Chapter Three
Boone
The female clutching my hand is chaos incarnate—wild, unpredictable, a fucking storm with a pulse.
That’s my first thought. Not beautiful. Not warm. Not soft. Not the impossible way her fingers lay claim to mine, possessive and desperate, like she’s drowning and I’m the only thing keeping her afloat.
Insane.
Completely, dangerously, recklessly insane.
The air is suffocating, thick with the taste of fear and the bite of tension. The only sound is the bottle hissing foam onto the ground, syrup crawling over my boot, gluing dust and leaves to the leather like blood to skin.
The female, Wren, if I caught her name right, smiles at me, brazen as a fox, like chaos is just another Tuesday. Like females walk into pack territory every day, steal a male’s hand, declare him their mate in front of an Alpha, a Luna, and three hostile Ashstone wolves.
“Hello, darling,” she says, her voice feather-light.
Darling?
My wolf lifts his head inside my chest, pricking his ears, curious despite himself, and I shove him back down. Hard.
“No,” I say.
Her smile twitches.
It’s a small twitch. The kind of thing you’d miss if you weren’t close enough to count the freckles scattered across her nose or see the bruised exhaustion smeared like soot beneath her eyes. Close enough to catch the tremor in her breath. Close enough to smell...
Nothing.
Not nothing exactly.
Her scent is wrong, all muddled and masked. Bitter herbs, road dust, fear sweat, stale coffee, pancakes—everything tangled and desperate. The barest trace of female wolf is buried so deep beneath the camouflage it slips through my senses like a ghost I can’t catch.
My wolf growls. Not at her. At whatever is hiding her from us.
I clench my jaw. No. Absolutely not. This is not my problem.
I look at Caine. “Alpha.”
Caine opens his eyes and gives me the look he usually saves for wolves who are about to make his life harder. Unfortunately, I’m not the wolf making his life harder. The female still holding my hand is.
“Boone,” Caine says carefully.
I know that tone. That’s his ‘do not make any sudden movements’ tone. I fucking hate that tone. It’s the sound that means shit’s about to go sideways, and I’m going to end up cleaning it up.
The blond wolf by the gate laughs under his breath. Dax Mercer. I know his type before anyone introduces us. Smooth coat, polished boots, and empty eyes. He smells like expensive cologne, overpriced hair gel, and pure fucking entitlement.
“That,” Dax says, pointing at our joined hands, “is not her mate.”
Wren’s grip tightens, knuckles bleaching, like she’s bracing for a blow or for the ground to give way beneath her. And there, a tremor, small and involuntary.
My gaze drops to her. Her chin is up, shoulders squared in defiance, eyes glittering reckless and fierce. But her pulse thrashes at the base of her throat, a wild bird trapped beneath her skin, desperate to break free.
She is terrified. I taste it in the air, raw and electric, a storm wound tight and ready to shatter. Something in my chest locks down, cold and unyielding.
Dax takes one step forward, and my growl rips out, raw and involuntary, echoing off the trees.
The clearing freezes around the sound. I don’t plan it.
I don’t approve it. It tears through me before thought, low and savage, enough to make the trees themselves hold their breath, leaves shivering in the hush.
Dax stops and so does everyone else. Wren goes perfectly still beside me but my wolf lunges against my ribs, teeth bared, snarling mine in a voice that’s older than language.
Mine.
The word slams through me, a brand searing itself into bone. I nearly flinch from the force of it.
No.
Not mine.
Not anything.
I don’t know this female. I don’t know why she’s running from Ashstone, why she smells like bitter herbs, or why she’s decided I’m the best shield when an Alpha is standing ten feet away.
All I know is Dax moved toward her, and every instinct I have howled to protect, violent and absolute, a promise carved into blood and bone that I never chose. And it’s damn inconvenient.
“Boone,” Caine says again.
This time there’s warning in it. I pull air through my nose, slow and controlled.
“I heard you,” I tell him.
“Did you?” Peyton asks softly.
I don’t look at my Luna. She sees too much.
Wren clears her throat. “Obviously, darling is protective.”
“If you call me darling again,” I mutter, “I swear to god, we’re going to have a fucking problem.”
Her smile flashes too bright, panic flickering beneath the surface. “Of course, sweetheart.”
My wolf makes an almost interested sound. Traitor.
Dax’s mouth twists. “This is absurd.”
“That’s one word for it,” I say. “Fucking circus is another.”
Wren elbows me. It’s not subtle and definitely not effective. She might as well elbow a boulder, my arm doesn’t even move an inch.
“Stop helping,” she whispers.
“I haven’t started.”
“Maybe don’t.”
Caine steps between the Ashstone wolves and us, reclaiming control without raising his voice. “Dax Mercer, you and your wolves will leave my territory until I call for a formal meeting.”
Dax’s stare flicks from Caine to Wren to me. “You expect Ashstone to accept this?”
“I expect Ashstone to respect Katu borders.”
“My Alpha has a signed agreement.”
“And I have a female requesting sanctuary,” Caine says. “Until I review the contract and speak with your Alpha directly, Wren stays here.”
Dax smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “With her mate?”
Wren’s palm turns clammy in mine, sweat slicking our skin. She holds on anyway. She stares straight ahead, jaw locked, eyes burning with unshed tears and something fierce and unbreakable. Brave the way a cornered wolf is ... nothing left to lose. Brave as a cornered wolf.
Ridiculous fucking female.
I should step away. I should tell the truth.
I should say she lied, that I’ve never seen her before in my life, that whatever desperate game she’s playing has nothing to do with me.
Instead, I thread my fingers through hers, slow and deliberate, staking a claim I don’t even want to name. A claim I don’t understand.
Her breath catches and so does mine. Her hand fits too well, like a key sliding into a lock I never wanted anyone to find. That is the most irritating fucking thing that has happened all fucking morning.
“Yes,” I say. The word is quiet, but the entire clearing hears it anyway.
Wren turns her head, staring up at me with wide eyes, but I refuse to look at her.
Dax’s expression goes flat. “A mating can be verified.”
“Then verify it formally,” Caine says. “Not at my gate. Not without counsel. Not while making threats in front of witnesses.”
Dax’s nostrils flare. He’s angry. Not angry enough to challenge Caine, but enough to show the truth under the polish. He doesn’t want Wren because he loves her. He wants her because she ran. Males like that can’t stand being escaped.
“We will return,” Dax says.
“I know,” Caine replies.
Dax looks at Wren. “Think carefully. Your mother remains in Ashstone.”
Wren’s fingers turn ice-cold. The clearing changes—air crackling, wolves bristling, every heartbeat tuned to violence. Every Katu wolf catches the threat. Growls rise from the wolves behind Caine, from the trees, from me. Even Peyton’s face goes hard.
My vision narrows on Dax. “You threaten her family again,” I say, “and the next thing you taste will be the dirt.”
Wren inhales sharply, the sound slicing the hush. Her fingers clench, white-knuckled.
Dax looks pleased for half a second, like my reaction proves something. Then he seems to think better of it. He gives Caine a shallow nod and turns, and his enforcers follow him back to their vehicle.
They drive away, the sound fading down the mountain road. No one moves until it’s gone. Then every eye in the clearing turns to Wren and me.
Fucking wonderful.
I release her hand, or try to, but she doesn’t let go.
I look down at her.
Her smile is gone. Without it, she looks younger, not innocent, just scraped raw. Shadows bruise the skin beneath her eyes, and there’s a jagged edge to her exhaustion that makes me ache for her, even as I hate that it gets to me.
“You can let go,” I say.
She blinks, as if she forgot she’s holding me. “Right.”
Her fingers slip from mine. The second her touch leaves, my palm burns with absence, as if I’ve just lost something I can’t get back. It feels empty. I curl it into a fist.
Caine looks at me. “We need to talk. All of us.”