Chapter 22
Kade
Iknow she’s gone before I even open the door.
The air around the den is too still. I can’t hear the steady beat of her heart inside, a sound I’ve gotten used to. Her scent on the wind is stale, hours old. Fading.
Cold dread coils in my gut, my blood hammering in my ears.
“Alanna!” I yell as I burst through the door, expecting to find the den a mess, upended by her magic in a struggle against an attacker.
But as I storm around the place, it’s quickly obvious that there was no struggle.
And my nose isn’t picking up anything either—not the foreign scent of an intruder or even the tang of fear in her own lingering smell.
The den is undisturbed. Normal. Except for the gaping hole of her absence. Books open on the research table, two mugs by the sink, the bed an abandoned mess of furs.
Inside I’m howling, my instincts thrashing against my ribs, demanding blood. But this isn’t the time for brute idiocy. I need to think.
No struggle. No intruders.
So, she wasn’t taken.
She left.
Something between a primal growl and a human sob escapes me. My knees buckle, the strength leaving my body in a dizzying rush, and I crash to the hard timber floor.
Fuck! Why did I venture so deep into the forest “on patrol”?
Because it made me feel better. I was so far up my own ass, worrying about the mating bond and my clouded judgment that I ignored my instincts.
Ignored what she actually needed. This wouldn’t have happened if I’d been closer. I should have been here, with her.
It’s a gut punch.
I replay the last few interactions with her.
The words I threw at her like stones, the calculated cruelty, the rejection.
The way her shoulders slumped, the fierce light in her eyes extinguishing into shock and then just .
. . hurt. I knew I was being a complete asshole—I thought it was for the best, even if it was killing us both.
The memory feels like a sickness twisting in my chest.
I shoved her right out the door.
Alanna. Up until now, she always trusted me. Trusted me to protect her. Trusted me with her body, with her pleasure. Trusted me to help her figure out this terrifying situation she stumbled into.
All I’ve done is keep secrets and push her away.
And this place, this fortress I built to hide from the world, became so much more with her in it. Now it feels like a lonely cell. I failed in my most basic, fundamental duty—as a Warden . . . and as a mate.
What the hell am I supposed to do? I get too close, I put her in danger. I keep my distance . . . well, now she’s in fucking danger anyway. What was it all for?
A feral snarl rips from my throat, and a violent surge of rage propels me to my feet. My mate is out there, in danger. I will find her. If I have to tear the city apart, I will find her.
I inhale sharply, dragging her scent into my nose.
Roses and old paper. It’s on the cushions, in the air, still on my own skin from .
. . Fuck. I’m drowning in it. All this time, I’ve been telling myself it’s a distraction, something to fight.
But the deepest part of myself where the wolf lives knows the truth. It recognizes her. It craves her.
It demands her.
I pace through the den, wanting to claw the furniture into kindling. My mind tries to reach for the old safety net, the one rule that has kept me upright since Maia: Attachment is a weakness. It gets people killed.
But standing here now, the den suffocatingly empty, that rationale suddenly feels as hollow as the silence.
I check my pocket for my tactical knife, ensuring I’m armed to go out looking for her—but find the worn leather of Maia’s cord instead.
The smooth bead, once a tiny carved wolf, rolls between my fingers like so many times before.
My little sister with her wild laugh and her whole life ahead of her.
Would it really have helped her if I’d cared less?
For the first time, I wonder if maybe the answer is . . . no.
Caring less wouldn’t have made the enemy’s trap any less cunning. It wouldn’t have given us more fighters. Maybe the only difference is that I would have died at the lodge with Maia, instead of being out in the field when it happened.
Maybe that’s what I think I deserve.
Is it possible that refusing to get close to anyone wasn’t a tactical decision, but a way to punish myself for surviving my sister’s death?
Fuck the knife. I don’t have time to search the den for misplaced steel, and the beast beneath my skin is more lethal than any blade. Still clutching at the leather cord, I stride to the front door and wrench it open so hard that the hinges groan.
Another wretched sob comes from deep in my chest as I charge outside. Why did I survive when she didn’t? Why? What could I possibly have to offer that she didn’t bring to the world a thousandfold?
But before my well-worn guilt spiral can overtake me, I’m in front of the warehouse, and Alanna’s weakening scent cuts through the fog again. Even though she’s missing, it’s acutely comforting. It keeps me focused on what’s important.
And what’s important is that the fucking truck is gone.
She took my calculated cruelty to heart and drove away.
I’ve been trying to protect her as if she’s a ghost from my past, a fragile memory to be shielded.
But Alanna isn’t Maia. She isn’t a memory.
She’s flesh and blood, and whenever I close my eyes, all I see is her.
Alanna in the library, eyes narrowed with fierce intelligence as she makes a discovery.
Alanna in my den, chin tipping up with that stubborn tilt as she challenges me.
Alanna in the railyard, standing her ground, a bulwark of defiant power against a creature of shadow.
Alanna, full of compassion, stepping into my pain when my entire life has been about keeping people out.
She is a goddamn force of nature. And without even trying, she cracked through all my defenses and found a place in my heart.
I stare at the empty driveway where the truck should be, my jaw clenching.
All this time, I’ve been telling myself that Alanna makes me weak, that the bond clouds my judgment.
But. When have I ever been stronger than when I was fighting for her?
It was love that gave me the strength to leap to Alanna’s defense in the railyard, even after nearly being crushed by that beam.
How many times have we saved each other?
My instincts are sharper with her, my power more focused.
There’s no question that the bond amplifies her magic, but it amplifies mine too.
I’m faster, more alert, more driven than ever.
And my tactical decisions—when have I ever been smarter than when she’s challenging me to dig deeper, making me defend my logic or find a better solution?
She doesn’t make me weak. She makes me better. The mating bond isn’t a liability—it might be my greatest strength. And I’ve been throwing it away . . . because I’m too much of a coward to face the truth.
I’m afraid of failing her. I’m afraid of losing her. Afraid that if I let myself love her completely, the universe will rip her away just like Maia.
But you don’t save people by loving them less. You only ensure that when they die, you’re not there to hold their hand.
I break into a dead run down the road, chasing the fading scent of roses, old paper, and the truck’s exhaust. The bond thrums in my chest, faint but constant, like a compass pointing right at her.
She’s still alive. Still out there, scared and alone because of me.
And for the first time in over a century, I know exactly what I need to do.
To truly protect her, I have to let her in. I have to stand with her. Trust her and trust whatever this is between us.
Purpose floods my veins, mixing with the primitive fury in my blood. Now more than ever, I have to find her. I have to earn back her trust. No more secrets. No more distance. No more fear.
It’s time to stop being the lone wolf and start being the partner she deserves. If she’ll have me. If I haven’t already fucked it up beyond saving.
Then, a sharp psychic pulse slams into my skull—an urgent, high-level summons.
I pull out my phone, vibrating in my pocket, to see the glowing silver Warden sigil aggressively flashing on the screen.
Critical-level magical incident: unprecedented chaotic signature.
Location: Lumina Festival, downtown.
Significant civilian endangerment.
Essential infrastructure at risk.
All available agents summoned for backup.
The echo-beast—it has to be.
And then another jolt, this one nauseating and intimate. It’s her. Her magical signature floods my senses through the bond, coming from the direction of downtown. It’s powerful, blowing past every limit I thought she had.
She’s there.
Panic coats my throat. Downtown is miles away and I don’t have a vehicle.
She’s holding the line. And she’s facing it alone.
Two legs are too slow.