Michael got up with a splitting headache.
He had fallen asleep at the crack of dawn after spending hours brooding over what he'd done.
Which, frankly, had been a huge mistake.
He kept asking himself what had possessed him to kiss Alex, but no matter how much he turned it over in his mind, the answer was always the same: he liked her.
He had liked her from the very beginning.
Why he had chosen to kiss her that night, though, was a mystery—or maybe not.
Maybe it was because he thought he might never see her again.
He still didn't know how, but somehow, he was going to stop her from going back to Oldgrove.
Right after his shower, he threw on a pair of black cargo pants and a T-shirt in the same color, then headed to Alex's door.
He was about to knock when she opened it.
"I was just going to get breakfast," she said.
"Me too."
They made their way to the dining room together in awkward silence.
Voices—Christopher's among them—drifted through the open double doors.
"Good morning."
Michael's brother scrutinized their faces as soon as they entered.
Lucian, Natalie, Raeg, and Ty were also in the room.
Alex and Michael took the two empty seats at opposite ends of the round table and quietly buttered their toast in silence.
---
"Everything okay, brother?"
Michael nodded. Christopher looked him over as they briskly walked toward the two dark sedans waiting to take them to Oldgrove. Chris got into the first car with Lucian and Nat; Michael, Alex, Raeg, and Ty got into the second. Within minutes, the two Mercedes were speeding down the winding Scottish roads, heading south.
It was afternoon when they caught sight of Oldgrove. The vast, mostly abandoned industrial area on the northern outskirts of the city soon greeted them with its derelict warehouses and smokestacks rising like modern-day obelisks in a new post-industrial desert.
Oldgrove had never been a pretty city. Born during the Industrial Revolution, it had expanded throughout the 20th century, growing suburb by suburb. In the past decade, many businesses had shut down, leaving hundreds of workers jobless—some migrated south or even off the island. The outskirts had become home to a new breed of humanity: those who lived in its folds and suburbs, surviving through schemes or profitable but illegal trades.
A sudden explosion snapped them to attention. Michael's eyes widened as the car ahead of them blew up and flew several meters into the air, rolling over itself.
Raeg swerved sharply and slammed on the brakes. Then he spotted the sniper with a rocket launcher.
"Out! Everyone out!" he shouted, flinging his door open and running toward the burning car.
Michael followed, dragging Alex with him. Ty pulled out his Glocks and ran for cover.
The shockwave from their own car exploding hurled them into the air, landing them on the green grass of a pasture alongside the road.
Michael got Alex behind a ditch. "Don't move!" he ordered, then sprinted toward what was left of Christopher's car.
Several attackers had revealed themselves and were now firing at them.
Michael heard a bullet whizz past his right ear and threw himself to the ground as he reached Raeg. The man had already pulled Christopher from the car and was trying to free Natalie and Lucian, while Ty covered them, shooting at the exposed enemies. His dark eyes were sharp, and his short black hair, combed to the left, was still miraculously in place.
"Chris!" Michael rushed to his brother. His face was burned and blackened, his clothes torn and soaked in blood. Michael gently pressed two fingers to his jugular. Thank God—there was still a pulse.
He helped Raeg lay Lucian on the ground, and together they pulled Natalie from the wreckage.
Alex was by his side, checking if Lucian was still alive. She gave him a quick nod in response to his questioning look.
Raeg and Michael drew their pistols and joined Ty in returning fire.
When his magazine ran dry, Michael ducked to reload and grabbed his phone. "Andy! We're on the A65. We need backup—we're under attack!"
Raeg slammed his last magazine into his Sig. Ty ducked next to them, clutching his bleeding left shoulder.
Michael's eyes blazed as he aimed and fired.
Then, in a flash, they were upon them.
Michael handed his pistol to Alex. "Run!" he barked, drawing two daggers from hidden sheaths beneath his jacket.
She shook her head and took one of the daggers from his hand, giving the pistol back.
"I know how to use this," she said, her eyes flashing. She wasn't going anywhere.
What followed was a furious and bloody dance. The Barclay clan's werewolves were agile and well-trained. Their enemies lacked technique but made up for it with brute strength and blind rage.
Alex quickly realized these weren't the usual opponents she was used to facing.
The first werewolf lunged at her, screaming and aiming for her stomach. She managed to dodge, despite his speed, and struck him square between the shoulder blades.
Grabbing a stick off the ground, she used it to parry the next attacker, who proved more cautious.
The helpless prey they'd spotted was turning out to be much harder to kill than expected.
Reason gave way to instinct as she felt the enemy's blade graze her.
The stick, though short, allowed her to maintain some distance—enough to partially offset her opponent's superior speed.
His blade slashed her left arm, sending a sharp jolt of pain through her, but she retaliated with the stick and then the dagger, slicing his leg.
A feral growl erupted from the man's throat as he lunged at her again.
Alex dodged and struck—this time in his side. She didn't have time to see if he was dead.
She was grabbed and hurled into the air. She landed several meters back with a heavy thud.
The air was knocked out of her lungs, leaving her gasping.
Then a weight slammed down on her.
As her vision cleared, she saw two enraged dark eyes glaring at her and a blade descending toward her throat.
A split second later, the man was gone—
And Michael's hand was hauling her to her feet.
His eyes scanned her quickly, then he dove back into the fight.
In that brief moment of calm—like the stillness in the eye of a storm—Alex saw what was happening around her.
Michael and his men struck with deadly precision, while their attackers now lay scattered across the field in bloody heaps, staining the bright green grass.
But there was no time to wonder what the hell she was doing in the middle of that chaos.
A man was charging at her now—two daggers in hand, and nothing but bad intentions in his eyes.
Two cars screeched to a halt and Leon and Andy jumped out as soon as they stopped. In no time, they reached them and the carnage was finally over.
Alex wiped blood splatters from her mouth with her sleeve. She looked around. The bodies of a dozen men lay sprawled on the ground. Michael and his companions had bloodstained and torn clothes, but they were all still standing.
As she looked at him, his eyes met hers.
"Are you okay?" he asked, noticing her stained clothes.
She nodded mechanically. "It's not mine," she said, referring to the blood on her—though she wasn't entirely sure.
He didn't seem fully convinced but nodded anyway, gently guiding her toward the others with a hand. Christopher and Lucian had already been loaded into one of the cars. Michael looked toward Natalie.
Andy approached him. "She didn't make it." The beautiful face was marred by a cut on the left side. Dried blood and black soot from the explosion disfigured the other side.
"The guys will bring her back," he added.
Michael nodded and headed toward the car. He waited for Alex to catch up before getting in himself.
---
Michael waited tensely for Fredrik to give him news of his brother. His eyes darted occasionally toward Alex, who was waiting with him. He couldn't bring himself to look at her. The guilt was overwhelming. For the umpteenth time, he had risked getting her killed. He stopped in front of one of the windows and looked outside. A hand rested on his shoulder. Turning, he met Alex's steady gaze.
"She'll be fine," she told him.
He nodded, then reached out an arm and pulled her close.
At first, she stayed stiff in his embrace, but then gradually relaxed, wrapping her arms around his chest. He buried his nose in her hair, which smelled of blood and ash.
A door opened behind them, and Alex stepped away, but stayed by his side. Fredrik approached them.
"The wounds and burns are extensive, but your brother has a very strong constitution. He will recover soon."
Michael exhaled, as if he'd been holding his breath until that moment. "Thank you," he said. "And Lucian?"
"He'll make it too. He has broken ribs and a leg, as well as burns and various grazes, but he'll be as good as new."
"Good."
"Now, I think I should take a look at your friend's arm and the wound on your chest. Follow me."
---
Christopher buried his face in his hands at the news of Natalie's death. Michael looked on, helpless. In just a short time, his brother had lost some of the people he held most dear, had been burdened with leadership of the pack, and a clan war had erupted in the bloodiest way imaginable. Any hope of resolving things without further bloodshed had been wiped out by the brutality of their enemy.
Nereus would pay for what he had done—but none of the dead, nor those who would die, could be brought back.
Christopher pushed aside the blanket from his bruised and battered body, but Michael stopped him before he could rise.
"We need you to heal. Be patient."
His brother's eyes blazed. "How can I be patient while my pack is being torn apart?"
"I know it's hard. But we can't afford to lose you too."
Christopher let his head fall back against the wall.
"Rest. Regain your strength. We're safe here. The boys are all with us."
Christopher nodded. "Thank you, brother."
"You're not alone in this, Chris."
Christopher nodded again and gave him a faint, worn-out smile. "I know." But deep down, he didn't feel that way.
Left alone in the room, he stared at the white canvas curtain draped over the window. And then, finally, the pain he'd been holding in for days pushed its way out.
He had lost the woman he loved twice—once when she died, and again when he learned who she truly was.
The thought that he hadn't seen through her act cut deep, wounding his pride and making him question whether he could truly trust his own instincts.
But his greatest doubt was about his role.
If he couldn't protect the people he loved—if he couldn't even see who they truly were—how could he possibly lead the pack?
Everything that had happened over the past few days had drained him of strength, purpose, and confidence.
Everyone was counting on him now.
But he no longer felt up to the task.
He no longer wanted that responsibility.
He pressed his hands to his face and shut his eyes tightly.
When he opened them again, they were filled with sorrow and resignation.
He wouldn't let them down.
He would find the strength to do what needed to be done.
But once this was over, he would hand over the leadership of the pack to Michael.
---
After leaving his brother's room, Michael joined Raeg and Andy in the hall that opened to the left of the entrance. Fredrik had sent one of the staff to retrieve the warriors who had stayed behind at the scene of the clash and to clean up any remaining traces of what had happened.
The two looked at him questioningly.
"He's doing better. He already wanted to jump back into action, but I convinced him to take the time he needs to heal."
"Now go get some rest too," Andy told him. "We've got this."
Michael nodded and headed for the stairs. Fredrik had offered them the rooms on the first floor for as long as they needed them. When he reached the hallway, he stopped in front of Alex's door. He waited a moment, then knocked.
When she opened it, Alex was wearing military-green cargo pants and a black T-shirt, both borrowed from one of the maids. Her still-damp hair smelled faintly of coconut. She stepped aside to let him in.
Michael watched her move—her muscles were tense, her pupils dilated. The adrenaline from the battle a couple of hours earlier hadn't worn off yet. He could sense it in her scent, in the rapid beat of her heart.
He approached her slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted. But when he got close, he wrapped his arms around her.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. The pain he felt for everything he had put her through—from the very beginning—was like a blade twisting in his chest.
She remained stiff in his arms for what felt like an eternity.
"I killed them," Alex murmured into his chest.
"I never wanted you to be forced into something like that."
Then he stepped back, gently holding her by the shoulders, and looked her in the eyes.
"I can take it away, if you want. I can make you forget. Everything. Even the werewolves... even me..." His final words came out in an even quieter whisper.
She shook her head.
"I don't want to forget. What I did was horrible, but I can't pretend it didn't happen." Her gaze didn't waver. "And I don't want to forget you."
He pulled her into another hug, and this time she returned it.
Silently, Michael thanked whatever force was out there for this small gift—her not wanting to erase him from her life after everything was nothing short of a miracle.
She pulled away and sat cross-legged on the large bed.
"How come the police didn't show up with everything that was happening? Or that no one stopped?"
"Because humans didn't see what was going on. Werewolves can influence human perception—even on a large scale. So anyone who passed by during the fight didn't notice anything strange. And the guys cleaned up once we were gone. No evidence was left behind."
"Are all of you capable of doing that?"
"It depends on your rank within the pack. Very few can manage something of that scale."
"It was you, wasn't it? The one who masked what was happening."
He nodded. Alex narrowed her eyes and studied him more closely.
"I think you're a lot more powerful than you let on."
"I'm an alpha male. I've become my brother's beta now, but that doesn't take away from what I'm capable of. I want you to know, though—I would never use my powers against you."
"Or on me."
He smiled. "I admire your sharpness." Then his expression turned serious again. "But if your life depended on it—if it meant keeping you safe—yes, I would use them."
She stiffened. "I don't want you to. Ever. For any reason."
He tilted his head, saying nothing.
"Give me your word," Alex insisted.
He sat on the bed across from her.
"If your life were at stake, I wouldn't hesitate."
"Then how can I trust you?"
"I would never hurt you."
Alex nodded. She knew that. He had risked his life more than once to save her. Still, a question surfaced.
"Have you already done it?"
He didn't look away as he nodded.
"Only to help you sleep. It happened when you came back wounded to your apartment. You wouldn't let me help, and you'd already lost too much blood—I couldn't wait any longer. And again, after the wolf injured you. I only helped you find peace in your sleep. You needed rest to recover."
That's why she hadn't remembered anything after coming home from the fight with Snake!
She studied Michael. He didn't look remorseful about it. But that wasn't what made her feel strange—it was the realization that he had gone out of his way to take care of her. No one had ever done that in her life.
"Why did you do it?" she asked before she could stop herself.
"Because you matter to me."
"I'm just a human, like you say."
"You're extraordinary. It doesn't matter if you're a werewolf or human. I've never met a woman like you."
Alex raised an eyebrow. Michael smiled.
"Yeah. That was kind of a declaration." His smile faded into something more somber. "If it weren't for this war, I would've asked you to be my mate. But I can't drag you any deeper into this."
"That's my decision to make."
Alex was startled by her own words. What the hell was she saying? That she wanted to be with him? That she was ready to start a real relationship—during a war she barely understood, with a werewolf? Was she losing her mind? She had always been impulsive, but this… this was something else.
"Do you want to stay by my side?"
"Well, I don't think a stupid war should be the one deciding that."
Michael's eyes widened, and then a deep, liberating laugh burst from his chest.
"Alex Ryan, you're the most incredible human I've ever met!"
Then he leaned in and kissed her—a long, soft kiss.
Alex surrendered to it, kissing him back.
The doubts, the fear, the blood… it all disappeared in the scent and taste of him.