Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-eight
MATT
For a few, precious moments, Matt let joy burn savagely through him, filling every part of him until he thought he might burst with it.
Finally, he understood what it meant to say his mate completed him.
Jesse gave him something he couldn’t name, could only feel, and it was like nothing he’d ever known.
But after that self-indulgence, he locked it down hard. He couldn’t be distracted in this fight.
He could already feel the intruders on his territory.
His hackles were raised, and his lip kept rising in a snarl at the wrongness of it.
But he had to keep thinking, had to keep his brain working with more than the instincts coursing through him, because if he failed—if Cale won—Matt knew his pack would never submit to someone like Cale.
And if they refused to submit, they would be killed alongside him.
A shifter like Cale wouldn’t let them go.
The only one he’d leave alive would be Jesse, condemned to a life of slavery.
The pack bunched loosely behind him as he headed deep into the woods.
* * *
Matt crested the ridge and drew to a halt. The trespassers were clearly visible, washed in the light from the rising moon. A group of big wolves, maybe thirteen or fourteen of them, were waiting silently in the clearing below. In Matt’s clearing.
He stalked down the incline that led to the piece of his land they were sullying with their presence, stiff-legged and with only one thought in his mind. He would drive them away, send them fleeing with their tails between their legs so they never came back.
As he reached the edge of the glade, the gathered wolves moved, their ranks parting in eerie synchronization, and Cale prowled forward.
He was big and black, heavy with muscle but graceful with it, and the sense of wrong Matt had felt in his office crawled up his spine, sharper than ever.
Cale’s yellow eyes burned as they locked onto Matt.
And then, without warning, Cale whirled and struck, sinking his fangs into one of his own pack. The wolf yelped as Cale shook him, with teeth buried deep. When he let go, the wolf dropped to the ground, ears flat, tail tucked in absolute submission.
Cale lifted his head, blood staining his lips. He was grinning.
A low, rolling growl built in Matt’s chest, reverberating through his bones. He wouldn’t be psyched out—not by Cale’s display of dominance, not by the slavish obedience of the wolves behind him. Matt was here for Jesse.
They began to circle, Cale’s body coiled, bristling with aggression. Matt moved with him, light on his feet, keeping low, waiting for the opening.
Cale feinted, but Matt didn’t fall for it.
Then Cale snarled, a short, savage sound, and lunged. Matt met him mid-leap, and the world exploded into fur and teeth and pain. They slammed together, claws raking, the snapping of their jaws the only sound in the still summer night.
Cale twisted mid-air, going for Matt’s throat. Matt wrenched sideways—too slow. Fangs grazed his neck, sharp as razors, and a jolt of cold fear stabbed through him.
He struck back hard, teeth sinking deep into the meat of Cale’s shoulder and flooding his mouth with warm blood. Claws raked his ribs, sending lances of pain through him, sudden and vicious. He tore free with a snarl, dragging fur and flesh with him, and Cale let out a furious yelp.
As they broke apart, Matt staggered, blood slicking his side. He breathed through the pain, matching Cale’s circling, tail stiff, hackles up. This was for his pack, for Jesse. He wouldn’t let Cale get to his mate.
Cale snarled and lunged again. Matt braced, but Cale’s weight hit like a falling tree. His paws left the ground, and the earth slammed into him, knocking the breath from his lungs.
Cale’s bulk crashed down, pinning him. Claws raked his ribs again, turning pain into hot torment. Matt twisted, snarling, and drove his own claws deep into Cale’s belly. He felt the warm gush of blood, but Cale barely flinched.
His jaws closed on Matt’s throat, locking tight. Cale hadn’t reached the artery yet—Matt’s thick ruff had stopped him—but the pressure was brutal, crushing his windpipe.
He couldn’t breathe. His lungs heaved, desperate for air, and panic surged. Cale was holding on, strangling him, waiting for his moment to shift his grip and go for the kill.
Black dots swarmed in Matt’s vision as he scrabbled uselessly at the dirt. His heartbeat thundered, and Cale held on, immovable.
No. This wasn’t how it ended. Not when Jesse—
Fury surged. Matt drove upward with everything he had, pushing into the chokehold, and slashed Cale’s face hard enough to blind him. Cale reared back, snarling, blood in his eyes, and Matt tore free.
He wasn’t going to let Cale close again.
Matt fought smart, fast, darting in and out while Cale floundered, blinking blood from his eyes.
One of them was swelling shut, while the other streamed red.
Matt pressed the advantage, slicing deep and vanishing before Cale could counter.
Wound after wound, he kept moving, relentless.
Cale twisted in an attempt to follow Matt, but his strikes were slower and his aim wilder.
He was losing blood, and his balance was faltering.
Matt tore into him again, a strip at a time, until the big wolf’s legs stiffened beneath him, locked just to hold him upright.
He was growling, low and furious, but his snarls came through clenched teeth.
His lungs were laboring, his eyes nearly blind.
Matt tensed to throw himself at him, to end it, but something slammed into his side. He twisted, teeth and claws digging deep, and the wolf that attacked him whimpered and stumbled away.
That moment had been enough—four of Cale’s pack were now in Matt’s way, shielding their alpha. The rest were attacking Matt’s pack.
JESSE
Jesse stalked the hallway, his claws clicking sharp and restless against the floor. Every instinct screamed at him to move, to run, to fight—but all he could do was wait.
If Cale got through Matt’s pack and came for him, he was determined to fight so hard they’d be forced to kill him.
He couldn’t bear the sort of life Matt had outlined would be his as the pawn of power seekers, but so much worse would be living with the knowledge that Matt had died because of him.
When he’d submitted to Matt in the yard, he’d given him everything.
There was no Jesse Turner left without Matt Urban.
He turned sharply, tail flicking, muscles tight, and paced back again. Tristan was sitting upright in the doorway of Matt’s den, bushy tail curled neatly around his paws. His young face was solemn, his eyes too wide as he watched Jesse.
The seconds crawled past. They also serve who only stand and wait—he’d heard that in some old movie or something, but it didn’t make this any easier. It hurt to know the others were out there, fighting for him, and all he could do was sit here in safety.
If it even was safety. The house felt colder all of a sudden, shadows stretching too far, too still. Maybe it was adrenaline, but every instinct was screaming at him to run, not to allow himself to be trapped.
He flopped down, setting his chin on his paws, and let out a little whine of frustration and longing. He belonged at Matt’s side, fighting with him, not here, like this.
Tristan came over and licked his ear consolingly, and he huffed. It felt wrong, accepting comfort when he should be out there. But right now, he’d take it, because Tristan had offered it.
He wanted Matt. He wanted Matt like he’d never wanted anything in his life before. He wanted Matt to be safe and to come back to him.
Tristan snuffled into his fur and then lay down beside him, pressed close. Jesse raised his head and draped it over Tristan’s back, trying to provide some comfort in return. Tristan must be feeling as knotted up inside as Jesse was right now. All they could do was wait.
MATT
Matt heard a sharp sound of pain from Dave, swiftly cut off, followed by a snarl from the depths of hell that had to be Karl.
Four of them were ripping at Karl, too many even for him as he fought for his life.
Throwing himself into the fray, Matt dispatched the wolf whose jaws were locked on Karl’s right foreleg, freeing Karl to protect himself.
Matt bowled another over, his teeth slashing as he sprinted across the ground to where Dave and Christian were besieged.
The night was filled with snarls and blood. So much blood. Exhaustion was deep in every bone in Matt’s body, but he wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop, because stopping meant surrender, and that was something he would never do.
He was beginning to think this was how the world would end, in a sea of red, when the wolf he was stalking tucked his tail between his hindquarters and ran.
As the rest of them followed—those that could—Matt looked around to find Cale had disappeared.
Gone to ground, no doubt, while Matt had been fighting for his life, and those of his pack.
And now that Cale was safe, the rest of his pack was following him.
He turned to his own pack. They were still standing. Bloodied, battered, but alive. Something rushed up inside him, threatening to choke him, and it took him a moment to recognize it as relief. This wasn’t Cheyenne. There, he hadn’t been fast enough, strong enough. There, he’d failed them.
But here, they were still standing. His brave, ragtag, wonderful pack. They were bloodied and exhausted, and Karl looked to be struggling to stay on his feet, but they were unbowed. They were safe. Jesse was safe.
Pride and triumph swelled until it burst from him. He threw back his head and howled into the night, a sound of victory and joy. He didn’t even care that Cale was still alive. He’d been defeated in front of his pack. He wouldn’t return.
They started slowly back toward the house.
Christian’s fur was stiff with blood, but most of it didn’t seem to be his.
Close beside him, Dave was limping, his coat flecked with dark red spots, and he held his head high—he’d given a good accounting of himself.
Jason was evidently hurting from a long slash in his side, yet he, too, was moving with assurance and pride.
Bryce seemed to be unscathed, though Matt would be checking that later for himself.
Karl, for once in the middle of the pack rather than guarding them from the outside, was the worst hurt of them all. He was limping badly, and his breathing was short and uneven. The sooner they got back and Matt could have a look at his injuries, the happier he’d be.
As they approached the ridge marking the descent to the house, Matt took one final look around his pack in the moonlight. With a sudden fierceness, he wanted his mate. Wanted Jesse’s scent to fill his nostrils, to have Jesse beside him, for them to be running as one under the moon.
And he wanted his entire pack together. Tristan’s nose would undoubtedly be into everything they passed as he wriggled with delight at what he found, and Jesse’s coat would be shining silver, turning him into a legendary creature of ancient myth and magic.
An impression which would last right up to the moment he opened his damn stubborn mouth and picked a fight with someone.
Matt was weary to the bone. He’d lost a lot of blood, and some of his wounds would need attention before he could sleep and let his healing start its work, but despite that, joy bubbled deep inside him.
He’d known he couldn’t hold Jesse here, but Jesse had chosen to stay.
Had chosen Matt… His breathing was unsteady for a different reason as he thought about it.
About Jesse staying with him. About Jesse waiting for him right now.
Leading his pack up the ridge, he looked down the hill, toward his home and his mate. He was breathing heavily, his body aching from the fight—but when he saw it, everything stopped.
The back door. Torn wide open. Hanging from its hinges at a drunken angle.
His heart slammed once, hard.
Cale’s retreat hadn’t been surrender. He’d never needed to win the fight. Not when he’d already taken what he wanted.
Jesse.