28. Thalric
TWENTY-EIGHT
THALRIC
Abrutal war raged inside him—the Alpha’s need to command and protect versus the mate’s need to respect and empower. The mate bond throbbed between them, amplifying her resolve.
His jaw clenched so tight it ached. “Fine.” The word was ground out. “But at the first sign of danger, you get out. You retreat to shore. That is not a request.”
Her nod was quick, accepting his terms but not his fear.
Thalric didn’t wait any longer. He was already moving, stripping off his jacket as he strode into the corridor, Kaelen and Navira at his heels. The elegant dining room, the uneaten food, the planned strategies—all of it was forgotten. The night had teeth, and they were running straight toward them.
They moved through the corridors like a current of violence, Thalric’s strides long and predatory, Kaelen a silent shadow at his side, Navira’s footfalls swift and sure just behind them. The elegant halls of the estate blurred into a tunnel of polished wood and stone leading to the night.
As soon as they hit the terrace, the cool night air wrapped around them, charged with salt and imminent bloodshed.
In any other circumstance, the sight that followed would have stopped Thalric’s heart and sent him back to his chambers with a different kind of hunger.
As he tore at his clothes, he saw Navira’s hands fly to the hem of her coral sundress.
She yanked it up and over her head in one fluid motion, discarding it on the pale stone like a discarded promise.
She stood there for a split second in the moonlight, clad only in her bra and panties, her athletic form a sculpture of lean power and fierce grace.
His wolf surged, a possessive roar vibrating in his chest.
Mine.
But the night had other plans. The scent of intrusion—of barnacle-ridden crab and predatory fish—was already fouling his water. They were in his cove. His space. His sanctuary. That was an offense that demanded immediate, brutal correction.
The shift was instantaneous, a release of primal power. His human skin dissolved into the dense grey fur of his sea wolf form. Beside him, Kaelen’s form solidified into a sleek, black sea wolf full of disciplined focus.
Thalric lunged from the terrace, a mighty arc of muscle and fury, and plunged into the pink depths of the ocean.
The warm water embraced him, but its peace was shattered.
He sensed Kaelen entering beside him, and then, a heartbeat later, the perfect, human form of his mate slicing into the water behind them.
The swim to the eastern cove was a short, focused burst. But what greeted them in the moonlit water made his wolf’s rage crystallize into cold, lethal intent.
Barnacle, shifted into his enormous armored crab form, loomed near the rocky outcrop. And Sareth, the swordfish shifter, hovered like a gleaming blade of arrogance, his streamlined body and razor-sharp snout a clear challenge.
Thalric’s wolf engaged Sareth without a sound, hoping to catch him off-guard.
But the swordfish was fast, arrogant, and clearly expecting them.
However, Thalric was built for controlled, devastating power.
He dodged the first lunge of that natural blade, his own jaws snapping for the vulnerable flank.
Kaelen’s wolf, meanwhile, slammed into Barnacle’s crab form. The impact was like stone meeting stone. The crab’s massive claw swung, but Kaelen was already moving, using precision and leverage against brute force, finding the gaps in the armor.
And Navira… she was a storm of brilliant instinct.
She didn’t try to fight the shifters directly.
She became a weapon of distraction. She swam in sudden, erratic patterns, kicking up clouds of silt, darting between Barnacle’s sluggish turns to disrupt his focus, feinting toward Sareth to pull his attention from Thalric’s lethal advance.
Her movements were masterful, unpredictable, and perfectly timed.
She was using the water itself as her ally, her Olympic-honed body a tool of beautiful, effective chaos.
Through the mate bond, he felt her fierce concentration, her calculated risk, and her exhilaration. She was in her element, and she was giving them an edge.
Because of her, Thalric landed a crushing bite on Sareth’s side, tearing through scale and muscle. Because of her, Kaelen found a moment to slam a powerful shoulder into Barnacle’s joint, forcing a pained retreat.
They were pushing them back. Winning.
Then, through the bond, a tremor—not of fear, but of hyper-alertness, a spike of imminent danger so sharp it cut through his own focus.
He turned, his wolf’s gaze scanning the dark water.
There.
A shadow that wasn’t a shadow. A shape blending seamlessly with the reef and the night—Draxen’s eel form, emerging from its perfect camouflage. It had been hidden, a silent, smiling predator waiting for the moment of opportunity. Thalric hadn’t seen it. Kaelen hadn’t seen it.
But Navira had.
Then he saw her blue eyes widen. Draxen’s sinuous, dark form thrusted, and his tail—capable of delivering a stunning, electric shock—whipped toward Thalric’s exposed neck.
And Navira moved.
She didn’t shout. She didn’t hesitate. She moved with pure instinct. She threw herself into the space between Thalric and the tail.
No.
The thought screamed through him, but it was too late.
Draxen’s tail, meant for Thalric’s neck, landed awkwardly across Navira’s shoulder and back as she intercepted it. The contact triggered the eel’s defensive shock—a violent, sudden discharge of electricity.
Her body seized. A jolt of agony echoed through the bond, followed by a terrifying, hollow silence. Her eyes, wide and alert, went blank. Her limbs stiffened, then went limp.
She was falling, unconscious, into the deep.
No.
A rage unlike anything Thalric had ever known detonated inside him. It wasn’t hot; it was cold, absolute, and merciless. His wolf forgot Sareth. It forgot Barnacle. It forgot strategy.
It saw only the eel that had hurt his mate.
He lunged at Draxen with a speed that tore the water.
His jaws found the eel’s tail where it had touched Navira.
He bit down with every ounce of alpha strength, with the crushing force of a predator who had lost everything once and would not lose it again.
He felt cartilage and muscle give way. A section of the tail ripped free.
Draxen’s sinuous form contorted in pained retreat, fleeing into the darker waters, leaving a cloud of blood and betrayal.
Thalric whirled, his gaze frantic. He saw Sareth, wounded but still arrogant, turning for another attack. But then he saw Sylar’s copper-red wolf form and two other enforcers finally arriving, intercepting the swordfish and the crab, their snarls filling the water.
Thalric didn’t stay. The battle was no longer his. The pack could handle it.
His battle was the limp, sinking form of his mate.
Time compressed into a single, desperate imperative: Get her to shore. Save her.
He swam to her, his massive wolf form gentling as he approached.
He could not carry her in his jaws like prey.
He had to carry her like the most precious thing in his world.
He nudged her body, positioning her. Then, with infinite care, he took the nape of her neck gently between his teeth, the pressure delicate, secure.
He cradled her torso with his head, his movements now fluid and urgent rather than violent.
He turned toward the shore, his wolf’s heart hammering against his ribs. Every second she was unconscious was a theft. Every breath she didn’t take was a promise broken.
She protected me.
The thought was a blade twisting in his gut. She, a human without a shifted form, had seen the danger he missed and placed herself in its path. Her bravery had been absolute. Her loyalty, even without the completed bond, had been fierce.
He would not let that act be for nothing. He would not let her light go out.
The shore beckoned, a line of pale sand under the twin moons. He swam for it, his mate secure in his grasp, his world reduced to the rhythmic pull of the water and the fragile weight in his teeth.
Hold on, he pleaded through the bond, though he knew she couldn’t hear it. Just hold on.