Chapter Three
Logan
Logan’s wolf was clawing frantically at his skin.
Claim her!
Bite her!
Logan ignored his inner animal and tried to slow down his breathing in an effort to calm his racing heart.
He hadn’t expected this. Not here. Not now.
And certainly not like this, on the outskirts of a corrupt pack’s territory, in the middle of a mission.
And yet, it felt like everything in his life had happened to lead him to this one moment. This one woman. His mate.
She was beautiful, but not in the way that demanded attention or flaunted confidence.
Her beauty was quieter, understated. The kind you noticed when everything else faded away.
But that wasn’t what struck Logan the hardest. No, it was her posture.
The way she stood like she was ready to flinch, like the world had taught her to expect pain.
After a few more moments, her eyes darted away, her head bowing slightly, shoulders drawn in just enough to make herself smaller.
He recognized the signs instantly—too easily.
Submissive. Careful. The kind of body language that came from long-term conditioning which made complete sense if she was a part of Derek’s pack.
But then a single word floated through Logan’s mind, or had it been his wolf who had said it?
Omega.
And just like that, he was almost certain of the fact.
Omegas were the kind of wolves the old traditions viewed as bottom-rung.
Nurturers, peacekeepers, and healers. The type of wolves that the wrong kind of alpha would twist into servants or scapegoats.
Logan’s jaw clenched. In some packs, omegas were cherished.
In others, like Derek’s? They were often exploited. Silenced. Controlled.
Just thinking about what she might have endured made Logan angry in a way he hadn’t experienced for years.
His gaze moved slowly over her frame. Not with hunger, but with assessment, urgently checking her for signs of injury.
Protective instinct coiled tight in his chest. Her body was tense, held like a wire pulled taut.
She wasn’t just nervous. She was trained to fear.
To anticipate threat. Even now, with no danger in sight, she stood like someone used to being punished for breathing wrong.
Logan’s stomach turned.
How had someone like her—a delicate, skittish, beautiful creature—survived in a place like this? How had Derek not ground her down into dust?
Logan didn’t know the answer, but the question burned in the back of his mind, louder than instinct, louder even than the mating bond pulsing through his blood.
He didn’t move. He wanted to. Every instinct, every cell in his body screamed at him to close the distance.
To reach for her, to confirm what his senses already knew, to touch and anchor the bond that now pulsed between them like a living thing.
But her posture warned him off. The tension in her spine, the rigid way she held herself, the quick, shallow breaths…
God, she was barely holding it together.
And the last thing he wanted was to be the one who pushed her past her breaking point.
So he stayed still.
He softened his stance first, letting his shoulders ease, spreading his hands slightly at his sides in a silent gesture of peace. No threat here. No dominance. Just a man trying not to scare the most important thing fate had ever handed him.
Then he spoke, his tone low, calm, and careful.
“My name’s Logan,” he said, his voice a quiet rasp against the hush of the woods. His surname was on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t let it out of his mouth. He couldn’t afford to give her his full name, not if he wanted to keep his return to town a secret for the time being.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he added gently. “You’re… certainly not what I expected to find out here.”
Talk about stating the obvious.
She made no reply.
Logan waited a beat longer, then tried again. “What’s your name?”
Her lips parted slightly. She hesitated, eyes flickering up to his face for the briefest moment before darting away again. He could practically feel her measuring him, gauging whether he was safe, whether answering him might cost her something.
Finally, she said it.
“Willow.”
He let it settle in the space between them. Willow. It suited her, soft and resilient all at once. He repeated it silently in his mind.
Yes. Willow. Mate.
Apparently, his wolf liked it too.
“Are you… with Derek’s pack?” he asked carefully, though the answer was already obvious.
No wolf outside the pack would dare wander this deep into their territory. But he needed her to say it because he needed to hear it so he could know for certain.
She hesitated, but not because she didn’t understand the question. Logan could see it in the tightness of her jaw, the tension in her throat as she swallowed: she understood perfectly. She just wasn’t sure whether it was safe to answer.
After a moment, she gave a small nod. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I’m… pack.”
Two words. Barely louder than a whisper. But they dropped into the space between them like a lead weight.
Logan felt something inside him go still.
Derek wouldn’t let anyone outside his control live within pack territory. If she was here, she wasn’t just part of the pack. She was under Derek’s thumb and likely had been for years.
And from the way she spoke, from how carefully she measured each word, Logan could already tell she wasn’t favored.
She didn’t speak in full sentences. She gave just enough to answer, nothing more.
It wasn’t rudeness. It was survival. Trained silence.
He recognized it from wolves who’d been taught that words were dangerous.
That questions could be punished, and that the truth could be turned against you.
“Why are you here?” she asked tentatively.
Logan hesitated. He wasn’t sure if she was asking why he was in the woods or why was he in Bitterroot. One answer would be easy to give, the other not so much. Instead of answering directly, he curled his lips into a grin and said, “I could ask you the same thing.”
She lifted her chin a little and held his gaze. “I’m gathering herbs,” she said. “For the healer.”
“Then you must know these woods well.”
She nodded. “Better than most.”
He wanted to ask her so many things. What her life was like here, how long she’d lived under Derek’s rule.
Had she grown up here? How old was she? And most importantly, how had she managed to hold onto herself in a place like this?
But the forest around them felt too quiet and too watchful.
And Logan knew better than to push too fast, even when every part of him was burning for answers.
He took a tentative step forward. She flinched.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I won’t come any closer unless you say I can.”
“It’s not you,” she said around a sigh. “It’s…everyone.”
“I understand,” he said gently. “I just want you to know that I would never hurt you.”
Her face filled with something that looked a lot like hope, but then the expression slipped into something more stoic.
The mate bond pulsed between them, alive and undeniable.
It wasn’t loud or invasive, not in the way Logan had always imagined it might be.
It was subtler than that, a low hum just beneath the surface of his skin, warm and intimate like the memory of a touch that hadn’t happened yet. But it was no less powerful.
And it scared the hell out of him.
He felt pulled to her in a way that made no logical sense, drawn not by curiosity or attraction, but by something far older and deeper. Like a tether stretched across time had just snapped tight between them. His wolf prowled just beneath the surface, practically vibrating with urgency.
Go to her, it growled. Touch her. Claim her.
But Logan had promised her he wouldn’t move any closer, so he didn’t.
She needs us, his wolf whined.
Despite their short exchange, Willow still stood there like a deer in headlights, a moment away from bolting, fragile but fierce in her stillness.
Logan had never thought of himself as a particularly patient man.
Tactical, yes. Controlled, definitely. But not patient.
But this was his mate and if she needed patience, he would give it to her.
He knew in that moment that he would give her the world if he could.
Right now, it was clear that was she needed was space.
He understood that need to feel like she had a choice, even if the bond between them felt like a forgone conclusion.
So Logan forced himself to breathe. In. Out. Steady. She might not be ready to accept him yet and fully embrace their bond. But she hadn’t run, either. And that was more than he’d dared to hope.
Respect swelled in his chest. Respect and admiration. She wasn’t broken, not completely. She was battered and maybe beaten down, yes. But she’d survived. She’d endured in Derek’s pack long enough to stand here and still hold her head up, however slightly.
“You must think that I’m so weak,” she said quietly. “Afraid to get near my own mate.”
“I don’t,” Logan said quickly. “You’ve made it this far. That’s not weakness, Willow. That’s grit.”
She gave a small, humorless huff, not quite a laugh. “Grit doesn’t get you far in a place like this.”
“It got you here,” he said, voice steady. “Still standing. Still looking me in the eye.”
Willow’s gaze faltered, but she didn’t look away completely. “You don’t know what it’s cost me.”
“No,” Logan agreed, softer now. “But I’d like to.”
God, but Logan wanted so badly to protect her. Not out of obligation or instinct, but because she deserved more. More than fear. More than silence. More than a life spent flinching at shadows.
She deserved a pack that saw her. A mate that cherished her. Logan wanted to give her both. And that realization hit hard.
This was no longer just a job. This wasn’t just about Derek, or corrupted betas and enforcers, and whatever intel the CIA had gathered.
This was personal. But then, Logan supposed, it always had been, hadn’t it?
As they stood in the clearing, the forest quiet and still around them, Logan felt the world shrink to just the space between them. Willow was his mate. His. Chosen by fate. And she was living under the boot of the man who’d destroyed his family.
He hadn’t come to Bitterroot looking for a mate. But now that he’d found her, there was no going back. He would finish what he came here to do. He would bring Derek and his followers down. And when it was over, he would make sure Willow never had to be afraid of anyone ever again.