Chapter 11 - Thane
I pounce into the battle with the demons, my veins pulsing with adrenaline, hot and furious as I become more determined than ever to protect my fated mate.
My mind is racing with everything that just happened, from discovering that Willow ran away to witnessing her wield her magic for the first time when the demons approached.
Right now, there's no time to waste, as two demons found us on the bridge that crosses the lake toward the small human town of Hope. With my sharp claws distended, I give it my all as I slice at the demons, knowing that it isn't enough to defeat them.
We've fought the demons many times before, and our wolf claws are no match for the malevolent apparition that dwells between the underworld and physical realms. The body of a demon isn't solid, not a tangible thing that can be injured—not unless the witches use their magic to attack the creature, ripping its evil spirit out of the underworld and into the body of the wolf it morphs into.
That's the only time a werewolf can attack and impair a demon with enough damage.
All I can do now is dodge the incoming attacks of the demons, my focus on keeping myself out of harm's way with every nimble dodge as their shadowy forms whisk through the air.
Their screeching cries rip through my eardrums, the sound of terror escalating as their attacks grow, faster, harder, their whooshing forms surrounding me.
The two demons seem to be creating a vortex around me, surrounding me until all I see is black. The vortex is strong enough to pull me off my paws, levitating in the air as I try snapping my teeth at the creatures I can't sink my canines into.
The vortex turns to a narrow chasm of terror, the demons closing in on me like invisible hands clutching my throat. As my vision blurs and ribs crack, all I can think about is Willow, where I left her behind that tree stump, and praying she runs back to Girdwood while the demons finish me off.
A skittish whimper is like my last breath escaping my lips, my vision blackening as my wolf eyes close.
This is it.
I'm outnumbered against the demons, and too far away from home to call out for help.
Willow….
My inner wolf calls out to her, even if we're not connected telepathically, because she doesn't have a wolf. But it's a last cry of desperation, a mental plea for her to escape before the demons turn to her and I'm no longer there to protect her.
“Let. Him. Go!” comes Willow's voice crashing through the darkness, crumbling the hopelessness I felt a few seconds before, as if she's answering my internal voice.
My eyes shoot open just in time to see a brilliant, vivid flash of golden light whisk past me, the magical light crashing into a demon and instantly turning it to ashes that scatter on the snow.
I collapse onto my side, the pain in my ribs causing my wolf to cower, leaving me in a pile of trembling human limbs as the last demon collapses into a hiss of smoke and then turns to ash.
The silence that follows is unnatural and hollow. I’m on my knees now, clutching my left side with both hands as searing pain flares through broken ribs. Blood stains the snow in large drips, dark and sharp against white, but I can’t take my eyes off Willow.
She stands in the middle of the clearing, golden light fading from her skin like the remnants of a storm when it's done wreaking havoc.
Her hair whips around her face, wild and alive, the ground around her sizzling where her magic strikes.
My lungs fill with air full of burnt iron and wood, but Willow doesn't seem to notice, her eyes clouded by the vibrant golden hues evident in her veins.
“Willow….” My voice cracks through her daze, and she blinks, lifting her face while her hands tremble as if she can’t quite believe what just happened.
“What did I…” her voice, full of fear, tapers off as her eyes return to their usual shade of blue.
“You burned them to ash,” I whisper, awe mixed with disbelief. “No witch has ever—” I stop only because my lungs protest, the broken rib shifting under my skin.
Her expression shifts from wonder to panic in an instant. “You’re hurt!”
I try to dismiss it, but Willow is already kneeling beside me, her warm hands pressing against my side. The contact sends a spark through me, but it's too intimate, too much right now. “It’s nothing,” I rasp, even though the metal tang in my mouth says otherwise.
Her gaze darts to the spreading stain of blood on my shirt. “That’s not nothing, Thane. We need to get back to Girdwood.”
She grabs my arm, flinging it over her shoulder despite our difference in strength. “We won't make it in time,” I manage through gritted teeth as I wince from the pain that comes with standing up. “Using your power…it draws them in. More will come. There's a safehouse….”
Her head jerks up, scanning the trees as if expecting another shadow to rise from the snow. “Where?”
“That way,” I say, pointing weakly toward the north ridge. “A hut. Aurora cast a spell over it. Keeps it hidden.”
Willow gives me a determined nod before we move together, her steps uneven, my weight heavy against her smaller frame.
Every breath burns, every heartbeat a reminder that I’m bleeding out, but she doesn’t stop until the outline of the old wooden hut appears through the trees.
The spell around it shimmers faintly with an invisible veil only the wolves and witches can sense.
Inside, it’s dark but warm, the air thick with the faint scent of pine and dust. Willow lowers me onto the only bed in the hut, her hands trembling as she releases me.
“Med kit,” I mutter, nodding toward the kitchenette and the only cabinet above the sink.
Willow rushes over there and finds a metal box—the old med kit—and a bundle of dried herbs hanging by the window.
“You don’t need to—”
“Quiet,” she murmurs, kneeling beside me again.
Her voice is soft, but the command in it leaves no room for argument.
She works quickly, ripping my shirt to expose the damage.
The cool air bites at my skin, but then her fingers follow, tracing the bruises along my ribs with careful pressure, warming my flesh.
I suck in a breath when her palm brushes over a gash.
“This one's pretty deep. I'm gonna have to stitch you up.”
“You don't have to, Willow,” I urge with a hand on her wrist, but she squirms free and goes to work.
“I don't have to, but I'm your only option,” she huffs. “Unless you know how to use a needle.”
Her tone is sharper than I’ve ever heard it. She reaches for the herbs, grinding them between her fingers. The earthy scent of mint and yarrow fills the air as she mixes it with water from a flask, dipping a cloth into the paste before pressing it against my wound.
I suck in a breath through my teeth, my muscles tensing when she pricks the needle through my skin. “You do know I'm an alpha, right?” I grate out through gritted teeth. “It would have healed on its own.”
She glances up briefly, rolling her eyes. “You'd bleed out before that happened.”
For a fleeting second, the tension shifts as we stare into each other's eyes, and something fragile flickers in the air.
Her breath grazes my skin as she leans closer, stitching the torn flesh with careful, steady hands.
Her hair brushes against my shoulder, smelling faintly of lavender and frost. My pulse quickens, the warmth between us building even as the cold seeps through the walls of the hut.
When she’s done, she ties the last knot and leans back, wiping her hands on her skirt. “That should hold.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, meaning more than the words could hold.
But she doesn’t answer. Her gaze is fixed on the small window beyond the kitchenette, her arms crossing over her chest as she straightens up.
Outside, the forest hums with an unsettling stillness.
The faint shimmer of shadows moves between the trees, indicating the demons outside, circling, searching for the source of magic used tonight.
“We can’t leave yet,” I say quietly. “They won't leave until sunrise.”
Willow nods, but she’s distant, her jaw tight. I know she’s upset, angry that I found her, angry that she had to use the power she’s been determined to deny all this time.
“Why did you run?” I ask, my voice low, as curiosity sets in.
She doesn’t turn. “I've been trapped all my life. I couldn't do it anymore.”
Her words slice sharper than my wounds. I swallow the ache rising in my throat as I sink into the pillows. “You’re not trapped, Willow. You never were.”
Silence.
I sigh and allow the exhaustion to close my eyelids. The ache in my ribs throbs with each breath, but it’s not what wakes me when I hear her soft gasp a moment later.
“Willow…?”
She’s still near the window, but keeled over this time, one hand clutching her stomach while the other braces against the counter. Her breaths are heavy and uneven, her face contorted with pain when she slowly turns toward me.
That's when her scent hits me, sweeter than anything I've ever smelled, wilder than my wildest fantasies.
Willow is in heat….
Her pupils are blown wide, confusion etched on her face as she stares at me, bewildered, clutching her belly with both hands. “I—I don’t know what’s happening…” she whispers, her voice tapering into a whimpering cry.
My wolf rises instantly, restless beneath my skin.
I fight to steady my voice, curling my hands into fists when the scent of her heat enters my airways, turning my inner wolf wild.
“It’s all right,” I say softly, though every muscle in my body is tightening with instinct. “You’re gonna be fine, Willow.”
I can’t tell her—not yet. Not when the truth would terrify her more than the demons ever could. She made it abundantly clear that she'll never sleep with me, and her fragility might lead her to run away again when she thinks that's what I want to do.
But as her pheromones fill the small space, warm and intoxicating, rousing my wolf as a feral growl builds in my chest, I realize the danger isn’t outside the hut anymore.
It’s right here, between us.