Chapter 10
NASH
Mia’s already in the driver’s seat when I come out of the estate at five-fifty in the morning.
Ten minutes early. Of course she is. I load my pack into the back of her car without comment, circle to the passenger side, and fold myself inside.
The car isn’t exactly spacious, but I make it work.
Mia doesn’t comment on it. She’s got coffee in the cupholder, waiting—one for her, one for me.
I know better than to be touched by the gesture.
For Mia, it’s practical to bring coffee for an early morning road trip just like it’s practical that she already has directions queued on the dash screen.
What’s not practical is my physical reaction to the sight of her in casual clothes. Leggings. Hiking boots. An oversized, long-sleeved tee. Hair hanging loose like a red flame. Lips shining with a layer of gloss just begging to be licked clean.
My cock hardens, and I have to lay my jacket over my lap to keep her from noticing. I haven’t been this obvious or out of control since high school. My wolf is losing his mind, too, which is just ridiculous.
It’s a wonder I resisted going back to her apartment last night. The only thing that stopped me was my conference call with the board.
I clear my throat. “Morning.”
“It sure is.”
My mouth quirks. “But is it a good morning?”
“You tell me.” She eases onto the gas, and we roll down the long drive toward the front gate.
“Are you always this early?” I ask.
“My dad says early is on time, and—”
“On time is late,” I finish with her.
She glances at me sideways. Something in her expression is still carrying the weight of the last few days—the fire, Bobby, Crow’s arm, Claire’s grief—but underneath it, barely visible, her eyes sparkle with interest.
“My dad says that too,” I explain. She gives me a look of quiet intensity. “What?”
“You’ve never talked about him. Your dad.”
She arches a brow. “When would I have done that? When I took my clothes off or put them back on?”
I grin. “I’m open to either.”
She makes a sound like “hmmph,” and we drive on.
For the first hour she’s mostly quiet, and I let her have it.
The city gives way to the mountain roads gradually—the density of buildings thinning, the light shifting from urban amber to the clean pale grey of early morning in the high country.
She drives the way she does everything: precisely, without wasted motion, hand firm on the wheel, and her eyes moving constantly between the road and the mirrors.
I drink my coffee and watch the tree line and don’t push.
Somewhere around the hour and twenty mark she exhales. Long and slow, like something she’s been holding is finally finding its way out.
“Bobby had a daughter,” she says. Not looking at me. Just straight ahead through the windshield, barely blinking. “In the human world. Grown. They weren’t close, but she exists.”
“Does she know?”
“Donahue’s handling the notification.” A beat. “He wasn’t a great dad from what I hear. But he managed to get her out when she asked at eighteen. Not much contact after from what I’ve heard. I’m not sure how she’ll take it.”
“I’m sure she’ll mourn the loss.”
“It’s a particular kind of grief. Finding out someone you didn’t know very well is gone.”
I look at her profile. The clean line of her jaw. The way she’s holding herself carefully upright even now, alone in a car with me. “Have you experienced that?”
A pause. “My mother,” she says finally. “After she died, I found letters. From before she met my dad. A whole person I never knew existed.” She’s quiet for a moment.
"She was funny in those letters. I didn’t know she was funny.
I always thought of her as… I don’t know, soft.
Sad. Sick.” Something shifts in her expression.
“She was twenty-three and funny and full of plans, and then she got married to a general. Had his wolf pup daughter. And got sick. And then—” She stops.
“Franco refused to provide treatment,” I say quietly.
She glances at me sharply.
“Grey mentioned it,” I say. “When I asked for more history on Franco’s experiments.”
She looks back at the road. A muscle in her jaw works once. “Did he mention my parents were fated mates?”
“No.”
Her knuckles go white from where she grips the wheel harder. I wonder why she’s telling me all this if it’s so hard to say. But she goes on, her voice flat.
“It nearly killed him when she died.”
Her words click into places where I’ve been struggling with unanswered questions. “That’s why you don’t want a mate.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
The silence that follows has weight to it. Not hostile. Just heavy with truth.
“It's not just that it hurt him,” she says eventually. Quietly enough that I know this is something she hasn’t said out loud before.
“It's that he didn’t have a choice. The bond just… wrecked him. He loved her completely, and then it took her, and then it almost took him, and none of it was something he had any control over.” She pauses.
“I need to be able to choose everything in my life. Everything I do and don’t do.
Everything I open myself to. Or protect myself from. For me, that’s not negotiable.”
“I understand that,” I say.
“Do you?”
“Yes.” I mean it completely. “I built an entire institution around the principle that the wolves who go through it leave with more choices than they came in with.” I look at her. “I would never want to be something that cost you yours.”
She doesn’t respond right away. But something in the set of her shoulders changes. Like she’s decided I’m not the enemy after all. I’m not quite sure that’s the same thing as being her friend though.
We drive in silence for a while. The road climbs. The trees get denser and darker and closer to the asphalt, and the sky above them narrows to a stripe of pale blue.
Somewhere in the middle of a mountain pass, Mia gasps.
The car doesn’t swerve, but she nearly drops the wheel. It only lasts a second, and then she’s sucking in a breath and getting her bearings again.
“What’s wrong?” I demand.
“Nothing.” She shakes her head, grabbing the wheel again. “I’m okay. I just… We passed through the wards.”
I frown at the way she says it. Like it’s a question rather than a statement. Like she can’t quite believe it. “Is that bad?”
“For pack security? Yes. I’ve never passed through the wards. Franco left them locked up tight. The fact that we just drove right through means they really are failing.”
“Wait.” I hold up a hand. “You’ve never left Indigo Hills?”
Her shock shifts into something new. Something like wonder. And then: shame. “No. This is my first time.”
“Well, I hope it’s not your last. You deserve to leave this city for something that doesn’t need you bleeding for it.”
“Thanks.” Her smile is wry, but it’s there. She nods at me. “Shoot Grey a text, will you? Let him know we’re through.”
I send the text then give her a slanted look. “You didn’t know if this would work, did you? Getting out of the wards, I mean.”
She shrugs. “Grey and I had a feeling this road was a weak point given several of our scouts have found wolf tracks up and down this hillside.”
“And if it hadn’t worked?”
“Ramsey would owe me a new front end.”
I stare at her, trying to gauge if she’s serious.
Eventually, she laughs, which doesn’t clarify anything.
“Tell me about the war college,” she says. “The real version. Not the tactical pitch you give potential clients.”
“What makes you think those two aren’t one and the same?”
“Give me a break. I know how it works. A sales pitch is just that: a pitch. And you’ve been doing it for a while, which means you would have smoothed the edges way too much by now for it to still be the truth.”
“Your instincts are annoyingly accurate sometimes.”
She beams. “Thank you for the compliment.”
I chuckle.
But then I realize what she’s asking, and humor dies quickly. She wants the real me. The true history. And nothing about that story is funny.
But I’m not going to lie. Not to her.
I look at the trees as we speed past. “My parents were members of the Black Moon Pack.”
She glances over at me, surprised. “That’s the pack Grey fought against when he left Indigo Hills.” Then surprise turns to somber understanding. “The pack that believed fated mates were weakness. They killed your parents for choosing each other.”
I nod, glad she remembers. Not just so I don’t have to tell it twice but because it means that night two years ago meant something to her too.
“I’m so sorry, Nash. How old were you when they died?”
“Ten. My aunt took me in, moved me to Canada, raised me. It was good after that. But I missed them.”
“I can imagine.”
“When my aunt passed five years ago, I inherited a piece of property that my father had left behind.”
“The war college.”
I nod. “It borders the Black Moon pack’s land.”
“They had a leadership change too,” she says. “Grey helped them win, though he doesn’t talk about it much. I know it’s different now. Co-alphas who accept and celebrate fated mates.”
“I know, and I’m glad for it. But it wasn’t like that five years ago. When I saw the property bordered their land, I decided to build something that would honor my parents and send a message at the same time.”
“Did you mean to fight the Black Moon pack with your soldiers?” she asks.
“If they hadn’t already been defeated by the time our first unit was ready? Yes.”
She nods.
“You built a training ground for your own war.” She gives me a smirk that’s nothing more than a wry, sideways slant. “Subtle. I like it.”
I chuckle, but there’s an edge to it. “Yeah, it wasn’t subtle, and I didn’t give a fuck back then. I was too angry. But now, I see the bigger picture.”
“Ah. The sales pitch.” She smiles playfully now. “Go on. I’m hooked.”