Chapter 21
Alexandria
For a moment I don’t know where I am. I blink, once, twice, the room still shadowed around me—and then I realize, with a little jump in my chest.
I’m not alone.
I’m wrapped around something warm. Solid. Alive.
The memory of last night hits all at once, and that little spot on the back of my neck tingles.
He did that.
He said it’s his claiming mark, and it would always be there, to show other shifters I’m his.
It seems incredible, but it feels right—like it’s what I wanted all along.
His arm tightens instinctively, pulling me closer. My face presses into his chest and I breathe him in—that exciting woodsmoke, clean-skin scent of his.
I give a soft sigh.
We must have slept like this all night.
I haven’t slept like this in years—no restless waking, no tension sitting under my skin. Just… this.
Warmth. Weight. Him.
My eyes drift closed again, my body already sinking back toward sleep—
Bang.
A knock on the door. My eyes fly open.
Gunnar’s chest expands under my cheek. He’s awake now, too.
“Yeah?” he calls, voice rough with sleep.
The door cracks open and Torin’s head appears.
When he sees me, he does a double take. “Oh—good morning,” he says. “Didn’t realize you were… busy.” A beat. “Sorry. Problem.”
Gunnar’s body tenses. “What is it?” he demands.
“Orson’s gone and sacrificed himself to the rival clan.” Torin rolls his eyes. “Guess he thought it was the best idea.”
“What?”
Torin takes a breath. “He called. Said they’re ready to broker peace with you. But he sounded… off.”
“Off how?”
Torin frowns. “I don’t know. Like he was reading from a script.”
“Fuck.” Gunnar’s voice drops.
He disentangles himself from me and sits up, running a hand over his face.
“We’d better go,” he says.
Torin nods. “Right.”
He withdraws, pulling the door shut behind him.
I push myself upright, clutching the blanket around me. “What does this mean?”
Gunnar lets out a rough breath.
“It means my younger brother, with all good intentions, has gone and done something spectacularly dumb.” He swings his legs off the bed, then pauses, shoulders tight.
“They’re a cunning bunch of assholes. I don’t believe for a moment they want to broker peace.
They want blood. But not Orson’s. They could have killed him already, and they didn’t. ”
He looks back at me.
“This is bad, isn’t it?” I whisper.
“It is.”
He scrubs a hand over his face again—and then his gaze drops.
His eyes trail over me—down to my bare breasts exposed above the comforter—and back up again.
“Two minutes,” he says.
Then he slides back in beside me, pulling me into his arms.
He kisses me, long and deep, his hands moving through my hair, over my body.
“How did you sleep, my precious?”
“Perfectly,” I say.
He lifts my hair from my shoulder and inspects the mark. It’s still a little tender to his touch.
“It tingles,” I say.
He makes a pleased sound. “That’ll happen when we’re close,” he says. “It’s the mate bond.”
“Really?” I say. “I like that.”
He lets out a groan. “Okay, I should go,” he says.
But he doesn’t move.
He’s poised over me, like he’s barely containing himself.
Desire flares through my body.
“Two more minutes,” I say.
I spread my legs, hook my ankles around his hips.
“Two minutes,” I whisper against his jaw.
He’s already there, pushing at my entrance.
“So wet,” he mutters.
I can feel it—how ready I am for him.
He pushes into me. It’s easier this time since I’m no longer a virgin.
One long thrust and my whole body lights up, needing him deep inside me, needing him to claim me again.
His hand comes up to the back of my neck, keeping me right where he wants me.
“Alexandria,” he says, low and rough.
I hold on to him as the feeling builds, more intense this time, my body pulling him deeper, refusing to let him go.
He’s mine.
He made me his.
I make eggs in the kitchen while the guys rush around. The pan hisses softly as I flip them—three each for the guys because I sense they’re gonna need the energy. Behind me, Gunnar and Torin move around the kitchen, their voices calm, focused on logistics.
But I can feel it.
The tension under everything.
The urgency.
Their unwillingness to abandon Orson, no matter how difficult he is.
We’re halfway through breakfast when Torin’s phone rings.
He hits speaker.
“Torin! It’s a trap. Don’t come!” Orson’s voice blasts through the kitchen, wild, panicked.
“Slow down,” Torin says. “What do you mean?”
Gunnar is already on his feet, hunched over the phone.
“They told me I was special!” Orson’s voice cracks. “They said it wasn’t necessary—that I didn’t have to—”
“Orson,” Gunnar cuts in. “Focus.”
There’s a ragged breath on the other end.
“I went there yesterday,” Orson says. “Told them I’d do it. Pay the blood debt. I was ready to sacrifice myself. But they didn’t—They didn’t want it. They fed me, got me drunk—said you never appreciated me, that I deserved better. They treated me like a king—”
Gunnar’s jaw tightens. “And then?”
Silence.
Then—
“I told them Gunnar doesn’t want me around anymore because he’s got a new mate—a human mate. They asked me where she came from, and I told them about her.”
The words drop into the room like a stone.
Gunnar goes completely still. “What. Did. You. Tell. Them?”
His voice is very quiet now.
“Just—that she’s human. That she’s with you. I don’t remember what else—” Orson’s breathing is uneven. “They showed me a picture. Asked if it was her. It was real blurry. Then they made me call you. Told me to get you to come. To keep her alive. But don’t—”
The line cuts.
“For fuck’s sake!”
Gunnar’s roar fills the kitchen.
For a split second, I see it—the bone structure of his face threatening to change, something wild pushing to the surface.
He turns away sharply, gripping the edge of the sink. There’s a faint rise of fur along his forearms.
My stomach drops.
When Gunnar turns back, he looks controlled again—but only just.
“How do they have a picture of Alexandria?” he demands, rage flashing in his eyes.
“The mafia must’ve got to them,” Torin says. “Paid them a visit already.”
“But why?” I say.
“Because they’re goddamn mercenaries,” Gunnar snaps, anger pouring off him in waves. “Fucking Orson. Dumb prick.”
Torin’s expression darkens. “Still doesn’t explain the photo.”
Then Gunnar goes still.
“The parking garage.”
I look between them. “What?”
“The night you witnessed the shooting,” Gunnar says grimly. “There would’ve been cameras everywhere.”
Torin nods slowly. “If the mafia got hold of the footage, they could’ve pulled stills from it. Sent them to the rival clan asking if they’d seen you.”
A sick feeling twists through my stomach.
“They’ve been looking for me this whole time,” I whisper.
Gunnar’s jaw tightens. “Yeah.” His eyes flash. “And now they know exactly where you are.” He paces, dragging a hand through his hair. “They’ll come here. They’ll bring the mafia here.”
Torin exhales slowly. “We can’t stay here.”
The words hang in the air.
“What the hell are we going to do?” Gunnar says. “Go hide somewhere else?”
There’s a long silence.
“Let’s think this through,” Torin says at last. “They’re trying to get Orson to bring us to them. Right?”
“Right.” Gunnar is already moving again, pacing the length of the kitchen, feet storming on the tile.
“And they want us to come,” Gunnar says. “Because they know we’ll bring her.”
His gaze cuts to me.
Something in it shifts—brief, unguarded—before it’s gone again.
“They know we won’t leave her unprotected.”
“But what’s their endgame?” Torin asks.
Gunnar drags a hand over his face, thinking it through as he speaks. “They want leverage. They want to hand her over to the Russians and make themselves useful.”
Torin nods once. “Yeah.”
“They’re not coming here,” Gunnar goes on. “If they were, they’d already be on the road. They want us to walk in.”
Silence stretches.
“But if we don’t, they’ll be here eventually. The whole darn clan,” Torin growls.
I can hear the logic clicking into place for them both.
Gunnar stops dead.
“I’ve got it.”
He turns to me. “Alexandria. Go pack your things.”
I blink. “You want to tell me what the plan is?”
“We’re not leaving you here.” His voice is flat, final. “Not for a second. And I’m not handing you over to them.”
He gestures sharply toward the hallway. “There’s a cabin. Deep in the forest. Small. Hard to find. You stay there. A few days, max. We deal with this, then I come back.”
He and Torin exchange a look—quick, loaded.
“I’ll leave you a phone. Battery pack.”
I understand: for if he doesn’t come back.
“No,” I say.
“I’m coming with you.”
Gunnar’s head snaps toward me. “No. It’s too dangerous.”
“I’m your mate,” I shoot back. “You don’t get to leave me behind.”
I don’t know if that’s a rule.
It feels like one.
And I already know what it feels like to be away from him. The wrongness of it. The sharp pull in my chest.
Gunnar stares at me, his expression tightening. “We could get killed.”
“What if we don’t go?” I say. “What if we just go someplace else. Start over?”
He shakes his head immediately. “That won’t hold. They’ll find us.”
His jaw sets.
“And Orson—” He cuts himself off, then finishes anyway. “They’ll break him if they have to.”
I swallow. “Then we don’t leave him.”
Torin pushes to his feet. “He’s gone too far this time. We should leave him to deal with his own shit.”
Gunnar exhales hard. “He’s done enough damage already.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But you’re still going after him.”
He doesn’t argue with that.
Because he can’t.
“Which means I’m coming,” I add.
Torin lets out a quiet breath. “This isn’t something you walk away from halfway through,” he says. “If we go, we go all in.”
“I know.”
Gunnar studies me. “We might not come back from this.”
I push back from the counter and square up to him.
“Then we don’t come back,” I say.
My voice doesn’t shake.
Not even a little.
Something has shifted in me, and I can feel it as I speak—clear, strong, locked in.
The last few days, everything that’s happened, everything that’s changed—
I’m not the same person who walked into that lodge.
“I’m not staying behind,” I say.
Gunnar holds my gaze for a long second.
“Alright,” he says at last.
“Then you stay with me.”
He steps in close.
For a second, it looks like he’s going to say something else—but instead, his hand comes up, brushing gently over the mark at my neck.
A faint pulse answers the touch.
His eyes darken as he pulls me into him, arms wrapping around me, holding me there for a long beat.
Mine.
He doesn’t say it.
He doesn’t have to.