Chapter 20
JAX
Her breathing is wrong.
I’m lying next to her in the dark, staring at the ceiling beams where the shadows cling like bats.
Miranda is curled on her side, facing away from me, the blanket pulled up to her ear.
She’s mimicking the rhythm of sleep—long, slow inhalations, steady exhalations—but it’s not working the way she wants it to be.
Her heart is beating too fast. It’s a frantic, staccato rhythm against her ribs. And the scent coming off her isn't the heavy, sweet musk of sleep. It’s salt. Sharp, acrid anxiety.
And underneath that, the cold steel smell of the knife I gave her. She’s gripping it under the pillow.
"Stop pretending," I say. My voice is rough, scraping against the silence.
She stiffens. The rhythm of her breathing hitches, then speeds up.
"I don't know what you mean," she whispers, her voice tight.
"You're awake. Your heart is hammering like a trapped bird. And you're planning on walking out that door the second I drift off."
I sit up, the mattress groaning under my weight. I reach out and grab her shoulder, rolling her onto her back. She resists for a split second, then goes limp.
In the dim light filtering through the shutters, I see her face. Her eyes are wet. Tears are tracking hot, silver lines into her hair.
"It’s the only way, Jax," she says, the words spilling out in a rush. "I ran the numbers. I looked at the variables. If I stay, they burn this place down with you inside it. If I leave... the target moves. The siege ends."
"The siege ends because you’ll be dead," I growl.
"Better me than you," she chokes out. "Better me than the Pack. I brought this here. I’m the anomaly. I have to fix the equation."
"You ain't an equation," I snarl.
I loom over her, pinning her to the mattress with my body weight. I trap her wrists—one hand still clutching the knife—against the pillow.
"You think you're saving me?" I demand, bringing my face down until I’m breathing her air. "You think walking into Matilde’s slaughterhouse is a kindness? If you die, Miranda, the Wolf goes mad. I will tear this parish apart until they put me down like a rabid dog. Is that the fix you want?"
She stares up at me, her violet eyes wide and swimming with tears. "You can't die for me, Jax. You're the Alpha. You have people who need you. I’m just... I’m just a spare part."
"You're my Mate!" I roar. The volume shakes the dust from the rafters. "You are the blood of Silver. You are the only thing in this world that matters."
She breaks. A sob tears out of her throat, raw and ugly. "I can't bear it. I can't watch you bleed for me. Please, Jax. Let me go."
"No."
"Please."
"Never," I vow. The word is a heavy iron lock snapping shut. "Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever. You walk out that door, I walk with you. We fight together, or we die together. There is no Version B."
She cries then, her body shaking with the force of it. It kills me. It feels like someone is taking a serrated blade to my gut. I hate seeing her weak, but I’d rather have her crying in my arms than bleeding on Matilde’s altar.
I lie down, pulling her against my chest. I wrap my arms tightly around her, caging her in. I bury my face in her hair, inhaling the scent of rain and salt.
"I got you," I murmur into her ear. "I promise. I’ll be here when the sun comes up. Nobody touches you."
She clutches my shirt, her fingers digging into my skin. Eventually, the sobbing slows. Her breathing evens out. Her heart rate drops.
She sleeps.
I don't.
I wait until her weight is heavy and dead against me. Then, I carefully untangle myself. I slide out of the bed, silent as smoke.
I grab my boots. I grab the shotgun.
I check the door. I slide a third bolt home—one I installed months ago for hurricane season. Then I jam a chair under the knob.
She ain't leaving. And nothing is getting in.
I slip out the back window, dropping onto the muddy ground below the cabin.
The night is suffocating. The storm has passed, but it left behind a thick, cloying fog that clings to the water.
I move across the clearing.
"Remy," I say. I don't shout. I don't have to.
A shadow detaches itself from the cypress trees. My Beta steps into the moonlight. He looks like hell—mud-caked, eyes red-rimmed. He’s squinting, shielding his eyes against the distant glow coming from the levee.
"They turned the lights on," Remy spits. "UV floodlights. High wattage. It burns, Jax. The boys can't get within three hundred yards of the trucks without going blind."
I look toward the east. The fog is glowing a sickly, bruised purple.
"They’re blinding us before the push," I say.
"The Pack is restless," Remy warns. "They want to attack, but they can't see. And they’re still asking why. Why we’re dying for a stranger."
"She ain't a stranger," I say. "It’s time, Remy."
I turn to him. "Tell them."
"Tell them what? Her being your mate?"
"Tell the Elders. Tell the Pack." I take a breath, the humid air filling my lungs. "Tell them she is Silver’s pup. Tell them the Enforcer didn't die for nothing. He died saving the heir."
Remy freezes. His jaw drops. "Jax... putain. Are you sure?"
"She has the eyes," I say. "She has the strength. And she’s my Mate. Tell them that if they want to honor the old ways, they stand with me. If they want to spit on Silver’s grave, they can stand aside."
Remy nods slowly. A grin splits his face, sharp and wolfish. "Silver’s blood. That changes the game. The old ones... they’ll fight God himself for Silver’s kin."
"Good. Because we might have to."
I step back, feeling the Wolf clawing at my throat. He wants to speak. He wants to claim.
I angle my head back.
The howl rips out of me. It starts low, a rumble in the chest, and climbs to a terrifying, resonant shriek that cuts through the fog and the UV glare. It is a decree.
She is Mine. She is Pack. Protect the Blood.
I hear the answer almost instantly. Howls rise from the deep swamp. Not just Remy’s squad. All of them. It’s a chorus of acceptance and rage.
Remy looks at me, his eyes glowing. "They heard you."
"When are they coming?" I ask.
Remy’s face falls. "We intercepted a radio transmission. Gregor is moving his heavy units into position now. But they won't breach the perimeter tonight."
"Why not?"
"They’re waiting for the Longest Night," Remy says grimly. "Tomorrow. Christmas Eve. Matilde wants the darkness. She’s strongest when the sun is furthest away."
"Damn leeches," I spit. "They need the calendar to fight."
"Get back inside, Jax. Board it up. Make it a fortress. We’ll hold the line as long as we can, but those lights... they’re gonna push us back."
I nod. I turn toward the cabin.
I spend the next three hours working. I find the stack of plywood I keep under the shed. I drag it up the stairs.
I work silently, using a hand drill instead of a hammer to minimize the noise. I cover every window. I reinforce the door frame. I turn the cabin into a wooden box.
When the sun rises, it doesn't penetrate. The cabin stays dark, lit only by the flickering gas lamp I ignite on the table.
Miranda stirs.
She sits up, gasping, her hand diving under the pillow for the knife.
"Easy," I say from the table.
She blinks, looking around the dark room. "Jax? Why is it dark? Is it night again?"
"No. It’s morning. I boarded the windows."
She swings her legs off the bed. She looks at the plywood covering the glass. She understands immediately.
"The siege," she whispers.
"The breach," I correct.
I pick up the shotgun lying on the table. It’s a Mossberg 500 pump-action. Heavy. Reliable. It kicks like a mule, but it puts a hole in anything standing in front of it.
"Come here," I say.
She walks over. She’s wearing the oversized shirt, her legs bare, her ankle wrapped in the bandage I applied yesterday.
"You know how to use a wrench," I say, holding the gun out to her. "This is just another tool. Different mechanics, same principle. Point A to Point B. I taught you how to use the knife, now, you use the gun. This is just a crash course, and everything else relies on you."
She takes it. The weight surprises her. She sags slightly, then corrects her stance, widening her feet. Good girl.
"This is the safety," I say, guiding her thumb to the switch on the top. "Red means dead. You don't touch the trigger until you're ready to destroy what’s in the sights."
"It’s heavy," she murmurs, checking the slide.
"It’s a twelve-gauge. It’s gonna hurt your shoulder when you fire. Lean into it. If you lean back, it’ll knock you on your ass."
She nods, her face pale but set in grim determination. She handles the weapon with respect, checking the chamber.
"What about the lore?" she asks, looking up at me. "Movies say wooden stakes. Garlic. Holy water. Does any of that track?"
I snort. "Garlic is a seasoning, Miranda. It just makes them smell better when you burn them."
"So stakes don't work?"
"Staking a vampire paralyzes them if you hit the heart," I explain. "But it don't kill them. To kill a Duval, you need trauma. Massive trauma. Decapitation. Fire. Sunlight."
"Sunlight," she repeats. "UV lights."
"Yeah. That’s why Gregor has the floodlights. But Matilde... she’s old. She can take a little sun. Most of the Duval are. But fire? Fire works on everything."
I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. My hand lingers on her neck.
"They’re coming, Miranda."
She looks at me, her violet eyes steady in the lamplight. "When?"
"Tomorrow," I say. "Christmas Eve. The Longest Night."
The silence stretches between us, heavy with the weight of the coming violence.
"That’s too soon," she whispers.
"Yeah," I say, my hand sliding down to grip the iron spike in my pocket. "We got twenty-four hours to get ready for the end of the world."