19. Sloane
NINETEEN
SLOANE
Sloane rushed through the corridors of Hale Lodge in one of Ronan's oversized black t-shirts and her leggings, the fabric still carrying his cedar and spice scent that somehow made her feel both comforted and desperate to get back to him.
The lodge's warm lighting cast dancing shadows as she and Emerson moved with efficiency, knocking on guest room doors and guiding sleepy, confused visitors toward the lobby.
"Fire drill, everyone," Emerson announced with her trademark cheerful authority as she herded a family of four toward the front entrance. "I know it's late, but we conduct random safety drills to ensure everyone knows the evacuation procedures."
An elderly gentleman in a bathrobe squinted at them suspiciously. "A fire drill at eleven-thirty at night?"
"Emergencies don't follow convenient schedules, Mr. Patterson," Sloane replied smoothly, surprised by how naturally the lie came. "The randomness helps simulate what would actually happen during a real emergency."
Through the completed bond, she could feel Ronan and Kozue's fierce determination as they fought at the perimeter, their emotions blazing with protective fury.
The sensation was both reassuring and terrifying—knowing they were alive but sensing the danger they faced made her chest tight with anxiety.
Within fifteen minutes, they'd successfully evacuated all thirty-seven guests from the lodge. The group moved through the moonlit forest along a well-worn path that led to the emergency packhouse—a large, rustic building that most guests assumed was simply additional lodge facilities.
"This is quite the elaborate setup for a drill," commented a woman clutching her teenage daughter's hand.
"We take safety very seriously here at Hale Lodge," Emerson responded without missing a beat. "Better to be overprepared than caught off guard."
The packhouse was spacious and comfortable, designed specifically for situations like this.
Soft lighting illuminated cozy seating areas and a small kitchenette stocked with emergency supplies.
Most guests settled in with resigned acceptance, some even commenting on how impressed they were with the lodge's thoroughness.
Once everyone was safely inside and Emerson had distributed blankets and hot tea, Sloane pulled her aside near the entrance. Tasha sat nearby on a cushioned bench, her bruised face a stark reminder of the danger that had followed Sloane to this sanctuary.
"I need to go help Ronan and Kozue at the perimeter," Sloane said quietly, her voice calm despite the urgency thrumming through her veins.
Emerson's green eyes widened with alarm. "Absolutely not. It's not safe out there, Sloane. That's why we evacuated everyone."
"I can't just sit here while my mates are fighting for their lives," Sloane replied, surprised by how easily the word 'mates' rolled off her tongue.
The completed bond had changed something fundamental inside her—she could no longer pretend this was temporary or that she didn't belong here.
"I need to help them protect our people. "
The possessive way she said 'our people' wasn't lost on either woman. This wasn't just about Ronan and Kozue anymore. This was about the pack, the lodge, the community that had welcomed her when she had nowhere else to turn.
Tasha looked up from where she'd been listening to their exchange, her dark eyes knowing. Despite her swollen left eye, she managed a wry smile.
"I know that look," Tasha said, her voice rough but certain. "There's no talking her out of it when she gets that expression."
Emerson glanced between them, clearly torn between her protective instincts and her understanding that Sloane wasn't just any pack member—she was their Alpha and Beta's mate, and the triad bond gave her responsibilities as well as privileges.
"Go," Emerson said simply. "Go help your mates."
Sloane squeezed Emerson's hand briefly—a gesture of gratitude that said more than words could—then turned and slipped out of the packhouse before Emerson could voice any more objections.
The forest was eerily quiet as Sloane ran through the darkness toward the southern perimeter.
Her bare feet found purchase on the familiar path, her fighter's senses—sharpened by the completed mate bond—guiding her through the shadows.
Through the connection she shared with Ronan and Kozue, she could feel their fierce concentration as they fought, their wolves moving in perfect synchronization against the threat.
Hold on, she thought desperately. I'm coming.
She was halfway to the battle when two massive shapes emerged from the tree line ahead of her.
Rogue wolves, their eyes gleaming with predatory hunger as they spotted her running alone through the territory.
These weren't the organized fighters engaging the pack at the perimeter—these were scouts, sent to cut off escape routes.
For a split second, Sloane felt the familiar spike of adrenaline that had carried her through countless underground fights. But this was different. This wasn't about money or survival—this was about protecting the home she'd finally found and the family she'd claimed as her own.
The larger of the two wolves lunged first, its powerful body launching through the air toward her throat.
But instead of freezing or scrambling backward, Sloane dropped into the fighting stance Kozue and Ronan had drilled into her just hours earlier.
She feinted left, then rolled right at the last second, using the wolf's momentum against it exactly as her mates had taught her.
The rogue sailed past her and crashed into a tree trunk with a satisfying thud. Before it could recover, Sloane was already moving toward the second wolf, which had hesitated, clearly surprised that their human prey knew how to fight them.
That hesitation will cost you, Sloane thought grimly.
She launched herself onto the second wolf's back, wrapping her arms around its thick neck just as she'd practiced with Ronan's wolf.
The animal bucked and thrashed, trying to throw her off, but Sloane held on with grim determination.
Years of underground fighting had given her the grip strength and body control to maintain her position even as the wolf spun in frantic circles.
The first wolf had recovered and was charging toward them again so Sloane had to act quickly.
Using the technique Kozue had demonstrated, she twisted sharply and felt the sickening crack as the wolf beneath her went limp.
Its neck snapped cleanly, and the massive body collapsed to the forest floor.
She rolled away from the dead rogue just as its companion skidded to a halt, its yellow eyes wide with shock.
Clearly, none of them had expected a human woman to kill a full-grown wolf with her bare hands.
Good, Sloane thought fiercely. Underestimate me. It'll be the last mistake you make.
The surviving wolf circled her warily now, its predatory confidence replaced by cautious respect.
Sloane kept her stance low and balanced, her hazel eyes tracking every movement as she prepared to spring forward and finish this fight.
But just as she tensed to attack, something sharp pricked the side of her neck.
Her hand flew up instinctively, her fingers closing around a small dart that had embedded itself in her skin.
No, no, no.
Her vision blurred almost immediately as whatever sedative was pumping through her system began to take effect. She stumbled backward, her carefully maintained fighting stance dissolving as her legs turned to jelly beneath her.
Through the growing haze, she saw a tall figure step out from behind a cluster of pine trees.
Even with her compromised vision, she could make out his imposing build and the ice-blue eyes that seemed to glow in the moonlight.
There was something coldly patient about the way he watched her struggle against the tranquilizer, like a predator who'd been planning this moment for a very long time.
Her knees buckled, and she hit the forest floor hard, the impact jarring through her rapidly numbing body.
The surviving rogue wolf approached cautiously, but the tall man waved it away with a casual gesture that spoke of absolute authority.
Through the completed mate bond, she could feel Ronan and Kozue's sudden spike of alarm as they sensed her distress.
But they were too far away, too engaged in their own battles to reach her in time.
I'm sorry, she thought desperately as darkness closed in around the edges of her vision. I'm so sorry I couldn't protect what we built.
Consciousness crept back to Sloane in waves, each one bringing a fresh assault of sensory information that her drugged mind struggled to process.
The first thing she noticed was warmth—not the gentle warmth of Ronan's arms or the cozy embrace of Hale Lodge, but something artificial and oppressive that seemed to press against her skin like a physical weight.
Her eyelids felt impossibly heavy as she forced them open, blinking against the golden glow that filled her vision.
Slowly, the world came into focus, revealing a living space so lavishly appointed it bordered on the obscene.
Massive oil paintings in gilded frames dominated walls paneled in what looked like genuine mahogany.
Crystal chandeliers cast dancing shadows across furniture that probably cost more than most people earned in a year.
The fireplace before her was large enough to roast an entire elk, flames crackling behind an ornate brass screen that gleamed like polished gold.