Chapter 25
ELIZA
The air outside the cabin is colder than it should be for this time of evening. Or maybe it just feels that way because everything inside me hasn’t quite settled yet.
The pack meeting is over, but the conversations that followed linger in fragments—snatches of strategy, reassurances that don’t quite erase the tension beneath them, the quiet understanding that something large is coming and none of us can fully predict how it will unfold.
I should go back inside. There’s still work to do.
Notes to review. Patterns to consider. Conversations I haven’t finished processing.
Instead, I find myself standing in the clearing, my gaze drifting automatically toward the mountains.
Toward the canyon. Toward where everything seems to be pointing now.
“Thought I might find you out here.”
Cade’s voice comes from behind me, low and familiar. I don’t turn right away.
“Is that where you were looking?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
There’s a pause, then his footsteps approach, slow and deliberate, stopping just slightly behind and to my side instead of directly in front of me. Close enough that I can feel his presence. Not close enough to crowd. That balance feels intentional.
“You disappeared after the meeting,” he says.
“I needed a minute.”
“Same.”
That makes me glance at him. He’s standing with his hands loosely at his sides, posture relaxed in appearance but carrying that same underlying tension I’ve been seeing in him more and more lately. Controlled. Focused. But never fully at ease.
“You always do that,” I say.
“Do what?”
“Step away when things get heavy.”
A faint shift crosses his expression—not quite a smile, but something close to it.
“Occupational habit,” he replies.
I turn fully toward him now, folding my arms loosely.
“And what are you doing out here?”
“Looking for you,” he says again, this time more direct.
The words land differently the second time.
“Why?” I ask.
Cade doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze moves past me briefly, out toward the tree line, then back to me.
“Because I wanted to talk,” he says.
Something in his tone makes my pulse pick up slightly.
“About?”
He exhales slowly.
“Everything.”
That’s not a small answer. I study him then nod once.
“Okay.”
We start walking without really deciding to move, drifting away from the center of the clearing toward the quieter edge near the cabin. The path is familiar now. Worn. Comfortable but strange given everything else happening around us. Neither of us speaks for a few steps. Then—
“Garrett’s putting you in command,” I say.
Cade glances at me briefly.
“He already did.”
“Yeah,” I reply. “But you accepted it without hesitation.”
“It was the right call.”
“I know.”
Another pause. We stop near the side of the cabin, where the light fades slightly under the shadow of the roofline. I turn to face him again.
“Are you ready for that?” I ask.
Cade doesn’t answer immediately. Not because he’s unsure. Because he’s considering how to answer honestly.
“That depends,” he says finally.
“On what?”
His eyes meet mine.
“On whether I’m talking about leading the pack,” he says, “or keeping everyone alive.”
The weight behind that distinction isn’t lost on me.
“Both,” I say.
A faint breath leaves him.
“Then yeah,” he replies. “As ready as I can be.”
I nod slowly. That’s the only answer that makes sense. Not certainty. Not perfection. Just readiness.
“Good,” I say quietly.
Silence settles again, but it’s different now. Less about distance. More about something unspoken sitting just beneath the surface. Cade shifts slightly, his attention returning to me, more focused than before.
“You’ve been holding your own,” he says.
I raise a brow slightly.
“That sounds like faint praise.”
“It’s not,” he says, steady and immediate. “It’s observation.”
I study him.
“Then say it like you mean it.”
A flicker of something passes through his expression—amusement, maybe—but it fades quickly into something more serious.
“You’ve adapted faster than most would,” he says. “You’ve seen things that take others years to understand.”
“That’s because I had a head start,” I reply.
“With your investigation?”
“Yes.”
He nods once.
“That matters,” he says. “But it’s not the only reason.”
I tilt my head slightly.
“Oh?”
Cade steps closer—not abruptly, not closing the distance too quickly, just enough that the space between us feels more immediate.
“You don’t hesitate when it counts,” he says.
The words are simple. Direct. But they land with more weight than expected.
“I hesitate plenty,” I say.
“Not where it matters.”
I hold his gaze. The world around us seems quieter here, like the rest of everything has moved a step further away to give this moment space.
“I’m not used to this,” I admit.
“Used to what?”
“Being… part of something like this.”
Cade’s expression softens slightly.
“You’re not just part of it,” he says. “You’re contributing to it.”
I look down briefly, then back up at him.
“That still feels new.”
“Yeah,” he says. “It does.”
There’s a pause. Then, more quietly—
“It matters.”
I feel something shift in my chest at that. Not dramatic. Not overwhelming. Just… steady.
Grounding.
“I’m not trying to prove anything,” I say.
“I know.”
Another silence. But this one doesn’t feel empty. It feels full in a way that’s hard to define. Cade’s gaze lingers on me for a moment longer than before, and something in his expression changes—not dramatically, but enough that I notice. Something deeper. More personal.
“Eliza,” he says.
Hearing my name in that tone makes my attention sharpen slightly.
“Yes?”
He exhales slowly, as if choosing his next words carefully.
“About what’s coming,” he says, “there’s something you need to understand.”
My posture shifts subtly.
“Okay.”
“This isn’t just about strategy,” he continues. “Or territory. Or even survival in the abstract.”
I don’t interrupt.
“I’ve been in situations like this before,” he says, his voice steady but carrying an edge of something older beneath it. “Not exactly like this—but close enough to recognize the pattern.”
I wait.
“And?” I prompt quietly.
His eyes meet mine again.
“And when things escalate like this,” he says, “people start making decisions they think they can live with.”
The words are careful. Measured.
“But not all of those decisions are easy to undo,” he adds.
I understand what he’s saying. Even if he’s not saying it directly.
“Are you worried about what you might have to do?” I ask.
Cade doesn’t answer right away. Then—
“Yes.”
The honesty of that single word lands heavier than anything else he could have said.
My expression softens slightly.
“Good,” I reply. “Just… you have to promise… you have to survive. Please don’t leave me.”
My fists beat against his chest once, weakly, before I rest my forehead against him in some kind of surrender to both him and the stress of my worry. He doesn't even flinch, just wraps his arms around me.
“Never," he says roughly.
His arms tighten around me, not restraining, but holding me together.
"It's going to be okay." He lowers his head, his lips brushing against my hair. "I'm not going anywhere."
I look up, my vision blurry with tears, and his mouth is on mine.
This isn't the desperate, frantic claiming of our first time.
This is different. It's deep, slow, and full of aching tenderness.
It's a kiss that says everything he can't put into words.
I melt into him, my hands sliding up his arms to link around his neck.
The fear is still there, a cold knot in my stomach, but it's being slowly consumed by a rising tide of heat and need.
I don't want to talk anymore. I don't want to argue. I want to feel him, solid and real and alive. I want to erase the thought of any future without him by branding myself onto his very soul. I pull back, my breath coming in ragged gasps, and start tugging at his shirt.
"Take this off."
He obeys, his eyes never leaving mine as he pulls the shirt over his head.
My own clothes follow, a slow, deliberate shedding of barriers.
There's no rush this time. When we're both naked, he leads me to the bed, laying me down against the pillows like I'm something precious.
He stretches out beside me, his body a warm, heavy presence, and just looks at me.
"I love you," he says, the words so quiet I almost miss them. It's the first time he's said it, and the impact is staggering.
My heart hammers in my chest.
"I love you, too."
He lowers his head, and his mouth finds mine again as his body covers mine.
The kiss is slow and deep, a thorough exploration that leaves me breathless and aching.
His hands move over me, stroking, learning every curve, every dip, every sensitive spot that makes me gasp.
His lips follow, trailing a path of fire down my neck, my collarbones, pausing to worship each breast before moving lower.
When his mouth settles between my thighs, I cry out, my back arching off the bed. He's relentless, his tongue and fingers working in perfect, maddening harmony, building the pleasure slowly, expertly, until I'm writhing beneath him, a mindless, begging mess.
"Cade, please... now... I need you..."
He rises over me, his expression raw with emotion.
He enters me in one slow, smooth stroke, and we both groan at the perfection of the connection.
He starts to move, his rhythm deep and measured, each thrust a deliberate act of possession and devotion.
There's no frenzy this time, only a profound, soul-deep intimacy that is more intense than any desperate race to orgasm.
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, meeting him thrust for thrust.
The pleasure builds, not like a tidal wave, but like a slow, rising tide, lifting us higher and higher. I look into his eyes, see the love and the fear and the fierce, unwavering promise reflected there.
"I'm not going anywhere," he whispers again, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm right here with you."
His words are my final undoing. My orgasm washes over me, a long, shuddering wave of release that leaves me trembling and breathless. He follows me over the edge with a low groan, his body tensing as he comes.
“I’m right here with you too,” I whisper, running my fingers through his damp hair.
We lie tangled together in the aftermath, our hearts beating a frantic, synchronized rhythm. The danger hasn't gone away. The hybrid is still out there. But in his arms, I know we'll face it together. Now, I truly believe we can win.
Cade shifts slightly, then rolls to meet my gaze.
“Whatever happens,” he says, “you don’t get pushed to the front line unless you choose it.”
I meet his gaze.
“I already chose to be here,” I reply.
“Not the same thing.”
“Cade—”
“I’m serious,” he says, his tone firm but not harsh. “This isn’t something you should feel obligated to carry.”
I pause. Then answer just as firmly.
“I’m not doing this out of obligation.”
That seems to settle something in him. His shoulders ease slightly.
“Okay,” he says quietly.
The air between us shifts again—not tense, but charged in a different way. More personal.
More immediate.
Cade’s expression softens, and for a moment, the commander, the strategist, the leader—all of that seems to step back just enough for something else to come forward.
Something more grounded.
More human.
“You’re staying,” he says.
It’s not a question. I nod.
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
Another pause. This one longer. Neither of us moves away. Neither of us closes the distance further either. It just… exists. Unspoken. Unresolved. But not uncomfortable. Cade looks at me for a moment longer, then exhales slowly.
“Whatever comes next,” he says, quieter now, “we face it head-on.”
I nod.
“Together,” I add.
He holds my gaze.
“Together,” he agrees.
And in that moment—wrapped up together safe and warm but with the weight of everything ahead of us pressing in from the distance— It doesn’t make the danger any less real. But it makes it feel a little less impossible to face.