Chapter 4
Two months ago…
Aidan McConnell
“I miss them,” Declan said quietly, breaking our long silence.
I turned my gaze to him, finding lines of grief etched deeply into his expression. He stared forward, eyes fixed on the cold sand of the beach ahead, jaw clenched tight.
“I do too,” I admitted, voice barely audible over the crashing waves. “Every day.”
He exhaled roughly, fingers clenching briefly into fists before releasing. “It doesn’t seem right. You know? We survived. But it feels like… I don’t know…”
“Like we left something behind,” I finished.
He nodded, shoulders sagging beneath the weight of his grief. “I keep waking up thinking I’ll see Kait’s smile, hear Lila laughing… that they’re just there, waiting for us. But then I open my eyes, and it hits me again.”
His voice broke, and my chest tightened with emotion. I swallowed past the lump in my throat, trying to stop my voice from shaking.
“Yeah,” I said softly. “I know.”
He turned toward me slightly, pain stark in his eyes. “Do you think it’ll ever get easier?”
I hesitated, searching for the right words. I wanted to say yes—to offer comfort, hope—but the truth sat heavily between us.
“I don’t know,” I finally admitted. “Maybe we just learn to live around it. Maybe it becomes a part of us, rather than something we ever get over.”
He didn’t reply, just nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the rough Irish sea. The silence between us returned, though softer now, an unspoken understanding lingering in the quiet.
We walked further along the coastline, boots leaving soft indentations behind in the sand, when a faint sound drifted toward us. I listened closely, catching raised voices cutting through the harsh whistling of the wind. I paused, exchanging a cautious glance with Declan.
“You hear that?” I murmured.
He frowned, nodding slightly. “Sounds like trouble.”
Instinctively, we quickened our pace, heading toward the voices. Rounding a rocky outcropping, we spotted several figures farther down the beach, partially concealed by tall coastal grass and rock formations.
There was a man, lean and wiry, with reddish-blond hair whipping in the breeze, standing over two other figures. He was methodically binding their wrists behind their backs. My pulse quickened, tension twisting tight in my chest.
Beside me, Declan’s breath hitched. “What do you think is going on down there?”
“No idea,” I muttered, holding up a hand. “Let’s wait here and see.”
Carefully, silently, we crouched lower, pressing closer against the rocks and moving nearer for a better view. Their conversation became clearer, voices rising above the crashing waves.
“Easy now,” the red-haired man said calmly, securing the rope around a tall, dark-haired man’s wrists. “There’s no need for dramatics, eh? The quicker you cooperate, the easier this will be for everyone.”
“You’re making a mistake,” snapped the dark-haired captive. He was English, his accent clipped and crisp, eyes narrowed dangerously. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
The other captive, broad-shouldered and strong looking, with keen, intelligent eyes, shook his head. “He’s right. Whoever hired you is playing you. We’re not your enemy.”
The captor gave a low chuckle, clearly unbothered.
“Sorry, mate. It’s nothing personal. Just doing my job.
Someone wants you—Logan Yorke—alive and unharmed.
As for you,” he gestured toward the dark-haired Englishman, “Edward Fairchild, was it? You’re just collateral damage. Wrong place, wrong time.”
Logan’s jaw tightened sharply, his voice tinged with anger. “Who hired you?”
The captor shrugged nonchalantly. “I get paid to ask very few questions. The less I know, the better.”
Edward’s voice turned cold. Even in restraints, he seemed dangerous. “You have no idea the repercussions you’re about to suffer. If you take us back to England, you’re signing your own death warrant.”
The red-haired man chuckled, unfazed. “Trust me, I’ve faced worse odds. Now, you boys relax. We’ve got a long trip ahead.”
Edward’s eyes flicked briefly toward a small boat bobbing in the distance, docked at the shoreline. His voice dropped, barely audible. “That’s a mistake. Taking him back to England—”
“Is exactly what I’m being paid to do,” their captor interrupted firmly. “And that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”
Beside me, Declan shifted uncomfortably. His voice was a whisper, tense and quiet. “Who are they?”
“No idea,” I whispered back, scanning the three figures cautiously. “But this sounds bad.”
“Think we should step in?” Declan asked, eyes locked onto the bound captives.
“Not yet,” I murmured, heart racing. “Let’s wait and watch. We don’t know enough.”
Declan nodded. I watched carefully as the red-haired man finished securing his captives. A heavy unease pooled in my chest, mixing with the grief still raw inside me. A soft drizzle began falling again, dampening our skin and mixing with the sea spray on our faces.
It happened fast, like lightning tearing open a darkened sky.
One moment, the red-haired mercenary was ushering Logan and Edward toward the waiting boat, his manner calm and composed, utterly unaware of us hidden nearby.
Then the world erupted into sheer chaos.
A savage chorus of howls shattered the silence.
From the jagged line of trees behind us came half a dozen massive feral wolf shifters, surging toward the trio at terrifying speed.
The beasts moved with that crazed, desperate hunger I knew all too well, fangs bared, claws slicing through the cold night air, muscles tensed like steel traps.
“Bloody hell!” The mercenary spun around, instinctively reaching for his weapon.
Too slow.
A feral slammed into him, knocking him to the sand with brutal force. His blade flew from his grasp, spinning across the gritty shore.
“Declan!” I snapped, my voice tight. He turned swiftly to me, eyes wide, adrenaline blazing behind them. No words were necessary. We knew what we had to do. No matter who they were, we couldn’t let the ferals tear these men apart.
“Move!” Declan roared, lunging forward with knife in hand. I surged at his side, muscles rippling, bones cracking as I shifted, fur erupting from skin in a swift explosion of power.
Declan drove forward like a storm, eyes blazing, blade flashing dangerously as he slammed into one of the ferals.
The beast snapped viciously, jaws catching air inches from Declan’s throat.
My heart lurched, fear searing my veins.
He was still relatively new to the wolf, his fury volatile and unpredictable, but he fought with a ferocity born from grief and rage.
I barreled into the fray, claws slicing through the shoulder of a second feral. It howled in pain, spinning to face me, yellow eyes glowing with pure madness. We clashed violently, bodies colliding, my jaws clamping onto its flank, teeth ripping through flesh and sinew.
To my left, Logan twisted furiously against the ropes binding his wrists, eyes wild as he fought to break free. Edward moved frantically beside him, muscles straining desperately against his own restraints.
I broke away from my own fight, charging the creature heading for Logan and Edward. My shoulder slammed into it, sending it skidding sideways through the sand. Logan used the distraction, finally wrenching his wrists free with a furious snarl. Edward tore his ropes free seconds later.
The two men exchanged a brief glance, understanding passing between them as they turned simultaneously toward the melee. Edward lunged toward a feral rushing at Logan’s back, intercepting the beast just in time.
Logan turned on his attacker, shifting rapidly into his massive black wolf form, vicious, powerful, and utterly lethal. Together, Logan and Edward threw themselves against the ferals, fighting with every ounce of strength they had.
To my right, the red-haired mercenary struggled back to his feet, lips twisted in pain. Blood dripped down his arm from a deep bite, staining the sand beneath him dark crimson.
“Damn you!” he cursed, snatching up a blade. “Jamie Buchanan is not the kind of man to get taken out by a bunch of bloody wolves!”
My gaze whipped to Declan.
He was changing again, shifting mid-fight. His form rippled violently, bones crunching audibly as his human self melted away into the enormous, muscular wolf he’d become. A terrifying sound escaped him, not human, not entirely wolf, but an echo of rage so profound it froze me to the spot.
“Declan, wait!” I called, but it was too late.
He roared and lunged, completely lost to the berserk impetus of his wolf.
Blood sprayed as he collided brutally with the nearest feral, jaws sinking deep into the beast’s throat and ripping it wide open with a single savage shake.
He spun toward another feral, eyes wild, unrecognizable in his violence.
The fight blurred into a maelstrom of chaos and desperation.
Teeth flashed, claws ripped through flesh, blood stained the sand dark beneath our feet.
Every heartbeat was life or death, each movement driven by the primal need to survive.
We fought as a single, frenzied force, Declan and me and Logan’s men battling ferociously against our attackers.
But then, an anguished cry sliced through the chaos.
My eyes snapped around to see Edward collapsing to his knees, eyes wide and stunned, a massive feral tearing its jaws from his chest. Blood surged from the deep wound, spilling out onto the ground.
My heart lurched, wrath exploding through me. With a furious snarl, Logan lunged at the feral that attacked Edward, his wolf form tearing into the creature with lethal precision. Edward sank forward, falling onto the cold sand, his breath rasping shallowly.
Jamie Buchanan surged forward, reaching Edward’s side, weapon held tight. “Hold on, mate,” he gritted, face pale. “Don’t you die here, damn you!”
The final feral went down beneath Declan’s brutality, the clearing falling abruptly silent. Declan stood amid the carnage, fur soaked with blood, chest heaving violently, the madness slowly fading from his gaze.
A chilling silence settled over the carnage-littered beach, broken only by Edward’s ragged breathing.
Logan knelt quickly at Edward’s side, pressing his hand roughly over the gaping wound in the man’s chest. Blood welled around his fingers, hot and red, slipping over Logan’s knuckles.
“Stay awake,” Logan demanded. He leaned closer, eyes fierce and urgent, anger simmering underneath. “Damn it, Edward, stay with me!”
Edward grimaced, clenching his jaw tight against the pain. “If you’re waiting for me to thank you, Yorke,” he gasped raggedly, “you’re wasting your breath.”
Jamie moved closer, knife still gripped tightly in his hand, face pale and drawn with worry. “We’ve got to stop the bleeding right now.”
Declan crouched beside Edward, hands trembling slightly as he tore strips from his tattered shirt. “Here,” he muttered roughly, “help me tie this tight. We need pressure.”
I moved in, quickly shifting back to human form, breathing hard.
“Let me see,” I said quietly, kneeling opposite Declan.
My fingers brushed against Edward’s skin, assessing the severity of the wound.
My gut twisted. It was deep. Worse than I’d hoped.
Blood continued to surge, and Edward’s skin was quickly losing color.
“He’s losing too much blood,” Logan snapped, frustration lacing his voice. He glared at Edward, his jaw tight. “Why the hell did you throw yourself into that fight anyway? You’re a guard, not a hero.”
Edward chuckled, the sound strained, coughing slightly as blood flecked his lips. “Funny coming from the shifter I was assigned to drop off. Trust me, heroics weren’t on my agenda. You’re just cargo, Yorke.”
Logan growled quietly, eyes narrowing. “I didn’t ask you to protect me.”
Jamie interjected abruptly, tension radiating from his frame. “Can we argue later? He’s going to die if we don’t do something immediately.”
Edward’s voice rasped weakly, and his eyes started to lose focus. “The mercenary is right. Yorke… take your friends, go. This isn’t your problem.”
Logan flinched visibly, his jaw tightening. “I’m not leaving you here.” He glanced up at us. “And they’re not my friends.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Edward muttered. “You don’t owe me anything.”
The tension stretched between them. It was more than animosity; it was bitterness and maybe resentment.
Edward’s breathing grew shallow, skin slick with sweat as his head lolled back slightly. “Just… let it be,” he rasped softly, voice fading.
Logan shook his head, pressing harder on Edward’s wound, desperation clear in his tense expression. “Stay awake, damn you,” he said roughly. “I’m not leaving you. You’re going to be okay.”
Declan exchanged a tight glance with me, concern darkening his eyes. “Aidan,” he said quietly. “He won’t last much longer. Not like this.”
My chest tightened, heart racing as I assessed the wound again. Edward was slipping, his pulse faint beneath my fingertips.
“There’s only one way we can save him,” I murmured firmly. I met Logan’s wary gaze. He knew exactly what I was suggesting.
“We bite him or leave him for dead.”