A violent thrum spiked through my skull, hot and demanding.
*Maeve. Get to the Alpha House. Now.*
Kieran's voice tore across the mate bond like a whip across bare skin. The invisible tether coiled around my ribs, tugging with the force of an Alpha asserting direct dominance.
I stood by the narrow window of my nursery quarters, watching rain wash down the glass. The dull ache in my stitched shin pulsed with every beat of my heart.
*Serena had another panic attack last night,* Kieran pressed into my mind, his mental tone sharp with impatience. *The storm woke her up. The thunder triggered her respiratory distress again. Pack doctors don't know her history. You do. Bring your kit and get over here.*
I looked down at the black handheld communicator resting on the sill. It was an encrypted unit keyed directly to his private channel—a radio he had given me three years ago so he could summon me at any hour of the night without alerting the council.
A memory surfaced, unbidden and cold.
Eight months ago. The southern boundary line.
A rogue had slipped past the razor wire and shredded my bicep down to the tendon. I had pressed my hand to the gash, blood flooding through my fingers while my squad secured the perimeter. Kieran had arrived five minutes later in his truck, tires spraying gravel.
I had stepped forward, thinking he was reaching for me.
Instead, his shoulder knocked against mine as he brushed right past. Serena had been riding in his passenger seat. When the alarm sirens blared, she had tripped jumping out of the truck and twisted her ankle on a root.
*Maeve, hold this ice pack to her ankle,* he had commanded that afternoon, not even looking at the pool of red soaking my combat fatigues. *Serena’s pain tolerance is zero. Check the swelling. I’ll inspect the breach.*
I had knelt in the dirt, wrapping Serena’s unbroken ankle with my clean hand while my own blood ran down into the weeds.
*Did you hear me?* Kieran’s command slammed through the link again, rougher this time. *Stop wasting time. Move.*
I picked up the black communicator from the sill. I keyed the side button.
"The clinic has two certified healers on duty," I said into the microphone. My voice sounded flat, devoid of the deference I used to force into it. "Call Dr. Finch."
Static crackled over the small speaker. Then Kieran’s voice came through the metal grid, hard and incredulous.
"Finch is an old butcher who doesn't understand her constitution. Serena needs someone gentle. Maeve, you've handled her medical care for eighteen months."
"I am officially on medical leave," I said. "Check the roster."
"You are a member of my personal guard!" he barked through the speaker. "You don't take medical leave when the future Luna requires assistance!"
"I stepped down from the guard yesterday morning."
"I didn't accept your resignation!"
"That sounds like an administrative problem," I replied. "Call the triage bay."
I released the button.
A second later, the radio hissed with furious static, but I clicked the volume dial to zero and set it on the nightstand.
Ten minutes passed.
The roar of an engine ripped through the quiet courtyard below. Heavy tires skidded across wet gravel. A truck door slammed with enough violence to rattle the windowpanes.
"Maeve!"
Kieran’s bellow echoed up from the alley.
I didn't flinch. I reached into my coat pocket, took the black radio off the nightstand, slipped it back into my pocket, and walked out the door.
Every step down the concrete staircase sent a stiff pull through my calf. The stitches held, but the dull burn reminded me of the weight that had crushed my legs two days ago. I took my time. I didn't hurry.
When I pushed the heavy metal exit door open, the damp air hit my skin.
Kieran stood five yards away in the drizzle. His black jacket was soaked across the shoulders, his dark hair plastered against his forehead. His fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw set in a rigid, furious square.
"Have you completely lost your mind?" he snapped, cutting across the distance between us.
I stayed on the bottom concrete step, keeping the height advantage. "Keep your voice down. The nursery is twenty feet away. Children are sleeping."
"I don't give a damn about who's sleeping!" Kieran closed the distance, stopping three feet from my boots. The heat rolling off him was suffocating, his Alpha presence flaring out to crush my defiance. "You ignored a direct summons through the bond. You refused an order to treat Serena. Since when do you throw tantrums over protocol?"
"Since I stopped working for you."
"Working for me?" His eyes flared with dark disbelief. "You are my mate! You belong to this pack, and your duty is to this command! You think because you took a few hits in the tunnel, you have the right to abandon your responsibilities?"
"A few hits?" I looked directly into his eyes. "A concrete slab crushed my legs. The wolfsbane blistered my lungs. If Dax Mercer hadn't hauled me out, I would be in the ground beside Aunt Elena."
Kieran waved a dismissive hand, cutting through the air. "You're standing right here! Finch looked at you. You have surface bruising and minor lacerations. You're fine!"
A harsh, cold sound tore out of my mouth. A laugh without humor.
"You really don't see it, do you?" I asked.
"See what?" he demanded, his voice rising again. "I see a warrior letting a bruised ego ruin her common sense! Serena didn't sleep all night. She was trembling so violently she couldn't swallow her sedatives because of the thunder. She was terrified! And instead of doing your job, you're hiding in this rat hole playing the victim!"
"She had a panic attack because it rained," I said, my tone deadly even. "And you expect me to limp across the compound to hold her hand."
"She is fragile, Maeve!" Kieran stepped onto the concrete riser, towering over me. "Why can't you understand that? You have iron in your spine. You always have. You can take the hit and keep moving. Serena breaks. If the pack sees their Luna breaking, it weakens our position. I need you to steady her."
"No."
The word dropped between us like an iron anvil.
Kieran froze.
His eyes widened slightly, the pupils dilating in pure shock. The air in the narrow courtyard seemed to drop ten degrees.
For three years, that word had never left my lips in his presence. When he told me to stay in the shadows, I stayed. When he told me to wait while he courted Serena for the council's approval, I waited. When he asked me to patch her wounds while ignoring my own, I fetched the bandages.
"What did you say?" he whispered, his voice dropping into a dangerous, razor-sharp hiss.
"You heard me."
I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the encrypted communicator.
The black plastic casing was worn at the edges where my fingers had gripped it for three long years, waiting for messages that only ever came when he wanted something from me.
I pulled back my arm and threw it straight at his chest.
The radio struck his sternum with a dull clack. Kieran caught it purely on reflex, his fingers clamping around the plastic block as he stared down at his hand, stunned.
"Find another healer," I said.
"Maeve, don't you dare—"
He reached out, his hand shooting forward to grab my wrist. His fingers were inches from my skin, aiming to twist me back toward his truck.
I stepped back instantly.
My boots slid across the wet concrete, opening a clean yard of space between us before his fingers could touch my jacket.
Kieran's hand clamped down on empty air.
He stared at his open palm, his chest heaving under his wet coat, his face pale with sudden, violent disbelief. His Alpha presence lashed out, an invisible wave of static trying to force me to my knees, to make me lower my eyes, to demand the submission I had given him every day of my adult life.
I didn't bow. I didn't lower my chin.
I looked at him the way I would look at a stranger on the road—unmoved, cold, and entirely done.
"Maeve!" he snarled, taking a lurching step toward the threshold. "Get back here! We are not finished!"
I turned my back on him.
I walked through the heavy steel door, pulled it shut behind me, and turned the iron deadbolt until the lock engaged with a loud, final snap.
Through the reinforced glass pane, I saw Kieran standing in the downpour. He stared at the locked door, the radio clutched in his white-knuckled fist, his chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven gasps as the silence of the courtyard closed in around him.
He raised a fist to slam it against the glass.
Before his knuckles could strike the frame, the sudden growl of a heavy diesel engine rumbled through the alley behind him.
A pair of high-beam headlights cut through the rain, washing Kieran's rigid frame in blinding white light.
The black truck didn't bear the crest of our pack.
Emblazoned across the armored grill was the silver frost-wolf of Dax Mercer.
