3. Nathan
Nathan
Istand in the doorway long after Harley’s truck disappears through the trees.
Dust hangs in the air where he tore out of the compound like the hounds of hell were after him. Maybe, in his mind, they are.
My stomach twists hard enough to make me nauseous.
Behind me, the compound hums with quiet activity. Guards changing patrol routes. Someone hauling supplies through the kitchen entrance. Voices low and careful because everyone in this place still sounds like they’re waiting for the next disaster to hit.
We survived the attack.
Barely.
The compound itself feels different now. Every guard watches shadows too closely. Every unexpected sound makes someone tense. The younger wolves especially are jumpy as hell, and the older ones aren’t much better at hiding it.
Nobody says it outright, but we all know the truth.
If Marcus had died, everything would’ve fallen apart.
I hear him approaching before he reaches me. His footsteps are quiet for someone his size, but I know every sound my mate makes. The shift in air pressure. The heat of him moving closer. The steady pulse of his emotions brushing against mine through the bond.
Worry. Exhaustion. Control wrapped so tightly around anger it almost cuts.
Marcus hooks an arm around my waist and pulls me back against his chest. I go willingly, leaning into the strength of him because I need grounding and Marcus has always been the place I land.
“What, exactly, was that?” he asks.
His voice is deep and rough enough to send heat curling low in my belly despite everything. It’s ridiculous how badly I still want him all the time. Maybe it’s because death keeps circling us lately. Maybe surviving makes everything sharper.
Or maybe I’m just addicted to my mate.
“I’m afraid it might’ve been Harley breaking.”
The arousal dies almost instantly beneath the weight of that truth.
I turn in Marcus’ hold and look up at him.
Gods, his eyes always pull me in. Dark and steady and terrifyingly intelligent.
There’s too much power in them sometimes.
Too much history. Marcus has carried the weight of North American packs for years, and lately I think it’s finally starting to carve visible lines into him.
Most people wouldn’t notice.
I do.
His shoulders stay tight even when he relaxes. He sleeps lighter now. Some nights he wakes snarling softly under his breath, half-shifted claws tearing holes in the sheets before he realizes where he is.
Joshua Dobson did that.
Not just to Harley.
To all of us.
“He was panicking,” I say quietly. “Almost bad enough to pass out. The farther away he got, the worse it became.”
Marcus’ hand slides slowly up and down my spine. Soothing me while I talk through it.
“I don’t know why except maybe he didn’t believe we’d actually let him go.
Maybe he thought we were screwing with him somehow.
” My stomach churns again. “I thought, after that night he finally left his rooms, well, I’d hoped Harley would realize we weren’t going to hurt him.
Maybe seeing Val lying there, looking more dead than alive only scared Harley more. ”
Marcus’ expression darkens.
“We’ve done everything we could to show him we aren’t like Joshua Dobson.” His voice stays calm, but I feel the violence underneath it through the mate bond. “There was nothing else left short of mass shifter suicides, and no one’s willing to go that far to make Harley feel safer.”
A startled laugh punches out of me before I can stop it.
“No shit. As much as I like Harley, I’m not willing to off myself or have anyone else do the same. And I don’t think that would help, anyway.”“
The sound dies quickly. “I think he was fighting with himself, and maybe didn’t—doesn’t—even know it. I think he knows he can trust us, that he is safe here, but some part of him, maybe the human in him, who knows, doesn’t want to believe it. Or is so traumatised by what Joshua Dobson did to him…”
I glance back toward the road Harley disappeared down. I can still smell his fear lingering in the air. Humans probably wouldn’t notice it anymore, but to me it’s thick as smoke.
“He wanted to ask about Val.”
Marcus goes very still.
“You’re sure?”
I nod slowly. “I could feel it. Every time he got near the infirmary these past few days…” I rub at my chest absently. “Something happened. He’d get agitated afterward. Restless. Confused.”
Marcus exhales heavily through his nose.
The mate bond.
We still haven’t told Harley.
Mostly because we aren’t entirely sure ourselves yet. The bond feels strange. Weak but persistent. Probably because Val is still unconscious half the damn time.
And because Harley is fighting everything instinctive inside himself with claws out.
“I thought after that night he finally left his rooms…” I trail off, remembering Harley standing in the hallway pale as death, shaking while trying so hard not to show it. “I hoped he’d realized we weren’t going to hurt him.”
“He may realize it consciously,” Marcus says. “That doesn’t mean his body believes it yet.”
I close my eyes briefly. The things Joshua must’ve done to him. It makes me sick to my stomach thinking about it.
“I think Dobson hurt him worse than Harley admitted,” I whisper.
Marcus growls, his big body tensing. He’s bulked up again, almost as big as he had been before his own abduction and torture at Joshua Dobson’s hands.
I cling to him and push away those thoughts.
Marcus had been nearly dead when Nathan had found him, but he isn’t now.
He’s strong, so strong, and healthy, and the leader of all the North American shifter packs.
He’s the Alpha Anax, and no one who sees him would ever doubt his power.
“I almost wish I had Joshua here to tear apart slowly,” Marcus says.
Marcus isn’t cruel by nature. Ruthless when necessary, yes. Violent when protecting his people, absolutely. But not cruel.
Joshua changed the rules for all of us.
I press my mouth against Marcus’ chest through his T-shirt. His scent floods my senses immediately—warm skin, spice, male wolf, home. My nausea eases slightly.
Marcus’ hands move over my back again. Steady. Possessive. Protective.
Mine.
“I wanted Harley to tell me,” I admit against his chest. “But I also didn’t. So maybe I didn’t push enough and I should have—”
“Stop.”
Marcus cups my jaw and tips my face up until I have to look at him.
The touch sends sparks down my spine instantly. It always does. The mating bond between us hums warmer in response, craving closeness despite the ugliness of the conversation.
“Don’t blame yourself,” Marcus says firmly. “Harley said what he wanted to say. Pushing him would only have made him feel cornered.”
“Maybe.”
“I think he’s a strong little shit,” Marcus continues, and there’s the faintest ghost of amusement in his eyes now, “and he has to deal with what happened in his own way.”
I almost argue about the little shit comment since Harley and I are nearly the same damn height, but honestly I don’t have the energy.
Instead I lean into Marcus harder.
The compound feels tense around us. I can sense guards moving along the perimeter. Smell too many emotions in the air. Anxiety. Fatigue. Frustration.
Loss.
We lost good wolves during the attack.
Some of the younger guards still glance toward empty spaces at meals before remembering who isn’t coming back.
And Val…
Gods.
Val nearly died.
I pull back enough to look at Marcus again. “How’s he doing today?”
Marcus’ mouth tightens immediately.
“Shania says physically he’s healing.”
“But?”
“But he still hasn’t shifted.” Marcus’ voice lowers. “And when he wakes up fully…” He pauses. “Nathan, he can’t see out of his left eye.”
Pain twists through the mate bond so sharply it steals my breath for a second.
Val lives for being a guard. For protecting. For fighting.
A permanently damaged shifter—
Fuck.
“He knows?”
“Partially.” Marcus rubs a hand over his face wearily. “Shania thinks he’s avoiding the truth right now.”
I stare at him, at the exhaustion he’s trying so hard to hide.
Marcus has carried challenge after challenge lately. Joshua. The attack. Injured guards. Political instability overseas and pack unrest simmering beneath everything.
And through all of it, he still stands here steady enough for everyone else to lean on.
I don’t know how much longer any person can do that without cracking somewhere.
My chest aches suddenly with fierce love.
I slide both arms around his waist. “You need sleep.”
Marcus snorts softly. “I need a world where people stop trying to kill everyone I care about.”
“Yeah, well.” I rub my nose against his chest. “Pretty sure that world doesn’t exist.”
Marcus keeps rubbing my back while we stand there in the doorway.
Slow strokes. Grounding strokes. The kind he uses when he knows my thoughts are starting to spiral somewhere ugly.
I close my eyes for a second and let myself breathe him in properly. Sun-warmed skin. Wolf. Sweat from training earlier. The familiar scent of our soap lingering beneath everything else.
My body responds before my brain catches up and desire slides through me low and hot.
The past few weeks have left us both stretched too thin. Too many near deaths. Too much blood. Too many nights waking tangled in fear and relief because the other one is still breathing beside us.
I tilt my head back enough to meet Marcus’ eyes again.
He’s already looking at my mouth.
The heat between us thickens instantly.
“We can make time,” Marcus murmurs.
I blink once.
“What?”
His hand slides lower, gripping my ass hard enough to make me gasp. “You’re thinking too loudly again.” His voice roughens. “Gabe and Mika can survive if we’re a few minutes late.”
The possessive note in his voice shoots straight to my dick.
I rub against him before I can stop myself, catching the hard outline of his cock beneath his jeans. Marcus exhales sharply through his nose, his pupils widening immediately.
“I need you in me,” he says quietly. The raw honesty of it cracks something open in my chest.