22. Stellan
STELLAN
Something has shifted.
I wake with Esmerelda in my arms, her small body curved against mine, her breathing soft and steady in the early morning quiet. The light filtering through the window is gray and pale, promising another cold day, but I'm warm. Content in a way I haven't felt in fifteen years, maybe longer.
The beast is still there. I can feel it, coiled somewhere in my chest, a constant presence that will never fully leave.
It's part of me, written into my blood, as much a part of who I am as my size or my protective instincts.
But it's different now. Quieter. Not suppressed or caged or fighting against my control.
Just... settled. Like it's finally found something more important than destruction.
Her.
I pull her closer, careful not to wake her, and press my lips against her hair. She makes a small sound, shifting against me, her hand finding my arm and holding on even in sleep. The beast purrs with contentment, satisfied that she's safe, that she's here, that she's ours.
Ours. The word doesn't feel wrong anymore.
For fifteen years, I thought there would never be an "ours.
" I thought I'd spend my life alone, the monster in the shadows, useful but never loved.
But she changed that. She reached for me when I expected her to run.
She saw the beast and called him beloved.
For so long, I thought the morveth was something separate from me.
Something to fight, to contain, to keep locked away from everyone I cared about.
I built walls around myself, convinced that isolation was the only way to protect the people I cared about.
But Esmerelda taught me differently. The beast isn't separate.
It's part of who I am, the same way my size is, the same way my protective instincts are.
It's the thing that tore through a battlefield to reach her when she screamed.
The thing that would burn the world to keep her safe.
I don't have to be at war with that part of myself anymore—the morveth that prowls beneath my skin, the fury that coils in my chest. I just have to channel it, direct that savage energy toward something constructive.
Give it something to protect, someone to fight for, instead of mindlessly destroying everything in its path.
She stirs beside me, her eyes fluttering open slowly, and when she sees me watching her with such intensity, she smiles. Soft and sleepy and completely unafraid, as if waking up beside a predator is the most natural thing in the world.
"Morning," she murmurs, her voice still thick with sleep.
"Morning, little one."
"How long have you been awake?"
"A while." I brush a strand of dark hair from her face, letting my fingers linger against her cheek. "I like watching you sleep. Listening to your breathing. The beast likes knowing you're safe, that nothing can hurt you while I'm here."
"The beast has opinions about my sleep schedule now?"
"The beast has opinions about everything that concerns you." I trace the curve of her jaw with my thumb. "What you eat, where you go, who you talk to."
She laughs, that warm sound that makes something tight and fearful unclench in my chest. "I suppose I should be flattered by all this possessive attention."
"You should be." I kiss her forehead, breathing in the scent of her hair. "It's very discerning about who it claims."
We lie there for a few more minutes, wrapped around each other, savoring the peace and quiet of the morning, but we both know it can't last. Today is day thirty-one of the lockdown, and tonight the club moves on Bloodtusk's last stronghold—the warehouse compound on the east side.
The final push. The battle that will end this war one way or another, in blood and victory or devastating loss.
The beast stirs at the thought, not with mindless hunger but with cold anticipation. It knows what's coming, can already taste the violence on the air. It's ready for the fight.
I just hope I am too.
The war council convenes at noon.
The command center is crowded with every brother who can stand, along with the women who've been coordinating logistics and communications throughout the crisis.
The air is thick with tension, with the weight of what's coming.
Maps cover the walls, marked with red and blue, attack vectors and fallback positions. This is it. The final push.
Barrett stands at the main table, silver eyes sharp as he outlines the assault plan. Kieran is beside him, his expression carved from stone, the weight of command heavy on his shoulders. He looks older than he did a month ago. We all do.
"We hit them at dawn," Barrett says. "Three teams, three entry points. Team Alpha takes the main entrance. Team Beta flanks from the east. Team Gamma provides support and extraction. We're not leaving anyone behind this time."
The words hang in the air. We all remember the losses. Marcus. The brothers who fell during the compound assault. The graves we've dug since this war began.
"Stellan leads Alpha," Kieran adds. "The berserker opens the door. The rest follow through."
Nods around the room. No one questions it. Everyone knows what I am, what I'm for. The nuclear option. The force that breaks enemy lines so my brothers can pour through. Roman claps my shoulder, a silent acknowledgment. Elias gives me a nod that says more than words could.
"Communications will be coordinated from here," Barrett continues.
"Kira's running tactical. She'll have eyes on all three teams through the feed.
June's handling logistics and supply coordination.
" He pauses, his gaze sweeping the room.
"And Esme volunteered for direct comms support. Specifically for Team Alpha."
I feel something jolt through me. "Esme?"
"She volunteered." Kieran's eyes meet mine, something like understanding in them. "Said she wanted to be your voice in the dark. Said she's the only one who can reach you when you go deep."
My anchor. In my ear. Guiding me back.
I look across the room and find her watching me, her expression determined. She knows what she's volunteering for. She knows she'll be listening while I become the monster, hearing the sounds of violence through my earpiece, waiting to call me home.
"Are you sure?" I ask her silently across the space between us, the question clear in my eyes, in the subtle tension of my shoulders, in the way I hold myself too still.
She nods, just slightly, her chin lifting with quiet determination. I'm sure. The certainty in her gaze leaves no room for doubt.
The meeting continues around us—tactics and timing and contingencies, voices discussing extraction routes and backup protocols and ammunition counts—but I barely hear it.
The words fade into background noise. All I can think about is her voice, steady and unwavering in my ear, saying come back to me while the beast rages and blood paints everything red.
The single golden thread I can follow home through the darkness, no matter how deep into the abyss I go, no matter how far the berserker takes me.
After the meeting disperses and the various teams break apart to review their assignments, I catch Kieran's arm near the communication station.
"Thank you," I say quietly, my voice low enough that only he can hear. "For letting her do this."
"She didn't give me much choice." His mouth quirks in something that's almost a smile, the expression softening the usual hard lines of his face. "Stubborn woman."
"The best kind," I agree.
"I'm learning that." His gaze drifts across the room, and I follow it to where June stands at the communication station, her dark hair pulled back, her hands moving efficiently over the equipment.
She looks up, catches Kieran watching, and for a moment something passes between them.
Recognition. Tension. The kind of awareness that can't be faked.
Then she looks away, and Kieran turns back to me, his expression carefully blank.
"Something there?" I ask, keeping my voice low.
"No." The answer comes too fast. "She's a civilian. She shouldn't even be here."
"And yet she's been handling communications like she was born to it. Not flinching from anything she's heard on those channels."
Kieran doesn't answer. His jaw tightens, and I see the walls go up, the same walls I spent fifteen years hiding behind. I recognize them because I built identical ones.
"Whatever it is," I say quietly, "don't wait as long as I did to figure it out."
He gives me a sharp look, but before he can respond, Barrett calls him away to discuss something with the team leaders. I watch him go, noting the way his shoulders are too rigid, the way his eyes cut back toward June's station one more time before he forces himself to look away.
There's a story there. A history neither of them is talking about.
But that's not my problem to solve. Not today.
The hours before battle have a strange quality to them.
Everyone knows what's coming. Everyone knows some of us might not come back. But there's no panic, no frantic activity. Just quiet preparation. Brothers checking weapons, saying things that need to be said, finding moments of peace before the storm.
I find Esmerelda in our room as the sun begins to set, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped in her lap. She looks up when I enter, and I see the fear she's trying to hide. The determination underneath it.
"Hey," she says softly.
"Hey." I close the door behind me, cross to where she sits. "You don't have to do this. The comms, I mean. Someone else can?—"
"No one else is your anchor." She stands, reaching up to cup my face in her hands. "No one else can reach you the way I can. And I'm not going to sit here, useless, while you're out there fighting for your life."
"You're not useless?—"
"I know. You taught me that." She smiles, but it's fragile at the edges. "But this is something I can do. Something real, something concrete. I can be your voice in the dark. I can call you home."