Theo wouldn’t let me drive.
Which, given that he had a bullet lodged in his arm and I’d just funneled half a mountain’s worth of magic through my nervous system, seemed…unfair.
“You’re shaking,” he said, sliding behind the wheel of my Subaru like it was built for him. “You’re not taking us off a cliff because you’re stubborn about independence.”
“You literally got shot,” I pointed out. “With silver. Isn’t that like…werewolf kryptonite?”
“Slows us down,” he said. “Doesn’t take the wheel.”
“You’re bleeding on my upholstery,” I muttered.
“I’ll buy you new upholstery,” he said.
“From your hardware store?” I asked.
“Don’t tempt me,” he said. “I can source anything.”
Mom sat in the backseat, white-knuckled, Rufus’s head in her lap. She’d arrived at the pasture halfway through the fight, teeth bared, looking ready to throw herself at the nearest rogue with nothing but a shovel.
Theo had nearly had a heart attack.
“Breathe,” she ordered me now, echoing him. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Like we practiced before your boards.”
“I’m not having a panic attack,” I said. “I’m having a…post-magical-episode…comedown.”
“Semantics,” she said.
My hands did shake on my thighs.
Fine.
Maybe she had a point.
The cabin felt like a sanctuary when we pulled up.
The scent of milk and honey and woodsmoke wrapped around me as we stepped inside. The Ridge’s hum was softer here. Warmer. Like the mountains themselves had put a hand over this place.
Theo sank onto a chair at the table with less grace than usual.
The adrenaline was wearing off.
Pain was settling in.
Blood had soaked through the makeshift bandage around his bicep, dark and sticky.
I grabbed my kit.
“Sit,” I told him. “Don’t argue.”
He didn’t.
That scared me more than the blood.
“You okay?” I asked quietly, laying out gauze, scalpel, forceps.
“Been better,” he said, trying for light. “Been worse.”
“When?” I challenged.
He thought.
“Maybe that time I broke my femur on the ridge and had to shift mid-fall,” he said. “Or when Malachi’s people caught me in that silver snare at nineteen. That sucked.”
“Stop trying to make me feel better,” I said.
He smirked.
“Can’t help it,” he said. “It’s in my contract.”
Mom hovered in the doorway, arms folded, watching like a hawk.
“If you pass out,” she told him, “I’m slapping you.”
“Noted,” he said.
I peeled the blood-soaked bandage away.
The wound was ugly.
The bullet had gone clean through the flesh of his upper arm, missing bone barely. The edges were charred black where the silver had burned.
“Fucking Calder,” Theo muttered, glancing down. “He aimed for you.”
“You stepped in front,” I said tightly. “Again.”
“Habit,” he said.
I picked up the scalpel.
“This is going to hurt,” I said.
He met my eyes.
“It’s you,” he said. “I’ll live.”
Heat flushed my face.
I sterilized the blade.
The silver residue needed to come out.
All of it.
“You want whiskey?” I asked.
“After,” he said. “I like to know what’s happening when pretty women carve me up.”
Mom snorted.
“Flirt less,” she said. “Bleed slower.”
I made the first incision.
He hissed.
The smell of burned flesh and silver hit me.
Rufus whined from under the table.
“Sorry,” I murmured. “Sorry.”
“Do it,” Theo gritted.
Old field surgery training kicked in.
Cut. Clamp. Extract.
I’d dug glass out of a dog’s paw with more finesse than I had silver out of a werewolf’s arm, but need made me precise.
The first sliver of metal glinted dully in the lamplight as I fished it out with the forceps.
I dropped it into a metal dish.
It sizzled faintly.
“Gross,” Mom muttered.
“Scientific,” I corrected.
Two more fragments followed, buried deeper than the first.
By the time I was satisfied I’d gotten it all, Theo’s skin was slick with sweat.
His jaw popped from clenching.
“You’re not human,” I whispered, more awe than anything.
“We’ve established that,” he said, voice rough. “Ow.”
I smeared Hayes’s black salve along the wound’s edges, watching it hiss and then soothe. The angry blackness faded to red.
“Stitches?” Mom asked.
“He’ll heal fast,” I said. “But we’ll close it anyway. Less chance of infection.”
Theo watched my hands with heavy-lidded eyes.
“You’re good,” he said softly.
“Duh,” I said, trying to keep my voice from wobbling.
His lips twitched.
We moved to the couch after.
Theo refused the bed.
“I’m not kicking your mother out of your grandmother’s room,” he said. “I’d like to live another full moon.”
Mom sniffed.
“Smart boy,” she said.
She did, however, fetch him a blanket and tuck it around him with brisk efficiency that made my heart ache.
“You remind me of my son,” she said abruptly, voice softer. “Different eyes. Same…ridiculous hero complex.”
He blinked.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said quietly.
“It is,” she said. “And a warning.”
She left us then, retreating to the kitchen to “make tea” while very obviously giving us space.
The cabin was dim.
The fire had burned down to glowing coals.
The only light came from the lamp above the couch and the faint glow of the stove where Mom’s kettle heated.
Theo sprawled on the cushions, blanket pushed down around his waist, injured arm propped on a pillow. He looked…wrecked.
And beautiful.
All the edges he usually kept so tightly contained—strength, control, protectiveness—were softened by pain and exhaustion.
His wolf was closer to the surface like this.
I could feel it in the way his eyes followed me.
In the way his nostrils flared when I sat on the coffee table in front of him.
“How’s your head?” he asked.
“Fine,” I lied.
He narrowed his eyes.
“Lies,” he said. “You bled from your nose and passed out for thirty seconds after turning my wards into Fort Fuckoff. That’s not ‘fine.’”
“I did not pass out,” I protested. “I…took a brief, unscheduled nap with my eyes open.”
He huffed a laugh that turned into a wince.
“Don’t make me laugh,” he said. “It hurts.”
“Then stop being funny,” I said.
We looked at each other.
The gravity between us felt…stronger tonight.
Tempered by blood and magic and shared risk.
“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly.
“For what?” I asked.
“For not seeing it sooner,” he said. “What you are. What you can do. I’ve been so busy trying to…keep you out of this…that I didn’t realize you were…made…for it.”
My stomach tightened.
“I’m not a weapon,” I said quietly.
“No,” he said. “You’re…a healer. A…bridge. A…fucking miracle, if Hayes is to be believed.” His mouth twisted. “But you’re also…power. Old. Raw. And you wielded it tonight without…breaking.”
“I almost did,” I whispered. “If you hadn’t…told me to let go, I might have…kept pulling. Until…”
“Until it hollowed you out,” he finished. “Yeah. That’s what happened to Eliza.”
My heart lurched.
“Rosie’s mother,” I said. “My great-grandmother.”
“Yeah,” he said. “She tried to…hold…too much of the Ridge in herself. To be the stone and the river. It…ate her. Slowly. Margaret watched it. Swore she’d never let it happen to you.”
“I’m not her,” I said.
“No,” he agreed. “You’re you. And you have…help, this time. People who know what they’re looking at. Who can…pull you back when you go too far.”
“Like you,” I said softly.
“Like me,” he said.
Silence stretched.
I looked at his arm.
At the fresh bandage.
At the scars that crisscrossed his skin.
“Why do you always step in front of bullets,” I blurted. “Or claws. Or…Council decrees. It’s not…sustainable.”
He stared at the ceiling.
“Because that’s what I was…raised to do,” he said. “Alpha as shield. Alpha as sword. My father drilled it into me. My grandfather made it…punishment. If I didn’t move fast enough—if someone got hurt because I hesitated—he…made sure I remembered.”
“Made sure how?” I asked, dread coiling.
He shrugged one shoulder.
“Words,” he said. “Mostly. Sometimes…teeth.”
Rage flickered.
“You’re redefining it,” I said. “What Alpha means. You told Hayes that. You’re not a…sacrificial lamb either.”
He smiled tiredly.
“Then why does my wolf keep trying to throw us in front of moving cars?” he asked.
“Conditioning,” I said. “Bad training. Trauma. We can…work on that.”
“We?” he echoed.
“Yes,” I said. “We.”
His fingers twitched on the edge of the blanket.
“Rory,” he said, voice gone rough again. “You…scared me today.”
“I scare myself,” I said. “Regularly.”
“Not like that,” he said. “When you…pulled. When you lit up the whole damn field. My wolf…howled. Not in fear. In…recognition. It was like…oh. There she is. The other half.”
My breath hitched.
“And that…scared you,” I said.
“Yes,” he said simply. “Because it felt…bigger than choice. Bigger than debt. Bigger than us. Like something old in the Ridge had just…woken up and gone, ‘Ah. Finally.’”
My skin prickled.
“I felt it,” I whispered. “Too. Like…standing at the edge of a cliff and realizing I’d built the cliff.”
He let out a shaky laugh.
“That’s…an image,” he said.
“I’m full of them,” I said.
We fell quiet again.
The fire popped.
Mom clinked cups in the kitchen, humming under her breath.
“You said you…loved me,” I blurted, because apparently my brain had decided now was the time to leap off multiple cliffs.
Theo’s entire body stilled.
“I did,” he said slowly.
“You…still do?” I asked, voice shaking despite myself.
He huffed.
“That’s not how that works,” he said. “I don’t flip it on and off like a light.”
“Even after…today?” I asked. “After…watching me…channel a mountain and almost fry myself?”
“Especially after today,” he said. “You…chose…to stand there. To pull. To protect. To…be you. That’s not…less loveable. That’s…more.”
Emotion flooded my chest.
“I’m not…ready,” I whispered. “To say it back.”
“I know,” he said gently.
“But I…” I swallowed. “I feel…something. Big. And loud. And…it scares me. Because I don’t know where…magic ends and I begin.”
He watched me.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said softly. “Where the line is. Not for me. Love is…always a little…irrational. A little impossible. Magic or not.”
“That’s very…romantic for a man with a bullet wound,” I said weakly.
“Pain meds,” he said. “They make me poetic.”
“You haven’t taken any,” I pointed out.
He smiled.
“Your face,” he said. “Seasoned by panic. Worth it.”
I snorted.
“Idiot,” I said.
He reached out with his good hand.
His knuckles brushed my cheek.
“I don’t need you to…match me,” he said quietly. “Not now. Not ever. I just need you to…stay. As long as you want. As long as it’s…right. If that’s a month. A year. A lifetime. I’ll take it.”
Tears burned my eyes.
“Stop saying things that make me cry,” I whispered. “It’s very inconvenient.”
He smiled, sad and soft.
“Can I…hold you?” he asked. “No…expectations. No…marks. Just…you. Here. Tonight.”
My throat closed.
“Yes,” I said.
He shifted carefully, making room.
I climbed onto the couch.
Settled gingerly against his good side, my head on his chest, my arm draped lightly over his stomach.
He hissed once as I accidentally brushed his wound.
“Sorry,” I murmured.
“You’re fine,” he said. “I like your weight.”
Heat shot through me.
“You’re not supposed to say things like that when we’re…just cuddling,” I muttered.
“Says who?” he asked. “Cuddling can be hot.”
“Not helping,” I said.
His laugh vibrated under my ear.
His heartbeat thudded, steady and strong.
I closed my eyes.
The Ridge hummed.
Theo’s scent wrapped around me: pine, sweat, blood, something that was just…him.
My body relaxed in increments.
My mind…did not.
But it quieted enough that when sleep came, it was deep.
No teeth.
No rogues.
Just the steady rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his skin under my cheek, and the knowledge that for tonight at least, the lines I’d drawn had held.
***
I woke to find him watching me.
The light outside said morning.
The stiffness in my neck said I’d spent hours in the same position.
“Creep,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes.
He smiled.
“You drooled,” he said.
“I did not,” I protested.
He wiggled his fingers.
“On my shirt,” he said. “Respectfully, of course.”
Heat flooded my face.
“I hate you,” I said without heat.
“Liar,” he said easily.
His bandage had a small bloom of red, but the skin around it looked…better.
The blackness had receded. The edges pinked. Shifter healing, accelerated by good field surgery and mountain magic.
I touched his forehead.
“No fever,” I said. “Good sign.”
“You, Doctor, are a miracle,” he said.
“Stop saying that,” I muttered.
Mom appeared in the kitchen doorway, hair messy, wearing one of Margaret’s old flannel shirts.
She took in the scene—me sprawled halfway on Theo, his arm around me, the fire dying to embers—and raised an eyebrow.
“This is…progress,” she said.
“Don’t,” I begged.
She smirked.
“I made pancakes,” she said. “Theo, if you don’t eat at least three, I’m reporting you to your Council for negligence.”
“That’s abuse,” he said. “I’ll take four.”
We ate at the table like some bizarre version of a family.
Mom’s pancakes were absurd. Thick. Fluffy. Brimming with blueberries she’d apparently charmed off Patty.
Theo inhaled his like a man starved.
“Calder won’t be quiet for long,” Mom said between bites, ever the conversational ray of sunshine. “Men like that don’t take public embarrassment well.”
“He wasn’t embarrassed,” Theo said. “He was…intrigued. And angry.”
“Marvelous,” I said. “An angry, intrigued psychopath with a pack of hired guns and a grudge. My favorite.”
“We have time,” Vera’s voice floated from the porch.
She stepped in, Hayes behind her.
“How long?” Theo asked.
“A week,” Hayes said. “Two, if we’re lucky. They’ll regroup. They’ll…rethink. They’ll…adapt. So must we.”
He looked at me.
At my neck.
At my hands.
At the faint, invisible residue of the magic I’d wielded.
“You changed the bargain last night,” he said quietly. “The Ridge…listened to you. Not just to us. That has…consequences.”
“For whom?” I asked. “Me? You? Them?”
“All of us,” he said. “You’ve…drawn a new circle. Rogues will try to…step into it. So will our own.”
My stomach twisted.
“Our own?” I echoed.
“There are those in the Pack,” he said carefully, “who will see what you did and…want more. More power. More…boundaries. More…control. Not all of them will have your…restraint.”
“So we…make rules,” I said. “Teach. Practice. Like any…new medicine. You don’t just hand morphine to a toddler. You have guidelines.”
Vera smiled faintly.
“Comparing mountain magic to opiates,” she said. “I like her.”
Hayes sighed.
“You would,” he muttered.
Theo straightened.
“We start with us,” he said. “Council. Beta line. We test how far the Ridge will stretch. How much it will bend without…snapping. We find…alternatives. Offerings. Ways to feed it that aren’t tied solely to her veins.”
“Rituals,” Vera said. “Work. Hunts. Healing. We can…redistribute the weight.”
Hayes looked like someone had handed him a calculus exam.
“This is not how it’s been done,” he said, more to himself than us.
“We’ve established the old way sucks,” I said. “Time to suck less.”
Mom snorted coffee up her nose.
Theo choked on his pancake.
Vera laughed, full and delighted.
Hayes pinched the bridge of his nose again.
“This is going to give me a stroke,” he muttered. “You know that, yes?”
“We’ll get you a nurse,” I said sweetly. “Doc’s orders.”
Theo’s hand brushed mine under the table.
A small, secret contact.
Gratitude.
Pride.
Something bigger we weren’t naming yet.
After breakfast, Hayes cornered me by the sink while Theo and Elias argued over the best place for new wards on my porch.
“You scared me,” he said.
The admission startled me more than Calder’s gun.
“I scare myself,” I said.
He shook his head.
“Not like that,” he said. “You…reminded me of her.”
“Margaret,” I guessed.
“Eliza,” he said.
My chest tightened.
“You were there,” I said quietly. “When she…”
“When she tried to be the Ridge,” he said. “Yes. She was…brilliant. Stubborn. Convinced she could…hold it all. For us. For Rosie. For Margaret. For you.” His jaw tightened. “She died in pieces. Took years. Every time she used that…pull…she lost a little more of herself. Until one day, there was more mountain than woman in her eyes.”
My stomach turned.
“That’s not going to be me,” I said fiercely. “I won’t let it. Theo won’t. Vera. Jordan. *You* won’t.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“You did something she never could,” he said finally. “You stopped. You let go. That bodes…well. For all of us.”
Praise from Hayes.
Hell really had frozen over.
“Don’t make a habit of complimenting me,” I muttered. “It’ll go to my head.”
He snorted.
“Don’t give me reasons,” he retorted.
We stood in companionable—or at least non-hostile—silence for a moment.
“You still haven’t told me what *you* want,” I said, echoing our earlier conversation. “For me. In all this.”
He sighed.
“I want the Ridge fed,” he said. “I want my Pack safe. I want rogues dead or…gone. I want…forgiveness. From your grandmother. From Rosie. From Eliza. From you. I won’t get it. Not fully. But I want it.”
The vulnerability in that last admission pinged something in me.
“I can’t…fix…what you did to them,” I said. “Or what they did. I can…try…not to repeat it. With you. With Theo. With…whoever comes after.”
He nodded once.
“That may be the only…justice…we get,” he said. “Not redemption. Just…better next time.”
“Then stop treating me like a sacrificial lamb,” I said. “And start treating me like…a colleague.”
His mouth curled, reluctant.
“We’re not equals,” he said. “In years. In power. In…stupidity.”
“Give me time,” I said. “I’ll catch up.”
He barked a laugh.
“Margaret’s girl,” he muttered. “Through and through.”
I smiled despite myself.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said.
He huffed.
We both knew it was.
***
Theo insisted on walking me back to town that afternoon.
“I need to check the south trail anyway,” he said when I protested. “Make sure Calder’s not left any more surprises.”
“Rogues with party favors,” I muttered.
We took the long path that wound along the ridge, above the river.
The air was crisp.
Leaves had begun to turn at the edges, hints of gold and red.
“Do you…regret it?” I asked abruptly as we stepped over a fallen log.
He glanced at me.
“Regret…what?” he asked.
“Being Alpha,” I said. “Taking this on. This…Pack. This…mountain. Me.”
His mouth twisted.
“You’re assuming I had a choice,” he said.
“You…didn’t?” I asked.
He shrugged.
“Yes and no,” he said. “There were…expectations. From my father. From Hayes. From the Ridge itself. It…likes…our line. We…fit. Didn’t mean I had to say yes. I could have…run. Joined a rogue pack. Moved to Denver. Opened a hardware store there.”
The mental image was jarring.
Theo in a chain hardware store in Denver, wearing a branded polo, stocking shelves with mass-produced nails.
He shuddered.
“Exactly,” he said. “I chose this. With…complications.”
“Like me,” I said.
“Like you,” he agreed.
He stopped then.
Turned to face me fully.
“No,” he corrected. “Not *like* you. *You.* The…piece I didn’t know was missing until someone shoved her into my lap.”
I raised a brow.
“Metaphors,” I said. “We really need to talk about them.”
He smiled.
“What about you?” he asked. “Regrets?”
I thought about Belleview.
About my old clinic.
My cramped apartment above the bakery, smelling of yeast and sugar and too-sweet cinnamon.
It had been…safe.
Predictable.
Small.
“No,” I said slowly. “I don’t…regret coming. Even with…guns. And rogues. And old men with blood contracts.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because…” I glanced at him. “Because this feels…big. Bigger than me. Bigger than…vet bills and flea treatments. Because…if I can…help…change this—this deal, this mountain, this…whole twisted inheritance—it’ll mean…something. For me. For you. For…whoever comes after. And because…” My voice dropped. “Because of you.”
His breath hitched.
“Rory,” he said, voice gone rough.
“I’m not…ready to say it,” I said, heart pounding. “Not the word. But I…feel…something. And it’s…worth…being scared for.”
He stepped closer.
Close enough that the heat of his body washed over me.
Close enough that the scent of him filled my lungs.
Close enough that when he cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheek, the world narrowed to the space between us.
“Can I…” he began.
“Yes,” I said.
He kissed me.
Not gentle.
Not this time.
Hungry.
Pent-up fear and relief and want poured into the press of his mouth.
My knees wobbled.
My hands fisted in his shirt.
He groaned softly when I opened for him, his tongue sliding against mine.
Heat shot straight through me.
He tasted like coffee and pancakes and the faint, metallic tang of magic.
The Ridge hummed.
Not disapproving.
Not demanding.
Just…witnessing.
His hands slid down my sides, fingers curling at my hips.
He pulled me flush against him.
I could feel him.
Hard.
Wanting.
My own body answered, traitorous and thrilled.
We kissed until breathing became an issue.
When he finally tore his mouth from mine, he rested his forehead against yours, panting.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “We’re really doing this, huh.”
“Apparently,” I said, equally breathless.
His thumb stroked my lower lip.
“I want you,” he said, voice shaking. “So much it physically hurts. But I’m not…crossing that line until you tell me to. With all this magic nonsense screaming in our ears, I need that…clarity.”
“I know,” I said. “Me too.”
He smiled, pained and sweet.
“One day,” he murmured. “If we survive rogues and elders and boundary magic…one day, I’m going to take you apart so slowly you’ll forget your own name.”
Heat slammed between my legs.
“Not helpful,” I whispered.
“Motivational,” he said.
I laughed, shaky.
“Come on,” he said, taking my hand. “If I have to look at your mouth any longer, I’m going to break all our rules and probably a few local ordinances.”
“Is kissing on public trails illegal?” I asked, dazed.
“Indecent howling,” he said. “Very frowned upon.”
We walked the rest of the way in a charged, comfortable silence.
His fingers laced with mine.
The ridge spread below us.
The future loomed, dangerous and bright.
For the first time, I didn’t feel like I was standing on its edge alone.
***