
Bruises and scrapes are the only visible injuries I can detect.
Both things their advanced healing will take care of in no time, but their eyes are still bright, illumined by the high that comes after a fight.
My attention moves past them to the smaller light gray-and-wheat-colored omega behind them.
Siggy. She whines softly, her legs trembling beneath her as she stares at me with wide, frightened eyes.
Her wolf hasn’t relinquished control yet and probably won’t until she feels safe again.
Goddess knows when the fuck that will be.
The poor thing has been through more trauma than anyone should have to endure.
“You’re okay, Siggy,” I tell her. “We won’t let anything else happen. I promise.”
I don’t think she believes me, and right now, I can’t say I blame her.
Rhosyn turns and kneels before Siggy, murmuring something low while I look to Canaan. “What the hell happened?” I demand.
I’ve been pacing the length of Noa’s bedroom for what feels like hours, but the clock says it’s only been fifteen minutes since I carried her up. I wanted to bring her here sooner, to her own space, surrounded by the comfort of familiar scents, but the chaos outside slowed me down.
Standing in the yard, I’d listened as ten different people—some from the Ashvale Coven others from the Craddock Pack—all spoke at the same time, each giving me their recounts of the day’s events and sharing what scraps of information they had.
With what I was told, I’ve been able to forge what feels like a fairly accurate depiction of what had happened here today.
It was around the time when their voices started to all blur into a useless muddle that my instincts took over. I had turned away without a word and walked inside the manor, and I didn’t stop until I reached Noa’s attic-level bedroom.
Staying behind, Canaan and Rhosyn—always the ones patching up the holes I punch—had jumped in as I turned my back, explaining to the group where I was going and why. The why being the unconscious woman in my arms.
Now, every few steps I take I look back at Noa on her bed. Still lost to this world and too pale for my liking.
My fingers itch to strip the filthy clothes from her, to make her more comfortable, but I hold myself back.
She’s been through enough without waking to find me undressing her while she’s defenseless.
I’m also very cognizant of the fact we’re not there yet.
The ambiguity of where our relationship, or lack thereof, stills my hand.
The familiar hoodie she’s wearing should be a small comfort.
It’s the one I left on her porch this morning before forcing myself to leave her.
Noa had tried to give it back, and I couldn’t stomach taking it.
I liked the thought of her being wrapped in my scent, of her entwining it into the blankets and pillows on her bed.
Her unofficial nest. Now, my scent has been washed away from the green fabric, smothered under mud mixed with the acrid bite of dread and blood.
Blood I now know belonged to Lowri Craddock.
My jaw locks, and as I’ve done countless times today, I make another silent promise…I’ll replace it. I’ll give her a new sweatshirt, or ten, or however fucking many Noa wants. At any given moment, I would peel the clothes off my back if she merely asked for them.
I drag a hand through my hair, the weight of this whole damn day pressing down.