Chapter Ten
Grayson
Pain is a strange thing for wolves.
We’re taught early to ignore it, to push through it, to let adrenaline and instinct carry us until the fight is done and the damage can be dealt with later. Pain is information, nothing more.
This pain is different. It’s not the silver burn along my ribs, though that’s bad enough, a deep, aching throb that flares every time I breathe too deeply. It’s not the stiffness in my shoulder where I slammed into stone when the trap went off.
It’s the hollow space in my chest where certainty used to sit.
We don’t talk much on the way back to Katu.
The rescued shifters are bundled in borrowed jackets, supported on either side by pack members who don’t let go even when the terrain evens out. Peyton moves among them with quiet efficiency, murmuring reassurance, checking pulses, promising safety without overstatement.
Caine walks point, posture steady, every inch the Alpha who brought everyone home alive.
Trinity stays at my side. Not hovering. Not clinging. Just present.
I can feel her fear through the bond, tight, sharp, and laced with guilt, but I don’t reach for it. I don’t soothe it. Not yet. Because if I do, I won’t be honest. And honesty matters more than comfort right now.
By the time we reach the compound, dawn is bleeding into the sky, the dark retreating in slow, reluctant shades of gray. The pack moves automatically, muscle memory kicking in as the rescued are guided toward the infirmary.
Xavia is already awake, her calm presence cutting through the chaos like a blade through butter. She takes one look at me and snorts softly.
“You,” she says. “Sit.”
“I’m fine,” I reply reflexively.
She arches a brow. “You’re bleeding.”
I glance down. Right. That. Trinity’s hand twitches like she wants to reach for me, but she stops herself, lips pressing together in a thin line. That hurts more than the wound. The fact that she is unsure of where she stands.
I sit on the edge of a cot and let Xavia work, gritting my teeth as she cleans the burn and packs it with something that smells like crushed leaves and fire.
Silver is a bitch—it doesn’t just tear flesh, it poisons it, slows healing, leaves behind an ache that sinks deep into the bone.
It’s also the single thing that a shifter can’t heal from just by shifting.
She binds my side efficiently, then steps back. “You’ll heal,” she says. “But not if you’re stupid.”
“Never,” I mutter.
Her gaze flicks to Trinity, sharp but not unkind. “You did well tonight.” Trinity flinches like she’s been struck. “You’re not the first ghost whisperer, girl.”
“What?” she asks in shock.
“There have been others before you. They were hurt as you were and they never found a pack to accept them.”
Sadness seeps into my mate like poison and Xavia leaves without another word.
The infirmary empties gradually as the rescued are settled and the pack disperses, exhaustion finally catching up to adrenaline. Caine pauses in the doorway, his gaze moving between Trinity and me.
“Get some rest,” he says simply. “We’ll talk later.”
I nod but Trinity doesn’t move. When the door closes behind him, silence settles thick and heavy around us. The bond hums, tense and uncertain, like it doesn’t know which direction to lean.
“I should...” Trinity starts, turning toward the door.
“Don’t you dare,” I say quietly.
She stops. I push myself carefully to my feet, ignoring the protest from my ribs. “Come with me.”
She follows without question. We don’t go to my cabin.
I don’t trust myself with that space right now, with the memory of her in my bed, the softness of this morning before our world turned to shit, the way I thought we were building something simple and honest.
Instead, we walk to the edge of the compound where the trees press close, and the air smells like damp earth and pine. A place meant for hard conversations. I stop and turn to face her. She looks wrecked.
Blood stains her hands where she tried to hold pressure on my wound. Dirt smudges her cheek. Her eyes are too bright, too alert, like she’s bracing for a blow she can’t see coming.
I don’t raise my voice. That would be easy. Satisfying, even. I don’t do easy.
“You lied to me,” I say.
Her shoulders tense. “Yes.”
“You let me believe you were just ... intuitive. Observant.”
“Yes.”
“You let me bring you into danger without knowing the full truth.”
Her breath shudders. “I never meant for you to get hurt.”
“I know,” I say. And I do. That’s the problem.
The bond pulses, carrying her fear and regret straight into my chest. It hurts but not because it’s sharp. Because it’s sincere.
“Why?” I ask. One word. Heavy as stone.
She looks away, jaw trembling. “Because every time I’ve told the truth, I’ve lost everything.”
I step closer, not crowding, but not distant either. “You think I would’ve sent you away.”
“I thought you’d look at me differently,” she whispers. “Like I was ... wrong. Dangerous. Something to manage instead of someone to choose.”
The words hit hard and I drag a hand through my hair, frustration coiling tight. “Trinity, I felt the bond the moment I saw you. I accepted it without hesitation. Do you really think some ghosts would change that?”
She lets out a broken laugh. “That’s easy to say when you haven’t watched an entire pack turn on you. When ghosts have made people turn their backs on you or treat you differently.”
I still. Because that, I understand.
“My birth pack wasn’t this pack,” I say slowly. “They were rigid. Hierarchical. Anyone who didn’t fit their idea of normal or strong was disposable.”
Her eyes flick back to mine, startled.
“They exiled me because I wouldn’t be what they wanted,” I continue. “I told the truth and it was the wrong thing. They called me unpredictable because I wouldn’t lie.”
The bond softens, recognition threading through it.
“So, when you hid this from me,” I say quietly, “it wasn’t just about the lie. It was about the choice you took away.”
She swallows hard. “I was trying to protect us.”
“I know,” I repeat. “But protection without trust is just control wearing a kinder face.”
Tears spill over, silent and unrestrained. “I didn’t want to lose you.”
“You almost did,” I say honestly.
She flinches like I struck her and I hate myself for the way that feels necessary. “I don’t say that to punish you,” I add immediately. “I say it because our bond won’t survive half-truths. Not here. Not with me.”
She nods, tears streaking her face. “I’ll never lie to you again.”
I hold her gaze. “Don’t promise what fear might break.”
She looks confused.
“Promise effort,” I clarify. “Promise that when you’re scared, you tell me that much at least.”
Her nod is fierce. “I can do that.”
I believe her and that scares me too. Faith in someone is scary because it can make or break you, but we will both need to learn to move beyond our fears. The silence stretches again, different this time, raw and exposed.
“You saved lives tonight,” I say finally. “Every single one of them. Including mine.”
Her breath hitches. “I almost got you killed.”
“You got me hurt,” I correct. “By doing exactly what we all signed up to do.”
I take a careful breath, ribs protesting. “What I need to know is this, if it happens again, if the dead warn you of something worse ... will you come to me first?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.” No qualifiers. No fear.
The bond responds immediately, warmth flooding through the ache in my chest, knitting something back together that I hadn’t realized had torn.
I step forward then and pull her into my arms. She stiffens for half a second before melting against me, hands fisting in my shirt like she’s holding on to the last solid thing in the world.
“I was so scared,” she whispers into my chest.
“I know,” I murmur, resting my cheek against her hair. “I felt it.”
We stand there a long time, letting the bond settle into something quieter, steadier, bruised but intact.
When she finally pulls back, her eyes search my face. “Are we okay?”
I consider the question carefully. “We’re not broken,” I say. “And we’re not done.” Relief crashes through her so hard she has to brace herself against me. “But,” I add gently, “trust is a living thing. We need to feed it, or it starves.”
She nods, wiping at her cheeks. “I’ll feed it.”
I almost smile. Almost. The Hunters are still out there. The dead are still watching. And Trinity’s gift isn’t something that will ever fade into the background.
But she chose us tonight. And I choose her, flaws, fear, ghosts and all. And that choice won’t waver.