Chapter 35 Alaric
ALARIC
Alaric's wolf exploded forward before thought could catch up.
The hunter was three strides from Elara, silver knife raised, murder in his eyes. Time slowed to the space between heartbeats. He wouldn't make it. Even with shifter speed, he was too far.
Then Elara moved.
She twisted sideways, journalist instincts turning into survival instincts. The blade meant for her heart caught her shoulder instead, slicing through coat and sweater. She gasped, stumbled, went down.
Red bloomed across fabric. The scent of her blood hit the air.
His mate's blood.
Something inside Alaric snapped.
The shift took him mid-stride, faster and more violent than it had ever been. Bones cracked and reformed. His vision went red-edged and feral. The wolf surged up with a howl that shook snow from the trees, pure rage given voice.
He hit the hunter like an avalanche.
They went down together, rolling through snow and ice.
The knife skittered away. The hunter screamed.
Alaric's jaws found the man's shoulder, tearing through tactical vest and flesh.
Warm blood filled his mouth. The wolf wanted more.
Wanted to rend and tear until the threat was eliminated.
Until nothing remained that could hurt her.
"Fall back!" A shout from the tree line. "He's got Jake!"
The retreating hunters turned. Came back. Rifles up, crossbows loaded. They'd seen their companion attack. Seen blood. Whatever restraint had held them before shattered.
Gunfire cracked across the square.
Callum roared, lion form charging toward the renewed threat. Rowan's black wolf streaked past, taking down a hunter before he could reload. Emmett's massive form appeared from the tavern, coordinating defense with sharp barks and snarls.
But Alaric didn't see them. Didn't see anything except the man beneath him and the red haze of rage.
He bit down harder. The hunter's screaming turned to choking. Blood and snow mixed beneath them. The wolf wanted to finish it. Wanted to make sure this threat never touched his mate again.
"Alaric!" Callum's voice, distant through the red fog. "Alaric, that's enough!"
He didn't stop. Couldn't stop. His jaws tightened, feeling ribs flex under pressure. One more bite. One more—
Hands grabbed his fur. Multiple sets. Pulling him back. He snarled, fighting them, teeth still locked on the hunter's shoulder.
"Let go!" Emmett's command, alpha-edged and sharp. "Now!"
Alaric's wolf resisted. This man had hurt their mate. Had drawn her blood. Deserved death for that alone.
"Alaric, please." A different voice. Softer. Diana. "You're killing him. That's not who you are. That’s who they want us to be."
The words cut through the rage like ice water. He blinked, vision clearing slightly. The hunter beneath him had gone still, eyes rolled back, blood soaking the snow in a wide pool.
Not fighting anymore. Not moving.
He'd lost control. Completely, utterly lost control.
The realization hit like a physical blow. His jaws loosened. Strong hands dragged him backward, off the hunter. He shifted back to human without meaning to, the change leaving him gasping and naked in the snow.
"Get him covered," Emmett ordered. Someone threw a coat over his shoulders.
Alaric stared at his hands. Blood coated them to the wrists. Not his blood. The hunter's. So much blood.
"Elara," he managed, voice raw. "Where—"
"Freya's got her." Diana crouched beside him, her voice gentle but firm. "She's alive. Shoulder wound, not deep. She's going to be fine."
He tried to stand. His legs wouldn't cooperate. "I need to see her."
"You need to breathe first." Diana's hand pressed against his chest, keeping him down. "The hunter's alive. Barely, but alive. You didn't kill him."
"I tried to." The words tasted like ash. "I wanted to. I would have if you hadn't stopped me."
Around them, the battle was ending. The hunters were retreating for real this time, dragging their wounded, no cameras. Shifters let them go, too tired to pursue.
Callum appeared, blood on his golden fur, human clothes clutched in his jaws. He shifted and pulled on his pants. "They're leaving. For good this time."
"The cameras?" Emmett asked.
"Smashed. Every one we could find." Callum looked down at Alaric. "You all right?"
"No." Alaric forced himself to his feet, Diana's steadying hand on his elbow. "I lost control. I nearly killed him in front of everyone."
"He attacked your mate," Callum said. "Any wolf would have—"
"I'm not any wolf. I'm the enforcer. I'm supposed to be controlled. Disciplined." He looked at his bloody hands again. "I'm supposed to be better than this."
"You're also a shifter who just watched his mate get stabbed," Emmett said quietly. "The wolf responds to that. It's instinct."
"Instinct nearly made me a murderer." Alaric shoved the coat tighter around himself. "She saw it. She saw what I become when I lose control."
He remembered the woods. The way she'd looked at him after he'd saved her from the hunters the first time. The fear mixed with fascination. The questions about what he was.
Now she'd seen the answer. The beast beneath the man. The violence he was capable of when pushed.
"Where is she?" he asked again.
"Apothecary." Diana pointed. "But Alaric—"
He was already moving, bare feet numb in the snow, coat flapping around him. He had to see her. Had to know she was all right. Had to see if she'd look at him the same way after watching him nearly tear a man apart.
The apothecary door stood open, warm light spilling out. He climbed the steps, hesitated at the threshold.
What if she was afraid of him now? What if the mate bond meant nothing against the reality of what he was? What he'd done?
"You planning to stand there all night?" Freya's voice from inside. "Get in here before you freeze."
He stepped inside.
Elara sat on a stool near the fire, coat and sweater removed, shoulder bandaged. Her face was pale, eyes shadowed, but alert. She looked up when he entered.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
"You're bleeding," she said finally.
He looked down. Blood still coated his hands, his chest. Not his. Never his. "It's not mine."
"I know." Her voice was steady, but something in her expression made his gut clench. "I saw what you did."
"Elara—"
"You nearly killed him." Not an accusation. A statement of fact.
"Yes."
"Because of me."
"Because he hurt you." Alaric's hands flexed, fresh blood smearing his palms. "Because he drew your blood. Because my wolf couldn't—" He stopped, throat closing. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have seen that."
She was quiet for a long moment, just looking at him. Reading him the way she read everything, with those sharp journalist's eyes that missed nothing.
"Come here," she said quietly.
He didn't move. "I'm covered in blood."
"I don't care. Come here."
He crossed to her slowly, aware of every eye in the room. Freya had moved to the far counter, giving them space. But he could feel her watching. Waiting to see what Elara would do.
"Sit," Elara said, gesturing to the stool beside her.
He sat.
She reached out with her good arm and took his bloody hand in hers. Didn't flinch. Didn't pull away. Just held it, her thumb brushing across his knuckles.
"You scared me," she said.
"I know. I'm sorry."
"No." She looked up. "You scared me because I thought you'd kill him.” Her grip tightened. "And I thought you'd do it because of me."
He couldn't speak. Could barely breathe.
"But you didn't," she continued. "You stopped. When they pulled you back, you stopped. You came back." Her eyes searched his face. "You came back, Alaric."
"Barely." His voice cracked. "If they hadn't stopped me—"
"But they did. And you let them." She lifted his hand to her cheek, blood and all. "That's who you are. Not the wolf that attacked. The man who stopped when it mattered."
"You're not afraid of me."
"I'm terrified of you," she said honestly. "Of what you're capable of. Of how much violence lives under that control." She paused. "But I'm more terrified of losing you. Of watching you destroy yourself trying to protect me."
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. "I thought I'd lost you. When I saw that knife, when I smelled your blood—"
"I'm here. I'm okay." Her hand moved to cup his jaw, careful of the scar there. "And you're okay. We're both okay."
"I don't deserve you."
"Probably not," she agreed, a hint of her usual sharpness returning. "But you're stuck with me anyway."
Despite everything, he huffed something close to a laugh. "You should run."
"Where would I go?" She pulled back enough to meet his eyes. "My car's in the shop. My career's effectively over. And I just chose a town full of shifters over everything I thought I wanted." She smiled, small and tired but real. "I'm not going anywhere."
The fear that had been choking him since the moment the hunter's knife had flashed loosened slightly. She'd seen him at his worst. Seen the violence, the loss of control, the beast.
And she was still here.
Still choosing him.
"I love you," he said, the words rough and unpracticed. "I don't know if I'm allowed to say that yet, but I do. I love you, Elara."
Her breath caught. "That's the first time you've said it."
"Should have said it sooner."
"You're saying it now. That's what matters." She leaned in and kissed him, soft and careful, mindful of her injury. "I love you too. Even the scary parts. Maybe especially those."
Freya cleared her throat from across the room. "As touching as this is, we should get you both cleaned up. Alaric, there's a shower in the back. Elara needs to rest. And someone should probably check on that hunter before Emmett decides what to do with him."
The real world crept back in. The battle. The aftermath. The questions that would follow.
But for this moment, Elara's hand in his, her eyes steady and unafraid, Alaric let himself believe that everything would be all right.