Chapter 5
Jason
The air is putrid with wet moss and rotting leaves, making every inhale into my aching lungs even worse.
My paws slip on the muddy earth, each step demanding more concentration.
My legs burn with the effort of staying upright.
Buff hasn’t been winning his fight against the elements.
This is the third time he’s tripped in the last ten minutes, and this time he goes down hard, the rain and muck swallowing his grunt.
When he gets back up, he’s caked in mud, fur plastered to his ribs, eyes glazed over.
I bite back a curse. His legs are technically moving, but they’re as useful as soggy sticks right now.
Something sharp and mean twists under my ribs. My wolf is snarling at me like it’s my fault Buff’s falling apart. Hell, maybe it is.
I want to tell him to keep going, to pull it together, but the words lodge in my throat. He’s exhausted and trying his best. We all are. The rain has been relentless since Freddie destroyed the pack’s bikes, and it’s getting fucking annoying.
Beneath the annoyance, panic chews at me, whispering that I pushed them too far, too fast.
I nudge Buff with my muzzle, giving him a bit of leverage.
“Why don’t you imagine you’re running toward one of the alphas’ daughters?” Froggy’s thought comes from behind me, breath hitching between every word he throws at Buff. “I’ve never seen you stumble on your way to getting laid.”
Buff lets out a wheezing bark that might be a laugh. “Does it look like I’m wearing cleats, asshole? I wish I was in human form right now—I’d flip you off.”
Their thoughts cut through the rain, reminding me that somehow, we’re still alive.
Buff is panting hard enough, I swear I can hear his lungs straining.
Froggy’s thoughts are snappier than usual—he gets that sharp edge when fear is clawing at him.
I keep my focus on the plan, because if I don’t, I might stop, and stopping isn’t an option.
Not with the twins’ hounds out there. Not with too many days already gone.
Not with time suffocating us from behind.
If I think too long, the weight of what I’ve dragged them into might make me sink right down into the mud. So, I don’t think. I run.
Still, I manage a snort, because of course these two would argue about sex while running for their lives. Pack of idiots. My pack. And even if I’m not worth an alpha’s ass, I’ll be damned if anyone says otherwise. And I’ll be damned if I let either of them fall behind.
The thought hits with a fierce, stupid loyalty that warms me for half a second, then hurts like hell the next.
“I think my balls are frozen,” Buff whines.
“No one told you to run away naked,” I growl, the words rough enough to cut. “Now you can’t shift back or we’ll be running from the alphas and the cops. And let’s be real, there’s no explaining that much swing to a patrol officer.”
Buff huffs a laugh that sounds dangerously close to a death rattle. “You complimenting the size of my swing, Jace?”
Of course he turns it into a joke. He always does when things get so bad that you can taste death in the air.
The sound rolls through the trees, bright and stupid and exactly what we need.
My traitorous lips twitch, because only Buff could find room for ego while sliding through the mud like a cartoon character.
Part of me wants to snarl at him to pay fucking attention; the other part wants to keep him talking because talking means he’s still fighting.
And fuck, we need him fighting. If he gives up, even for a breath, I don’t know if I can carry what happens next.
Froggy snorts. “Could’ve told you that was coming.”
His paws drum steadily through the mud beside me—way too loud in the downpour.
The rhythm grates on my nerves like Chinese water torture, until I realize that steady thump-thump-thump is the only thing keeping me moving.
Pity his mouth doesn’t drown in the same mud his paws keep kicking up. Know-it-all asshole.
And yet, that constant presence beside me is the only thing stopping my brain from spiraling into all the ways this can go wrong.
Still, he’s not wrong. Buff always takes the bait.
Buff wheezes out a laugh between gasps. “Look, if we do run into the law, I could always say I was running from an angry husband.”
The image flashes through my mind before I can stop it—Buff naked, sprinting through town, some furious human chasing him with a shotgun—and for the first time in hours, the ache in my chest eases.
The tension slips off my shoulders in a warm, fleeting wave, like my body forgot for a moment that we’re dying on our feet.
“Yeah,” I say, through my exhausted mind, “and that’ll definitely soften your case. ‘Sorry, officer, I forgot my pants during adultery.’ Real convincing.”
They both bark laughter into the rain, and for a heartbeat the chase, the fear, the mud—everything—feels lighter.
The sound shoots adrenaline through me. Raw, stupid hope pumps heat back into my frozen veins. It’s reckless to feel it, but I cling to it.
It fuels us, gives our legs one more miserable mile.
I huff out a shaky laugh of my own. The echo bounces back off the trees—and then the guilt sucker punches me in the gut.
It doesn’t just hit—it sinks claws into my spine and drags everything bright straight back into the dark. One second of relief, and the next I’m drowning in the truth: they’re laughing because I’m leading them straight into hell.
I’m the reason they’re running on fumes. The reason Buff looks ready to cough out a lung. They took their punishment without question while I schemed my way out like a coward, promising money that doesn’t exist. If I’d kept my mouth shut, they’d be free. Exiled, yes, but free.
The truth scrapes through me like barbed wire—every lie, every desperate choice etched into my ribs.
Now, if we don’t get to the border in time, Thorne and Talon will send their mutts to drag us back. And this time? It’ll be worse. They’ll make us suffer for days. It’s nothing less than I deserve—but more than the boys ever did.
My wolf growls low inside me—not at them, at me. At the mess I made. At the punishment I’ve earned.
The thought tastes like metal, sour and final, and my paws hit the earth harder. Maybe if I just keep moving, I can outrun the part of me that knows the truth: I didn’t save them. I doomed them.
Running feels like the only penance I can afford. If I stop, all of it will crash down on me. All the ways I failed. All the ways I’m still failing.
Since the alphas cut us loose, we’ve been running nearly nonstop.
We stole a few hours of rest here and there, but not enough to do anything except remind my body how tired it is.
Every step grinds through my bones; my paws ache like they’re carrying the whole damn forest. The world is a blur of mud, breath, and rain.
My muscles scream, my lungs burn, but none of it hurts as much as the fear of losing them.
We’re all dog-tired.
“Wolf-tired,” Froggy says automatically.
Shit. Did I say that out loud or just think it? The line between the two is dissolving with every mile. My brain’s mush, my tongue’s a traitor, and whatever pride I had drowned under the guilt hours ago.
I’m fraying, my mind slipping through my hold like rain. And they can hear it. They can hear me unraveling.
“Whatever,” I rasp. “If we go any farther without sleep, we’ll be drooling on our own paws.”
Buff grumbles, “You mean you’ll be drooling. That’s your thing.”
“Keep talking,” I warn. “I’ll let Froggy use you as a pillow.”
“Right now, I’m so exhausted I wouldn’t care. Aren’t we close to Mama Maggie’s?”
“About fifteen miles east. It’s a detour.” The words aren’t reluctance—they’re honesty. The boys need to understand the risk. We have to reach Mexico before Thorne and Talon realize there’s no money waiting and come for our heads instead.
I can practically feel the twins’ shadows on our heels, breathing down our necks, just waiting for the moment we stumble.
But we’re running on fumes. Half-dead, half-crazed, and one hundred percent out of luck.
I tell myself stopping at Mama Maggie’s is a good strategy, not surrender, but even my wolf doesn’t buy that lie.
I hate dragging anyone into our shit—especially her.
We rescued her son from a pack of miscreants, and ever since, it’s been impossible to stop her from trying to repay the debt.
My wolf yearns for her warmth, her food, her safety, while the man in me flinches at the thought of painting a target on her door. Guilt and instinct tear me in opposite directions until I’m split down the middle.
“I could get some clothes,” Buff says. “Stop more people coming after us. And you worrying about the size of my ‘swing’.”
I feel his energy spike—and it has nothing to do with modesty.
Hope flickers in him, faint but real, and it fucking guts me. They’re still looking forward. Still believing. Even though I’m the one who dragged them this close to death.
He’s right. We need the break. Froggy’s silence right now scares me more than the hounds on our tail. He only shuts up when something inside him is starting to crack. Hell, I've seen him starve without complaint.
“Okay, boys. We’re heading east.”
Buff lifts his muzzle and howls into the wind.
“Shhh, moron,” Froggy snarls. “Do you want to give our position away?”
Buff lowers his head. “Sorry, but it’s Maggie.”
“Dig deep. If we take this detour, we need to make up time.”
“First one to Maggie’s gets the first shower,” Froggy says.
“In that case…” Buff takes off with a burst of speed.
“Fuck you, asshole,” Froggy growls, paws digging deeper into the mud as he pulls alongside Buff and shoves him aside.
This should make me feel better, but instead my guilt burrows deeper, settling in my gut like a tapeworm.
Their spark is back, and all I can think is that I’m the one who snuffed it out in the first place.