2. Raphael #2
The leaves were just beginning to turn, gold edging the green, the first hints of autumn creeping into the mountains.
In another life, I might have found it beautiful.
Might have brought her here for a weekend away from the hotel, shown her the hidden places where wolves ran and the stars shone brighter than anywhere else in the world.
The hotel. Max would have wolves stationed there within hours of the kill order going out, waiting for us to be foolish enough to go home. Lena’s legacy, her family’s rebuilt empire, held hostage. Going back meant walking into a trap. One more thing I had cost her.
In this life, I was too busy watching for threats.
Lena sat in the passenger seat, her bag in her lap, her eyes fixed on the passing trees. She had not said much since we left the cabin. Neither had I. The bond hummed between us, a constant connection that made words unnecessary.
I could feel her emotions like a second heartbeat. Her determination, bright and steady. Her fear, carefully controlled but present underneath like water flowing beneath ice. Her love, steady and warm, a constant pressure against my chest that I did not know how to accept.
She should hate me.
I had destroyed her life. Trapped her with a debt that was never real.
Forced her into a contract that stripped away her choices.
Made her sign her body over to me, her virginity, her freedom.
And then, when she had finally begun to trust me, when she had said the words I had never expected to hear, I had pushed her away with cruelty I did not feel.
She knew the truth now. Knew about the kill-or-marry ultimatum that had forced my hand. Knew about both punishments, the claw marks from my first defiance and the knife wounds from my second, the prices I had paid for choosing her over my pack.
She should hate me.
She loved me instead.
I did not understand it. My wound screamed that it was impossible, that love always ended in destruction, that everyone I cared for either died or left.
My father had loved my mother, and he had killed her.
Shifted in a rage and torn her apart while I hid in the closet, three years old and too terrified to scream.
My grandfather, and he had abandoned me at the first opportunity, thrown me away like trash.
Love was not salvation. Love was the knife that carved you open.
But Lena was still here. Still reaching for my hand when everything threatened to pull me under. Still pushing her determination into my awareness when I expected hatred.
My wolf rumbled, low and content.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel until the fresh scars on my chest ached with every breath. Everything I had built in the pack was gone. My Vor status. My position. My place in the only family I had ever known.
The Bratva had taken me in when my grandfather threw me away. Had given me purpose when I had none. Had taught me to be something other than the monster my father had been. For twelve years, they had been my brothers, my pack, my home.
And I had thrown it all away for her.
I would do it again. That was the terrifying part. If I had to choose between the pack and Lena, I would choose her every single time. Without hesitation. Without regret.
She was worth more than all of it.
“Stop.”
Her voice was quiet, but it cut through my spiral like a blade. I glanced at her.
“Stop what?”
“I can feel you spiraling.” She turned in her seat, fixing me with those steady blue eyes. “Listing everything you’ve lost. Every mistake. Every road not taken.”
I did not deny it. There was no point. The bond made hiding impossible.
“I know what you’ve sacrificed,” she continued. “Your rank. Your pack. Your entire life as you knew it.” She reached over and put her hand on my arm, her touch warm through the fabric of my shirt. “I know what it cost you. And I know you think I should hate you for it.”
A muscle worked in my cheek. “You should.”
“Maybe.” Her thumb traced a small circle on my arm, a gentle motion that sent warmth spreading through my chest despite everything. “But I don’t. And you need to stop expecting me to.”
She pushed back, not with words but with emotion. Her love, fierce and stubborn and absolute. Her refusal to let me drown alone. Her determination to stand beside me whatever lay ahead.
It did not erase the weight on my chest. It did not silence the voice in my head that whispered I would destroy her eventually, the way my father had destroyed my mother.
But it made me want to be worthy of her. Made me want to fight instead of surrender.
“Viktor has a plan,” I said. “We get to the second location. We hear him out. We find a way to end this.”
“And if we can’t?”
“Then I’ll die keeping you alive,” I said. “And I won’t regret a single moment of it.”
Her eyes softened. Her love swelled against my mind, wrapping around me like arms around a drowning man.
“You’re not dying for me,” she said quietly. “You’re living for me. There’s a difference.”
I did not know how to respond to that. So I just drove, the mountains rising around us, the road narrowing to a thread between the trees. The air grew colder as we climbed, the first hint of autumn sharpening the breeze that slipped through the vents.
Somewhere behind us, wolves were hunting. Her half-brother was out there, wounded and dangerous, planning his next move. The pack wanted us dead. Viktor was running too, risking everything on a plan he had not yet explained.
But Lena was beside me. Her hand on my arm. Her scent filling the car, apples and cream and the warm honey of her love. The bond thrumming between us, alive and insistent.
And I would fight for that.
I would fight for her.
No matter what it cost me.