Chapter 35
Merric
My pack’s loading up to get the hell out of here.
Rook and Sienna throwing gear in the trucks like we’re escaping prison.
Dane’s checking weapons for the third goddamn time—paranoid bastard, but that’s why he’s still breathing.
Briar’s got us mapped on back roads where we won’t run into any more of Aurora’s bullshit.
Home. Thank fuck. Two days in this concrete coffin is about two days past my limit.
I suck in recycled air that tastes like exhaust and too many bodies sweating their secrets. Makes my skin crawl. My wolf’s been clawing at my ribs since we rolled in, wanting dirt and pine needles and space to run without hitting a fucking wall every ten feet.
Nadia’s staying behind with her dragon. Her call.
Can’t exactly throw a strong female over my shoulder and haul her south, especially when she’s already marked her territory.
And that scaled bastard Jericho—he fought hard, bled beside me when it counted.
That earns respect. And I don’t give that easily.
Some Aurora kid approaches, all twitchy and smelling like anxiety sweat. Human. Young enough to still think protocol matters. He stops far enough back that I can see he’s worried I might rip his throat out. Not sure why. Maybe it’s my sunny disposition.
“Alpha Merric?”
“What?”
“One of the rescued captives is asking for you. Won’t talk to anyone else. He’s pretty insistent, sir.”
I turn and focus on him. He flinches. “Which one?”
He fumbles with his tablet like it might bite him. “A young male. Wolf hybrid. Cameron Corvus.”
Corvus.
My whole body locks up. Wolf goes dead still, hackles rising.
That name. That fucking bloodline.
Copper-gold eyes burn through my memory. Hair black as midnight. Skin that glowed under moonlight. Magic that danced off her fingers like she was born to it.
Brenna Corvus. Ravenclaw Pack.
Eighteen years since I told her goodbye.
Eighteen years since I picked my pack’s survival over the only woman who ever made me feel like more than just teeth and rage.
The elders laid it out real simple—chase that girl and they’d turn Frostbourne to dust before letting Ravenclaw blood mix with ours.
Her people kept the old ways. Real magic, not the watered-down shit most packs pretend still matters. The traditional packs—the ones with their heads so far up their own asses they can’t see daylight—they called Ravenclaw corrupted. Abomination. Said their magic was poison.
So I walked. Left her standing in that field, knowing exactly what I was doing to both of us.
Buried that choice so deep it should’ve fossilized.
But now there’s a kid with her name asking for me personally.
“Where?” My voice is raw. I clear my throat.
“Medical wing.” The kid shifts his weight. “I can show you—”
“Make it fast.”
This whole place is a goddamn rat maze. Corridors that lead nowhere, levels stacked like someone was trying to confuse invaders instead of help anybody find a fucking bathroom. Not how wolves build. We need sight lines, escape routes, space to breathe.
The medical wing reeks of disinfectant trying to mask the stench of blood and piss and pain. Never works. I can smell the torment soaking into the walls.
“Room 307,” the operative squeaks, pointing at a door.
I jerk my head. He scurries off like his ass is on fire. Smart kid.
I stand there, hand flat against the door frame, trying to get my shit together.
Corvus. Eighteen years. A kid with that name who wants me specifically.
Fuck me sideways.
I don’t knock. Just push through.
The boy’s propped up in bed, looking like death warmed over. Too skinny, all sharp angles where there should be muscle. Surgical scars running up both arms, like they carved him open for fun. More scars on his throat. Whatever those sick fucks did to him, they took their time.
But he’s breathing. Healing. Young—just a teen, really. Dark hair that needs cutting. Sharp features that’ll fill out if he gets some real food in him.
And those eyes. Copper-gold, just like hers.
My wolf knows him. Not thinks or guesses—knows. It’s in his bones, the way he holds his head up despite looking ready to collapse. Every inch of him broadcasts Corvus blood. I see her in every line.
Fuck.
“You’re Alpha Merric.” His voice is shot to hell, probably from screaming himself raw.
“Yeah.” I shut the door, plant myself where he can see all six-foot-five, two-forty pounds of what he’s asking for help. Let him measure what he’s getting into.
“My mother said if things went sideways, I should find you.” He’s watching my face like he’s looking for something specific. “Said you were the strongest alpha in the south. Said you’d keep your word even if it meant bleeding for it.”
My chest goes tight. “Your mother.”
“Brenna Corvus.” His voice catches on her name. “Ravenclaw Pack. You knew her.”
Knew. Past tense.
Double fuck.
“Where is she?” I ask, but I can already smell the answer on him—grief so thick it’s practically another presence in the room.
“Dead. Two years.” He swallows hard. “Raiders hit our settlement. Ma held them off, bought time for the rest to run. They surrounded her. Twenty to one.” He stops, sucks air into his lungs.
“There was an explosion. Her magic and theirs colliding. The whole forest went up in white fire. When it cleared…” His hands fist in the sheets.
“Nothing left. Couldn’t even bury her proper. ”
Dead. Brenna’s dead.
The grief hits like an unexpected sledgehammer, forcing the air from my lungs. Eighteen years apart, and it still fucking hurts.
Goddammit, Brenna.
Of course she died fighting. Died protecting her people with magic and fury. Exactly how she would’ve wanted it, if she had to go.
Doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“Shit,” I say. “I’m sorry.” And I mean it down to my bones.
“Syndicate grabbed me six months back.” His voice steadies, pushing through. “They wanted what my family has. The old magic. Said they could extract it, weaponize it, sell it to the highest bidder.” His knuckles go white. “They tried everything. For six months, they tried.”
Magic. Of course. Wolf magic’s rarer than dragon tears these days.
Most packs either lost it or buried it out of fear.
But Ravenclaw kept the old ways alive. And those abilities—shifting beyond limits, reading the future in bone and blood, pulling lightning from clear skies—that’s exactly the kind of power Vex and his psychopaths would kill for.
“You want to go home,” I state.
“What’s left of it.” He meets my eyes straight on, no flinching.
Pure Brenna in that look. “We’re scattered.
Weak. The other packs still call us outcasts, won’t recognize our territory.
Raiders pick us off one by one. Without my mother…
” He trails off. “We need protection. My mother said if anyone would stand for us when nobody else would, it’d be you. ”
She said that. After I abandoned her. After I chose politics over her.
My wolf’s rumbling, not in threat but recognition. This is Brenna’s boy. Her blood. Her legacy.
And she’s dead because nobody protected her people. Because eighteen years ago, I was too much of a coward to tell the elders to fuck off.
Not making that mistake twice.
“How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
Seventeen.
Fucking seventeen years old.
I left eighteen years ago.
Is he…?
No. It’s not right. Can’t be right.
I study him harder. That jawline… That’s mine. The way he sets his shoulders, stubborn as hell even half-dead. My build starting to show through the starvation.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Is he mine?
Did Brenna…?
Quit it, Rourke. Wrong time. Wrong place.
The question burns, but I swallow it. Not here. Not now. But the possibility sits there, coiled like a rattlesnake.
“I’ll take you home,” I say, voice rougher than road rash. “Get you back to your people. I’ll make sure they’re protected.”
Relief floods his face; first real emotion that isn’t pain. “The elders will… They won’t like it. Supporting Ravenclaw after everything; they’ll come at you hard.”
“Let them fucking try.” The alpha command bleeds into my voice, the kind that makes other wolves show throat. “Your mother was right about one thing. I keep my word. And I’m giving it now. You and yours are under my protection.”
“There was a war,” Cameron says, quiet but firm. “Ma told me. Your pack and Ravenclaw. Wolves died. Both sides spilled blood.” He’s watching me like he’s trying to read my soul. “Taking me back means walking into that.”
“I know exactly what it means.” And I do. Means facing the old bastards who made me choose. Means potentially fighting wolves I’ve known since I was a pup. Means risking everything I’ve built.
But Brenna deserved better. This kid deserves better. And if he’s mine—Christ, if there’s even a chance—then I owe them both more than I can ever pay back.
He’s still watching me, eyes sharp despite the damage they’ve done to him.
“You think you can travel, kid?”
He nods quickly. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Rest up,” I tell him. “We leave in a day. You’re riding with my pack.”
He nods, sinks back into the pillows, exhausted just from talking.
I get out of there before I say something stupid. Walk Aurora’s maze, trying to get my head straight.
Brenna’s been dead two years, and I never knew. Never felt it. What kind of mate doesn’t feel that?
One who rejects his own. That’s what kind.
And yet I might have a son. Seventeen years old. Tortured for six months by those Syndicate fucks. Carrying her magic and maybe my blood.
My pack’s waiting in the loading bay. They take one look at my face, and Rook’s eyes narrow.
“What happened?”
“Change of plans. We leave day after next. We’re taking one of the rescued kids south. He’s going home to Ravenclaw territory.”
Dead silence. They all know what that means. The war. The blood. The politics.
“Merric—” Rook starts.
“I know what I’m fucking doing,” I cut him off.
“Yeah, there was a war. Yeah, wolves died. Yeah, the elders are gonna lose their collective shit, and every traditional pack from here to Mexico is gonna have opinions about it.” I look each of them in the eye.
“But we’re doing this. That kid needs to get home.
His people need protection. And I owe them. ”
Sienna nods slow. Dane crosses his arms but keeps his mouth shut. Briar looks thoughtful. Rook just stares at me, reading between the lines like he always does.
“Day after tomorrow,” I continue. “We head south. Into Ravenclaw territory. Into whatever shitstorm is waiting.”
They accept it. They always do. Follow their alpha even when he’s leading them straight to hell.
But this particular hell is all mine.
Taking Cameron Corvus home means confronting eighteen years of regret. Means potentially starting another war. Means finding out if that boy carries my blood.
I stare out Aurora’s windows toward home. Toward Ravenclaw lands and whatever’s left of them.
Brenna’s dead. But her son’s alive. Her people are scattered and bleeding.
And I’m taking that boy home even if it means facing the devil himself.
Trouble’s coming home with me.
And I’m goddamn ready for it.