Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
The helicopter appeared over the treeline forty minutes later.
I heard it before I saw it—the rhythmic thump of rotors cutting through the mountain silence. James's head snapped up, his wolf senses tracking the sound before I'd fully registered what it was.
"That was fast," he said.
"Mason's helicopter. He’s one of Darian’s mates." I pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the way my vision swam. "He collects expensive toys the way some people collect stamps."
The helicopter banked into view—sleek, black, military-grade. It circled once, finding a clearing, and touched down with practiced precision. The rotors kept spinning as a figure jumped out and started running toward us.
Rae.
Her sharp eyes missed nothing. She was wearing a medical jacket over tactical gear, and she carried a bag that probably contained half a pharmacy.
“Lumi.”
She pulled me into a hug before I could react—fierce and brief—then held me at arm’s length, her sharp gaze cataloging damage.
“Your hand,” she said. “Let me see.”
Knowing Rae was the Medicine Woman was one thing. Being healed by her was another entirely.
She cradled my hand between both of hers and closed her eyes.
Heat surged instantly—burning, searing, overwhelming. I gasped as it raced through bone and tissue, pain spiking so sharply it stole my breath.
And then it was gone.
The ache vanished. The throb disappeared. The agony that had defined every heartbeat simply… wasn’t there anymore.
I stared at her, stunned, tears burning from the sheer shock of relief.
“Rae,” I whispered. “Thank you. Thank you for coming.”
I hugged her tight, grounding myself in the reality that she was here—that we’d made it. That maybe, somehow, she could help my feral wolf.
“The wolf first,” I said, pulling back. “He’s—”
“Unconscious. I know.” Rae was already looking past me.
Her gaze moved to the makeshift sled, to the pale form strapped there. Something flickered across her face—recognition, maybe. Understanding.
“How long?” she asked.
“Since the bond completed. Almost thirty hours.”
She shook her head once. “No. How long has he been feral?”
Even as she spoke, she was moving—kneeling beside him, pulling supplies from her bag with practiced efficiency.
I swallowed. “Years.”
Her mouth tightened, but her hands didn’t slow.
“Will he be okay?” I asked.
Rae didn’t look up.
“That,” she said calmly, “depends on how much of him is still willing to come back.”
She knelt beside the sled and started examining him—checking pulse, pupils, the rise and fall of his chest. Her hands moved with the efficiency of someone who'd done this before.
"He's stable," she said finally. "Vitals are weak but consistent. We need to get him to the center."
She met my eyes. "It's the best chance he has."
James stepped forward. "What about Twilson? He's not exactly going to welcome us back with open arms."
"Twilson can go to hell." Rae's voice was flat. Final. "The council is clear on mate rights. He doesn't get to interfere with a bonded pair."
"Trio," I said quietly.
Rae's eyebrows rose. "Trio?"
I held up my wrist, showing her the mark. Two arcs. "James too. When the feral attacked me, when I was touching them both—it completed. All three of us."
Rae stared at the mark. Then at James. Then back at me.
“Oh, Lumi,” she said softly. “Congratulations.”
“Does it change anything?”
“Not legally. A bonded group is a bonded group, regardless of size.” She turned back toward the helicopter, motioning for us to follow. “But Twilson’s going to have a field day. Three mates, one feral, two students at his academy? He’ll call you a liability.”
“Fuck him.”
Rae glanced at me, and something like pride flickered across her face.
“There’s my sister,” she said. “Come on. Let’s get your wolf loaded.”
Moving the feral into the helicopter was a production.
Kane helped immensely, along with James and the pilot—a grizzled man named Jim who apparently worked for Mason—while Rae directed the whole operation with calm efficiency.
They transferred the wolf onto a medical stretcher, securing his legs and muzzle with padded restraints.
“In case he wakes up mid-flight,” Rae said when she caught my look. “A panicked feral in a helicopter is nobody’s idea of a good time.”
I climbed in beside him, positioning myself so I could monitor his breathing. James took the seat by Kane, and Rae settled near the pilot's cabin with her medical bag.
The rotors increased speed. The ground dropped away.
I watched the mountain shrink below us—the endless white that had nearly killed us all. It looked different from above. Smaller. Less insurmountable.
I was too exhausted, too numb, too focused on the unconscious wolf beside me to pay attention to anything else.
"Will he wake up?" I asked.
Rae turned and replied. "Probably. The question is what wakes up with him."
"What do you mean?"
"Ferals who've been isolated as long as he has—their minds fragment.
Memories, personality, sense of self. When they come back, those pieces don't always reassemble the way they were.
He might not remember who he was. Might not be able to function as human.
Might be violent, or catatonic, or somewhere in between. "
"But the bond—"
"The bond will help. It's an anchor, a point of reference.
But it's not magic. It can't rebuild what's been destroyed.
" She met my eyes, and her expression was gentle but unflinching.
"You need to be prepared for the possibility that the person he was is gone.
That what comes back might be someone entirely different. "
I looked at the wolf. At the scarred muzzle, the matted fur, the body that had survived things I couldn't imagine.
"Then we get to know the new person," I said. "And we help him figure out who he wants to be."
Rae smiled. Small, but real. "That's the right answer."
Frosthaven appeared through the clouds like something from a dream.
The familiar buildings, the snow-covered grounds, the stone walls that had felt like a prison two weeks ago. From above, it looked almost peaceful. Almost safe.
The helicopter touched down on a landing pad I hadn't known existed—tucked behind the healing center, clearly designed for exactly this kind of emergency transport. A team was waiting: two orderlies with a gurney, a doctor I didn't recognize, and—
Twilson.
He stood apart from the medical team, his posture rigid, his expression carved from ice. Watching. Waiting.
"Ignore him," Rae murmured as the rotors slowed. "Get the wolf inside. I'll handle Twilson."
The orderlies moved efficiently, transferring the feral from the helicopter stretcher to the gurney. James stayed close, his hand on my shoulder, his presence steady through the bond.
We made it maybe twenty feet before Twilson stepped into our path.
"Miss Orlav." His voice was silk over steel. "I see you've returned. With... company."
"Headmaster." I kept walking, forcing him to move or be walked through. He moved—barely. "If you'll excuse me, my mate needs medical attention."
"Your mate." The word dripped with disdain. "It’s a feral wolf you dragged off a mountain."
"The bond is complete." I stopped, meeting his eyes. Something hot and fierce was building in my chest—anger, yes, but something else too. Certainty. The unshakeable knowledge that I was right and he was wrong. "He's mine. James and I are both his. The marks are already formed."
"Marks can be—"
"The council is clear on mate rights." I cut him off, my voice harder than I'd ever heard it.
"You taught me that yourself, Headmaster.
In orientation. 'Mate bonds are sacred and inviolable.
No authority supersedes the bond between fated mates.
'" I smiled, and it wasn't friendly. "Were you lying, or did you just not expect it to apply to me? "
Twilson's expression flickered. For just a moment, I saw something beneath the ice—surprise, maybe. Or reassessment.
"The council's position on ferals is... complicated," he said carefully. "A wolf who has lost himself to the animal cannot consent to a bond. Cannot participate in pack structure. Cannot—"
"Cannot be abandoned." Rae's voice cut in, sharp and final.
She'd positioned herself beside me, a unified front.
"The council's position is also clear on fated mates.
Mates in crisis are to be given every opportunity to recover.
That's why I built the healing center. That's why the council funded it.
" She stepped forward, into Twilson's space.
"Unless you'd like to explain to the Council why you're obstructing the treatment of a bonded wolf?
I'm sure they'd be fascinated to hear your reasoning. "
Twilson's jaw tightened.
"This isn't over," he said.
"No," I agreed. "It isn't. But right now, my mate is unconscious, and I've been awake for thirty hours. So unless you're planning to physically stop us—"
I walked past him.
He didn't stop us.
The healing center was nothing like I expected.
I'd imagined something clinical—white walls, fluorescent lights, the sterile smell of hospital. Instead, Rae led us into a building that felt almost like a home. Warm wood paneling, soft lighting, rooms arranged around a central garden courtyard that was somehow green despite the snow outside.
"Geothermal heating," Rae explained, catching my expression. "And grow lights. Wolves need nature to heal. Can't exactly send them outside in an Alaskan winter."
They took the feral to a private room at the end of a quiet hallway. Large windows, a real bed, monitors that would track his vitals without the harsh beeping of hospital equipment. Rae supervised as the orderlies transferred him from the gurney, still in wolf form, still unconscious.
"What happens now?" James asked.
"Now we wait." Rae adjusted the IV they'd inserted—fluids, she explained, to counter the dehydration. "His body will wake up when it's ready. The mind..." She shrugged. "That's harder to predict."
"Can we stay with him?"
"I'd recommend it. Bonded presence helps with recovery. The more he feels you through the connection, the more he has to orient toward." She moved to the door. "I'll have someone bring food. And a cot. You both look like you're about to fall over."
She was right. The adrenaline that had carried me through the confrontation with Twilson was fading, leaving nothing but exhaustion.
“Rae.” I caught her arm before she could leave. “Thank you. For coming. For all of this.”
She pulled me into another hug—longer this time, tighter.
“You’re my sister,” she said into my hair. “I still can’t believe you bonded a feral wolf on the top of Denali. By yourself.”
“I had James.”
“Who’s known about shifters for, what, three days?” She pulled back, smiling. “You did good, Lumi. Both of you. Getting him here. Surviving what you survived.” Her expression softened. “That took strength.”
“It took stubbornness.”
She huffed a quiet laugh. “Same thing, sometimes.” She gave my shoulder a squeeze and turned for the door. “Get some rest. I’ll check in later.”
The door closed behind her.
James and I stood in the quiet room, looking at the wolf on the bed. He seemed smaller somehow, surrounded by pillows and monitors—less like a threat, more like what he actually was. Someone broken. Someone lost. Someone who needed help.
"Hey." James's hand found mine. "You okay?"
"I don't know." I moved to the chair beside the bed, lowering myself into it. "I stood up to Twilson. That felt... good. But now we're here, and he's still unconscious, and I don't know what happens next."
James pulled a second chair beside mine. "What happens next is we wait. Together. Like we've been doing."
"And if he doesn't wake up?"
"Then we wait longer." He put his arm around me, and I leaned into his warmth. "We didn't come this far to give up now."
Through the bond, I reached for the feral—that distant presence, still faint, still unreachable. But was it my imagination, or did it feel slightly stronger? Slightly closer?
Probably wishful thinking.
But I held onto it anyway.
"Okay," I said. "We wait."
Outside the window, snow was starting to fall. Inside, the wolf breathed, and we waited for him to find his way back.
However long it took.