Sadie's truck was as loud and beat-up as the woman herself—an ancient Ford with a rusted winch on the front and shotgun shells rolling loose in the glove box. The backseat smelled like coffee, leather, and werewolf.
Willa didn't like any of it.
She sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, jaw set like concrete. Cade climbed in beside her, freshly bandaged, quiet, unreadable.
Sadie drove with one hand on the wheel and the other cradling a thermos the size of a toddler.
"So," Sadie said casually, glancing at Willa through the rearview mirror, "you two an item, or just working through some high-stakes tension with weapons and heavy breathing?"
Willa didn't answer. Cade smirked.
"Still deciding," he said.
Sadie let out a laugh. "Oh, sweetie. Some of us don't get the luxury of deciding. Some of us just fall face-first into bed after a skirmish and figure it out later."
"Is that what happened with you two?" Willa asked flatly, not taking her eyes off the road ahead.
Sadie glanced at Cade. "Hmm. Once or twice. Maybe three times. Depends on if you count that full moon in Arkansas."
Cade didn't correct her.
Didn't deny it either.
Willa felt something sour rise in her throat. She shoved it down.
"You always screw your exes into smuggling fugitives across council territory?" she asked, voice razor sharp.
Sadie grinned. "Only the pretty ones."
That earned a bark of laughter from Cade. Willa didn't move. Her spine was steel now, her face carved from ice.
"Oh, come on, darlin'," Sadie said, turning in her seat just enough to grin at her. "Don't tell me the alpha's got his claws in your sheets already."
Willa turned to her, smile cold. "If you don't shut up, I'll put a silver blade between your ribs and call it foreplay."
Sadie blinked. Then grinned wider. "Ooh, I like her."
Cade chuckled.
Willa did not.
They drove for another hour before the silence settled in again—Sadie humming some outlaw country song under her breath, Cade relaxed and too damn handsome, and Willa fuming quietly in her seat.
Then Cade leaned back, turned his head toward her, and said just loud enough for her to hear:
"You know, Sadie always said I had a thing for difficult women."
Willa's jaw clenched.
"Guess I've got a type."
She turned her head toward him slowly, eyes sharp enough to cut steel.
"Play that game, Mercer, and I'll make you beg."
He grinned, slow and dangerous. "Darlin', you already do."
She didn't answer.
Didn't have to.
Because her nails dug into the leather armrest hard enough to leave crescent-shaped dents—and her pulse betrayed everything her lips refused to say.
They made camp under a thick canopy of pine and ash, the moon bleeding silver through the branches. The safehouse was still a few hours off, and Sadie insisted they stop for the night—"Too many council check-ins along the next stretch," she'd said, casually cleaning her rifle while whistling a murder ballad.
Willa didn't trust the delay.
Didn't trust the woods.
Didn't trust anything—least of all the way Cade looked across the fire at her like she was a puzzle he'd already solved and liked the answer.
She kept her distance, pacing the edge of the clearing. The air was crisp, heavy with damp moss and smoke. Sadie built a fire with practiced ease, then tossed Cade a flask and a crooked smile.
"Still take your whiskey like poison?" she teased.
Cade caught the flask, grinning. "Only if you kiss it first."
"Easy, wolf." Sadie winked, then glanced at Willa. "Unless your girl minds?"
"I'm not his girl," Willa snapped.
Sadie raised a brow, not missing the flare in her voice.
"Well," she said with a slow grin, "my mistake. Though from the way you two can't stop circling each other, I figured you were either about to screw or kill each other."
"Why not both?" Cade muttered, sipping from the flask.
Willa turned sharply. "You think this is funny?"
"I think you're pissed that I haven't kissed you yet," Cade replied, standing now, crossing the firelight like the predator he was.
Willa didn't move. Didn't breathe.
He stepped into her space, close enough she could smell the whiskey on his breath, the smoke on his clothes, the want just under his skin.
"You want to prove me wrong?" he asked.
Her knife was in her hand before she even realized it.
Not raised.
Just there.
Because that's what he did—he unspooled her control, tugged loose every carefully knotted thread until she was raw and exposed and alive in a way she hadn't felt in years.
She hated him for it.
And she wanted him more than air.
"You touch me," she whispered, "and I'll bury you."
Cade leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "Then bury me deep, sweetheart. Because I'm not stopping."
Not until Sadie's voice cut through the moment like a blade.
"Something's watching us."
Instant tension.
Cade turned, eyes glowing faintly now, instincts flaring. Willa slid her knife back into her boot and reached for the obsidian dagger at her thigh.
"What kind of something?" she asked.
Sadie rose slowly, rifle raised. "The kind that waits until you're distracted to strike."
The woods fell silent.
No crickets.
No rustle of wind.
Just the fire crackling and the sound of three predators locking into formation.
And whatever it was in the trees…
...wasn't human.
The trees exploded outward as the creature leapt from the shadows.
It was huge—seven feet of bone and sinew, moving like smoke with eyes that shimmered violet in the firelight. It didn't make a sound. It didn't need to. The thing radiated intent.
And that intent was murder.
Willa was already moving. Her obsidian dagger slashed upward, catching its shoulder as it landed. It didn't slow. Just knocked her hard with one arm and sent her flying.
She hit the ground with a crack, rolled twice, and didn't get up.
"Willa!" Cade roared.
He shifted mid-run—his bones snapping, clothes tearing, body morphing into something not man, not beast, but alpha. All black fur and fangs and fury.
Sadie ducked low, pulling off a shot that grazed the creature's side. It snarled, turned, but Cade was faster.
He slammed into the thing, all snarls and snapping jaws. They crashed into the trees like a wrecking ball, Cade's claws sinking deep. The creature fought back hard, screeching, trying to dig into him—but Cade ripped it apart.
Literally.
The thing hit the ground in pieces, burning from the inside with a violet flame.
Cade didn't stop.
Didn't shift back.
He was breathing hard, eyes glowing, lips curled in a snarl as he padded back to the clearing.
To her.
Willa groaned, pushing herself to sit. Her left arm hung limp. Blood ran down her temple.
"You're okay," Cade said roughly, voice thick and not quite human.
"Define okay," she rasped.
He dropped to his knees beside her, hands shaking. "You weren't moving. I thought—"
"You lose your mind over every girl who takes a hit, or just the ones you haven't slept with yet?"
His lips curled. "That supposed to be a jab, or an offer?"
"I haven't decided."
He reached out slowly, brushing a blood-matted strand of hair from her cheek.
"I can't lose you," he said, too quiet. "I just found you."
And for a second, the barest second—Willa didn't shove him away.
Didn't cut him with words.
She leaned in.
Just enough to rest her forehead against his.
Just enough to let him believe she might stay.
But then Sadie cleared her throat from across the fire.
"Sorry to interrupt your very angsty moment," she said, "but that thing was a Nightspawn. That's not council-grade."
Cade's head turned sharply. "You sure?"
Sadie tossed a chunk of scorched violet bone toward him. "Positive. And if they're sending those after us, we're running out of time."
Willa exhaled, pulled herself to her feet, and glared at the woods.
"If the council's calling in Nightspawn, they're desperate."
"Or scared," Cade added.
She nodded, then looked at him—really looked.
"You said you wanted me to survive with you," she said.
He nodded.
"Well," she muttered. "Let's see if either of us makes it out of this alive."
The trees exploded outward as the creature leapt from the shadows.
It was huge—seven feet of bone and sinew, moving like smoke with eyes that shimmered violet in the firelight. It didn't make a sound. It didn't need to. The thing radiated intent.
And that intent was murder.
Willa was already moving. Her obsidian dagger slashed upward, catching its shoulder as it landed. It didn't slow. Just knocked her hard with one arm and sent her flying.
She hit the ground with a crack, rolled twice, and didn't get up.
"Willa!" Cade roared.
He shifted mid-run—his bones snapping, clothes tearing, body morphing into something not man, not beast, but alpha. All black fur and fangs and fury.
Sadie ducked low, pulling off a shot that grazed the creature's side. It snarled, turned, but Cade was faster.
He slammed into the thing, all snarls and snapping jaws. They crashed into the trees like a wrecking ball, Cade's claws sinking deep. The creature fought back hard, screeching, trying to dig into him—but Cade ripped it apart.
Literally.
The thing hit the ground in pieces, burning from the inside with a violet flame.
Cade didn't stop.
Didn't shift back.
He was breathing hard, eyes glowing, lips curled in a snarl as he padded back to the clearing.
To her.
Willa groaned, pushing herself to sit. Her left arm hung limp. Blood ran down her temple.
"You're okay," Cade said roughly, voice thick and not quite human.
"Define okay," she rasped.
He dropped to his knees beside her, hands shaking. "You weren't moving. I thought—"
"You lose your mind over every girl who takes a hit, or just the ones you haven't slept with yet?"
His lips curled. "That supposed to be a jab, or an offer?"
"I haven't decided."
He reached out slowly, brushing a blood-matted strand of hair from her cheek.
"I can't lose you," he said, too quiet. "I just found you."