by Everly Frost
Across the parking lot, two wounded shifters pull their unconscious comrades into the SUV while Dawson shouts at them to hurry up. Another second later, the doors slam and the vehicle squeals out of the parking lot toward the bridge.
I drag myself to my feet, stumble, and drop back to the ground while my wolf whines, her head lowered to Bridget several paces away. Beside my wolf, Iyana is finally recovering, gripping her chest, her face pale.
“Tessa!” she calls, her voice weak.
Wings flap above us and Danika’s hawk plummets to the ground, her feathers singed. She’s gripping the duffel bag, collapsing onto it before she shifts back to her human form, smoke rising from her back.
Bridget doesn’t move.
My heart wrenches as I drag myself the last few feet to her side.
Ice particles cover her arm where the enormous man held her, extending all the way from her wrist to her shoulder. The icy burn also spreads around her neck and halfway up her left cheek.
Her lips are blue, but when I lean over her, the faintest breath warms my cheek.
I told Tristan we wouldn’t need backup. I told him we’d be fine. I allowed Bridget to come with us. I regret every one of those decisions.
Bridget was my responsibility. Tristan entrusted a member of his pack to me—albeit one I had an issue with—and now she’s hurt.
We’re all hurt.
My wolf whines again, lowering her nose to Bridget’s cheek, but the contact doesn’t make any difference to the ice burn. My wolf may be able to tear at the senses of someone she passes through, but she can’t heal a dying shifter.
Danika drops to her knees beside me, her golden brown hair burned at the ends, smudges of soot smeared across the backs of her hands and her cheeks.
She shakes as she reaches for me. “What do you need, Tessa?”
“Can you fly to Tristan? He needs to take Bridget to Helen. She’s the only one who can help her. I don’t know what sort of supernatural that man was, but—”
“Ice jotunn,” Iyana says, dragging herself upright on the opposite side of Bridget. “He was an ice jotunn.” She pronounces the creature’s species as ‘yuh-tun.’
My eyes widen. “An ice giant?”
“Not actually giants, but yeah, they’re big guys. And rare. I didn’t know any still existed.” She rubs her heart. “One icy punch to my heart and he knocked me out cold.”
Danika takes hold of my shoulder, trying to turn me toward her. “Tristan’s on his way already. That’s where I went. To get help. But, Tessa…” She gestures. “You’re hurt too.”
I shake my head, refusing to look at my chest. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” Her voice is gentle, compelling me to check the damage to my chest.
A single glance, and I wish I hadn’t. Part of the bodice is melted away, burned and curling at the edges. My left breast is only just covered by the strapless bra beneath it. My skin is split and bleeding across the location of my heart—a three-inch-wide wound, although it’s shallow—while a dark bruise is developing around the impact area and across my left shoulder. “I’m going to be okay.”
I sense Tristan’s approach, his power streaming ahead of him.
My wolf shivers and I suddenly realize that she’s exposed. I wrench her back into my body so fast that she disintegrates before my eyes, leaving behind only a black spot in my vision. Her energy passes across the air in a blink and blends with my human form again. The bright blaze she leaves behind is tinged with cobalt blue light—the color of my fear. She reminds me exactly of the way the white wolf disappeared in front of me the other night.
“Tessa!” Tristan’s roar breaks across the distance. He’s bare-chested, jeans unbuttoned. He probably shifted into his wolf form to run all the way here, and then dressed on the run a block back.
I was expecting to see Jace too, but he’s nowhere in sight.
I’m not caging my emotions and they must be exposed and wounded, buffeting Tristan in waves. The same way his emotions are hitting me hard.
He’s angry.
So angry, I don’t need melding to read his mind. Neither, it seems, do Danika and Iyana, who both brace, tensing up as Tristan sprints toward us.
“You should both get out of the way,” I murmur to them. “I can handle this.”
They shake their heads, but I grimace. “Please. This is my responsibility.”
They slowly rise to their feet, leaving me beside Bridget, but they don’t go far, standing protectively behind me, Iyana paler than normal and Danika singed and smeared with soot.
“What the fuck happened?” Tristan shouts as he drops to his knees, sliding the last inches to stop at Bridget’s other side, despite ripping up the knees of his jeans in the process.
“Two men. An ice jotunn and a warlock,” I say, waiting for Tristan to look at me. “The ice giant got Bridget.” While Dawson distracted me.
Tristan leans over Bridget, pressing his hand to her heart, searching her face. He rejected me the other day so that he wouldn’t lose her, so she wouldn’t run, to keep her in his pack. He risked fighting me for this woman.
He still hasn’t looked at me. I’d like to believe it’s because he’s busy assessing her wounds, but it’s more than that. I feel it in the anger he isn’t hiding.
I failed him.
“She needs Helen’s help.” I grit my teeth and bury my own emotions, determined that Tristan won’t sense my regret or pain—or my shock.
“This is on me,” I say, my voice flat. “It was my job to keep her safe.”
Tristan scoops Bridget into his arms, the ice burn across her arm a sickening sight as he gathers her up against his chest. “Jace has gone to get the SUV. He’ll meet me halfway.”
Tristan is gone before I can reply, carrying Bridget away as fast as he carried me on the first night we met, his powerful legs pumping.
I remain kneeling where I am.
The sky finally opens up above us, and it starts to rain.
Turning my face up, I welcome the water dripping across my face and hair, down my chest and back.
Iyana and Danika hover at my side. “We should get back to the tower,” Danika says.
I shake my head. “I need some space.”
Back home, I would have run through the mountain forest, let my feelings wash away in the wind. Here, I’m surrounded by walls. Buildings, damn elevators, walls everywhere.
I meet their worried eyes. “I’ll be okay, but I can’t go back to the tower right now.”
“Then we’ll stay with you,” Iyana says.
“No.” I give her another firm shake of my head. “Please. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you back there soon.”
I spin on my heel and take off across the parking lot before they can try to talk me out of it. Behind the parking lot is the long park that extends along the edge of the river. I head straight for it at a sprint, my boots squelching in the wet grass when I reach it and veer left.
Sunrise is still at least an hour away and the night is now at its darkest. I release my wolf, confident that humans can’t see her, and send her to scout ahead of me.
Rain splatters my face and chest. Trees line the side of the park closest to the river, giving me the illusion of being back on the mountain. My cut stings, a physical pain that I focus on to distract myself from my deep sense of failure.
I never saw it coming. Dawson’s distraction. Those two supernaturals. Helen said that a war between shifters would draw in other supernaturals—bounty hunters, assassins, and the like. It looks like it already has—and they’re aligning themselves with Baxter Griffin. She didn’t want Tristan to put me in the middle of it, but here I am. Right in the middle of it.
Finally slowing, I stop near the edge of the river beside a tall tree. My wolf returns to my side. The city lights glow behind me and across the river while fat raindrops fall from the branches above me onto my head.
“Little one,” a voice growls behind me.
I spin to
the white wolf, my wolf also whirling as his powerful energy latches on to her, forcing her to remain where she is.
He appears several paces from me, materializing out of the dark, his teeth glowing white, his eyes fiery red. Unlike the last time he took hold of my wolf, he doesn’t release her immediately, his energy remaining curled around her chest.
His burning gaze takes in my human form, from my dripping red hair to my muddy boots. He snarls. “Your human form explains much to me.”
My wolf whines, turning her head to me. He’s gripping her chest too tightly—I feel the pressure as if he’s squeezing my human body too.
I grit my teeth and slow my speech, growling each word. “Let. Me. Go.”
The white wolf tips his head at me, the blaze in his eyes becoming cold. “You’re mine, but you continue to elude me. I’ll let you go when I’m ready.”
“Yours?” I spit. “Everyone seems to think that I belong to them. They claim me and then they reject me. Over and over.”
“Tell me how you manage to hide from me, and I’ll let you go,” he says.
“I haven’t been hiding from you—”
“Oh, but you have been. I can’t sense you unless your wolf takes separate form. And then you are a burst of energy that ripples across my senses, demanding that I come find you.”
I start to speak and then stop. The first time he found me—claimed to have been made aware of my existence for the first time—was the first night I released my wolf outside of Hidden House. I haven’t released her again until tonight.
I choose my response carefully. “You can only sense my wolf when she takes this form?”
He begins to pace, his big paws leaving no marks on the muddy ground, no pawprints.
“Tell me why!” he shouts.
I suddenly remember Helen asking Tristan for answers about me. She told him that my power was nothing she’d seen before. That my energy is wolf, but not wolf. And, most importantly, she said my human soul is masking an essence she couldn’t identify.
I allow myself to smile, refusing to give away the pain the white wolf is causing me as his grip tightens. “My human soul protects me from you.”
He jumps forward, baring his teeth at me. “Your human soul is a shell. A cage. You will only know your true power when you rid yourself of it. When you recognize it as the vessel that it is.”
“No.” I stand my ground. “My human soul is more than that.” Straining at his hold on my wolf, we both edge forward. “My human soul makes me who I am.”
His lips draw back. He gnashes his teeth at me. “You are too much like your mother.”
I jolt, feeling as if he slapped me. The insult burns. I push my damp hair away from my face, glaring back at him. “I’m nothing like her.”
I would never reject my daughter or slap her down in front of others. I would never allow her to be hurt.
The white wolf squeezes so hard around my wolf’s ribs that my breathing becomes rapid and shallow.
“You.” He advances on me. “Are exactly like her.”
Burning anger rises inside me. I want to strike out at the white wolf, but he’s like my wolf—insubstantial. I can only assume his form will claw through me and the pain will all be mine.
I have to get free. I scream against his hold on me, my wolf writhing within his grip. My human body drags at my wolf’s energy, trying to pull her back to me. As soon as I do that, he won’t be able to stop me from escaping.
In a desperate move, I snatch the dagger from the holster around my thigh. Even though I know it’s futile, I leap forward with a scream, the dagger gripped in both of my hands.
The wolf’s burning eyes widen, the dagger’s blade reflecting his sudden fear as the steel descends toward his head.
In the next instant, he’s gone, leaving behind nothing more than a bright spot in my vision.
My dagger sails through air.
The pain around my chest disappears.
I land on the ground at a crouch, stopping the dagger before it would lodge into the earth. Taking no chances, I call my wolf back into my body and close my eyes with relief once she’s safe again.
My relief is short-lived. Too soon, my inner turmoil returns.
When I couldn’t control my power, I was vulnerable to the strongest alphas. My power drove them wild—can still drive them wild if I let it. But now that I have control, so much control that I can release my wolf from my body, the white wolf can find me.
He told me that he has three names. If he’s the three-headed wolf that Tristan is worried about, then getting to me would be his first step to getting to Tristan.
I haven’t told Tristan about him. Tristan doesn’t know about my ability to release my wolf, either. Suddenly, that feels like a mistake.
I grip my stomach, my breathing shaky again.
The three-headed wolf is coming for Tristan.
Baxter Griffin is coming for Tristan.
An ice jotunn and a warlock with a fucking shotgun for a wand are coming for Tristan.
And I’m caught between them all.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The sun is on the verge of rising when I reach the clock tower again. I didn’t bring much with me on patrol, but my past self was forward-thinking enough to pop my security pass into the hidden pocket inside my skirt’s waistband.
Letting myself back into the building, I scan the parking garage for Tristan’s usual SUV. Its parking space is empty, which means he’s still at Hidden House.
My heart wrenches suddenly because I miss its safety and its occupants. I’ve only been gone for a few days, but it feels like a lifetime ago. I miss Ella’s humming. I miss reminding the card mage twins, Luna and Lydia, about the time of day. I miss Helen most of all and the comfort of her advice, her ability to help me keep everything in perspective.
I shudder as I remember Luna’s prediction that my real enemy is the one whose face I can’t see. I’m not certain yet, but she could have meant the white wolf, who must have a human form somewhere. He said his human form was delighted to discover my existence. If he is as in control of his power as he appears, then he won’t have any scent, no way to detect him.
I remind myself that I’m lucky to have Iyana and Danika and that they’ll be worried about me right now.
Taking the elevator upstairs, I pause when I step into the small living area in the entrance. Jemimah sits on the couch under the window staring out at the night sky as she bounces her little girl on her lap.
I attempt to tiptoe past them, but she spots me.
The dark rings under Jemimah’s eyes shout exhaustion.
I should probably be tired too, but after sleeping through an entire day and night, I’m doing okay.
The little girl jumps off her mom’s lap and runs to me as soon as she sees me. She lifts her arms up to me. “Up. Up.”
Since her mom doesn’t look like she wants to stab me, I bend and prop the child on my hip. She promptly starts gnawing on my hair again.
“Sorry. She’s teething,” Jemimah says, rubbing at her eyes. “Teething shifter babies are not fun.”
The little girl makes chomping noises at my ear and I think she might be chewing my hair right off.
Meh. It’ll grow back.
“Do you have anyone who can help you?” I ask.
Jemimah sighs. “The other ladies try to help out, but, you know, they’re struggling to get enough sleep too. All of our mates are…” She presses her lips together, leans forward over her knees, and quickly looks away before she swipes at her leaking eyes.
I take a hesitant step toward her, wary of making an unintentional mistake. “Are you okay?”
“I miss him,” she says, nodding and wiping at her eyes. It’s a losing battle as the tears continue to fall. “Even if he wasn’t my true mate. Our pack number is too small to have any hope of finding a true mate anymore.” She shrugs, her voice wobbly. “Unless you look outside of the pack like Jace did. But what happened to Ella was…”
Taking a deep, shuddery breath, she drops her head into her hands before she wipes her face again. “I’m sorry. I have no filter when I’m sleep-deprived. I shouldn’t have said any of that.”
“It’s okay,” I murmur, not sure how to process all of the fragmented pieces of information she just gave me.
She said that Jace looked outside of the pack for a mate—and she implied that Ella was that mate. I’d suspected from comments Helen made that there was a connection between them, but I don’t know what that has to do with Tristan killing his father…? Or why other shifters died because Tristan didn’t kill his father sooner? Tristan himself told me that his father would encourage fights and then kill the loser, but I assumed that only happened once or twice.
A glance at the little girl tells me that—surprisingly—chewing on my hair has sent her to sleep. She drools on my shoulder, her lips parted enough that it only takes a gentle sweep to extract the remaining strands of my hair before I hand her back to her mother.
Jemimah swallows visibly. “You do know that we hate you because you’re strong enough, right?”
My forehead creases in confusion. “Strong enough for what?”
“To be with Tristan.” The corners of Jemimah’s mouth turn down. “Nobody else is.”
I’m not sure what to think of this revelation. I’m not with Tristan. As for being strong…
I sigh and leave Jemimah with her daughter, then tiptoe down the corridor, aware of the other moms who need their sleep as I slip quietly into my apartment.
I find Danika crashed on the couch, where she was probably waiting up for me. She looks a lot better now that she has showered and washed off the soot. I do a quick visual check for wounds, but she appears okay, her breathing deep and peaceful.
Retrieving the blanket from her bed, I rest it over her before I check on Iyana, who is also crashed out on her bed. A wide bruise is visible across the top of her chest above the V of her nightshirt, and the intensity of the bruise makes me reluctant to leave her alone in case she needs me.
