POV Blake
Turns out there's a special kind of hell reserved for werewolves stuck in supernatural no-man's-land.
Can't go home because your parents will literally murder you for growing a conscience. Can't go to your mate because you spent months lying to his face.
So here I sat, wolf form, at the exact point where Bloodmoon territory ended and unclaimed forest began. Like some discount Juliet if she'd been a lying spy instead of a romantic idiot.
The mate bond was having a fucking field day with my emotions.
Waves of Matthias's anger crashed through, followed by tactical focus sharp enough to cut glass. Underneath it all, this tiny thread of... something.
Too faint to name, too persistent to ignore.
‘Hope,’ my wolf supplied helpfully. ‘Mate hopes.’
"Our mate told us to leave," I reminded her, but she just huffed and went back to obsessively monitoring the bond.
Then the forest exploded with Nightshade wolves.
They poured across the border like roaches when you turn on the kitchen light—fast, numerous, and deeply unwelcome. My parents' attack force, using every weakness I'd gifted them on a silver platter.
The decision was made itself.
‘Fight,’ my wolf snarled. ‘Protect our pack. Protect our mate.’
"We don't have a pack anymore," I argued, already moving.
‘Wrong. Always pack. Always mate.’
Philosophical debates with your inner wolf while sprinting toward certain death—just another Tuesday in the life of Blake Bishop, professional fuck-up.
I hit the first Nightshade warrior from the side, taking him down before he could reach a young Bloodmoon border guard.
The kid couldn't have been more than eighteen, all gangly limbs and desperate courage. He stared at me for a heartbeat, clearly trying to place an unfamiliar wolf fighting on his side, before another attacker demanded his attention.
Anonymity had its perks.
In wolf form, I was just another fighter, not the traitorous Luna who'd sold them out. I could pretend, for these blood-soaked minutes, that I belonged here.
That I was the part of the pack.
The battle was chaos distilled into violence. I fought like someone with a death wish and a point to prove, which—accurate. Every Nightshade wolf I brought down felt like a tiny payment on an enormous debt.
Sorry I gave them your patrol schedules, here's me ripping out your enemy's throat. We cool?
A howl cut through the melee—reinforcements. Riverside warriors poured in from the east, evening the odds from "definitely fucked" to "probably fucked."
Through the writhing mass of fur and fangs, I caught sight of him.
Matthias.
Magnificent in his wolf form, all lethal grace and Alpha power. He moved through the battlefield like death incarnate, protecting his pack with savage efficiency. My wolf keened at the sight, wanting nothing more than to fight beside him.
That moment of distraction cost everything.
Fangs found my side, puncturing deep. Pain exploded through me like fireworks made of acid and regret.
The Nightshade wolf—one of my father's lieutenants, I realized—bore down harder, teeth scraping bone.
Instinct roared louder than the pain. Even as my body screamed in protest, I twisted sharply, claws raking across his muzzle. The satisfying scent of his blood cut through the copper tang of my own.
If I was going down, I’d damn well take a piece of him with me. My wolf howled approval, even as my vision blurred.
Through the haze of agony, I saw Matthias stumble.
His head whipped toward me, eyes wide with shock as our mate bond transmitted my pain directly to him. Because apparently, I couldn't even die without fucking up his day.
My legs buckled. Blood poured from the wound, more than seemed reasonable or survivable. The battlefield sounds went fuzzy, like someone was adjusting the volume in reality.
‘Get up!’ my wolf demanded. ‘Our mate needs us!’
"Our mate doesn't want us," I corrected, though the words came out more like a wheeze.
‘Wrong. Mate always wants. Mate will come.’
She had more faith than I did. I'd spent that particular currency on lies and cowardice.
The ground felt surprisingly comfortable for the forest floor. Soft. Welcoming.
The pain was fading too, replaced by a floaty numbness that probably wasn't a great sign.
At least I'd die defending him. Defending them.
The pack that had shown me what family actually meant, even if I'd learned too late to deserve it.
‘Not dying,’ my wolf insisted, but her voice sounded distant now. ‘Mate will find. Mate will save.’
"That's not how this works," I told her gently. "Bad girls don't get saved. They get what they deserve."
The darkness creeping in from the edges felt like mercy.
No more guilt. No more mate bond transmitting emotions I had no right to feel.
No more disappointing everyone who'd ever made the mistake of trusting me.
My last coherent thought was an apology to my wolf. She deserved better than me. They all had. But at least I'd bled for them.
At least I'd chosen right, even if it was too late to matter.
The darkness won, pulling me under like a tide. Somewhere distant, a wolf howled—anguished, desperate, demanding.
‘Mate,’ my wolf whispered, and then there was nothing.