Chapter Six #2
Riley was still standing between Rafe and Dorian, the warmth of them bracketing her like something physical. The wall screens had dimmed after the news segment ended, but the residue of it seemed to hang in the air—an afterimage of danger that didn’t fade when the sound cut.
No one answered at first. The room was too aware of itself, too full of thought.
The Bears had gone still, broad shoulders squared, their attention already sliding into threat-assessment.
The Lions remained where they were, clustered near the far console, jaws tight, eyes still sharp with whatever recognition had seized them when the reporter’s face filled the screen.
Jamal broke the silence.
“It sounded,” he said carefully, “very much like she’s about to rip the top off the hybrid story and show the world what’s underneath.”
Riley’s stomach dipped.
Malik exhaled through his nose. “That would cause widespread panic. Hate against shifters just living their lives.”
“Not the kind of panic you can manage with press statements,” Ivan added.
Rafe shifted just enough that his arm brushed Riley’s back. She was fairly certain that it had not been an accident. A reminder that she was there, that they knew exactly how close she was to the center of this.
“What happens if she does?” Riley asked quietly.
The question felt enormous in her chest as it left her mouth. She hadn’t meant to be the one to ask it, but the silence had made it unavoidable.
Victor looked at her for a long moment before answering.
“If the public hears ‘hybrid’ without context, without control, without anyone explaining the difference between what you saw and what we are—” He stopped, jaw working.
“They won’t look for Chimera. They’ll look for shifters, or worse, children born of both shifter and human parents.
They will be the monsters that they seek.
It will effectively be the start of a civil war. ”
Her breath caught.
Dorian’s hand came to rest at her back then, warm and steady, as if he’d felt the moment she wavered. Rafe’s presence on her other side didn’t shift, but she could feel the tension in him, the quiet vigilance that was always there when something threatened the people under his protection.
“She could collapse the distinction,” Malik said. “Deliberately or not.”
“And once that line is gone,” Jamal added, “you don’t get it back.”
Riley swallowed. She could feel their bodies on either side of her, solid, unyielding. She wasn’t being held, not exactly, but they weren’t letting the space open, either. The realization was oddly comforting.
I don’t want you to , she thought, and was surprised by how true it was.
“Who is she?” Riley asked.
Malik straightened slightly, pulling away from the laptop he had been tapping on.
“Sienna Maddox. Investigative journalist based out of Seattle. Mid-thirties. Brown hair, usually worn straight, sharp-cut. Dark brown eyes. She favors tailored coats and cameras that cost more than most people’s cars.
” His mouth twitched, humorless. “She doesn’t miss much. ”
“She made her name exposing corporate black sites in South America,” Jamal said. “Followed that with a trafficking network that everyone else thought was untouchable.”
“Two years ago,” Malik continued, “she broke a story on a pharmaceutical conglomerate that had been suppressing trial deaths. The company folded. Executives went to prison. She doesn’t chase rumors. She builds cases.”
Riley felt something tighten in her chest. “So, if she says she has something...”
“Then she does,” Malik finished.
Ivan closed the tablet in his hands with a soft click. “Victor and I will look into her. Background, sources, anything she’s touched recently.”
“We’ll start tonight,” Victor said.
Jackson stepped forward from the Lions’ cluster, his brothers moving with him as one unit. “We can go to Seattle. Talk to her directly.”
The words were out before Riley had time to process what they meant. Confrontation. Proximity. The risk of turning something observational into something explosive.
Victor frowned. “Not yet.”
Ivan shook his head once. “Too early. Too visible.”
The Lions did not hide their displeasure.
Jackson’s jaw tightened. “If she’s about to blow the lid off this—”
“—then we don’t push her,” Victor cut in. “Not until we know what she actually has.”
Silence stretched, brittle.
Rafe finally spoke. “We do what we always do. We observe. We gather. We prepare.” His voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it. “We do not escalate without cause.”
The Lions didn’t argue further, but Riley saw it in the set of their shoulders, in the way Jackson’s hands curled into fists at his sides. They were predators being told to wait, and they did not like that.
“All right,” Victor said again, softer this time. “We’ve all had a day. We stand down for the night. Tomorrow, we reassess.”
One by one, the tension eased into movement. Consoles powered down. Chairs were pushed back. The room shifted from crisis to something like controlled aftermath.
Rafe’s hand found Riley’s elbow. “Come on.”
Dorian didn’t speak, but he stayed close as they left Command, guiding her toward the lifts that would take them down to the Wolves’ floor.
The ride was quiet. Not awkward. Just full.
When the doors opened onto their level, the air felt different—softer, less intense than that of the command center. The corridor lights were dimmed, the space designed for living rather than response.
They walked together without speaking until they reached the doors to their penthouse.
Inside, the world seemed to exhale.
Riley stood just inside the entry, suddenly unsure what to do with the weight in her chest. The adrenaline from Command had drained, leaving something raw in its wake.
“I was scared,” she said finally.
Both of them turned toward her at once.
“Watching you out there,” she continued, words tumbling now that they’d begun. “Seeing the feed. Seeing how close—” Her voice faltered. “When that strike only just missed you, Dorian, I thought I was going to pass out.”
He stared at her, something unreadable in his eyes.
“Fuck it,” he practically growled. “I will be so fucking pissed if I die not knowing what you taste like.”
He closed the space between them instead, stepping directly into her, into her breath.
His hand came to her cheek, not tentative, not possessive—simply there.
When he kissed her, it wasn’t hurried. It was warm and deliberate, a meeting rather than a taking.
The world narrowed to sensation, the steady pressure of his mouth, the quiet certainty in the way he held her, the way the fear in her chest eased into something else entirely.
When he drew back, her hands were trembling.
He turned her gently.
Rafe was already there.
His kiss was different. Deeper. Anchoring. Where Dorian had been warmth and reassurance, Rafe was gravity—solid, unyielding in a way that made her feel held even after his mouth left hers.
She didn’t know how to breathe for a moment.
Rafe rested his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her skin. “Riley,” he said softly, and there was a weight to her name now, a care that made her chest ache. “There’s something we need to tell you.”
Her pulse was still racing when she met his eyes. She could feel Dorian just behind her, close enough that his presence pressed like a steady hand between her shoulders. “Okay,” she said, because it was all she had.
“You’re our mate,” Rafe said.
The words didn’t strike her all at once. They settled, slowly, like snow. Quiet. Transformative.
“Really?”
Dorian shifted then, not away, but closer, his voice low and certain when he spoke.
“Not ownership. Not fate without choice. It isn’t something taken or claimed without it being reciprocated.
” His hand brushed her arm, light and grounding.
“It’s recognition. It’s connection. It’s something that only exists if it’s wanted. By all of us.”
Rafe nodded, his thumb tracing a slow, reassuring arc against her wrist. “You don’t owe us anything. Not answers. Not promises. We’re only telling you now because this feels like a very big moment in our relationship and you deserve the truth.”
Riley looked between them, heart pounding so hard she was sure they could hear it. Two men who had faced down monsters without flinching were standing in front of her now, open and still, waiting.
Mate. Her mates.
The word echoed through her, not sharp with fear, but warm with possibility. With the memory of how they’d held her without caging her, how they’d waited, how they’d let her see them before ever asking to be seen.
Her life felt suddenly balanced on the edge of something vast and unfamiliar—something that would change its direction forever if she stepped forward.
She didn’t answer them yet.
But as she stood there, wrapped in their warmth and their patience, one truth settled quietly in her chest.
Whatever choice she made, there would be no going back.