Page 61 of Daddy's Mail Order Mate

I grunt affirmatively.

“Thorn, do you know who they are?”

“Can't identify them safely. I'm currently driving.”

“Makes sense—but no matter who they are, they certainly made a mistake. Not only are they trying their luck with you, they're going to get Elm Wood cracking down on them right after. They're going to regret it, Thorn. I promise.”

“They will.”

The remainder of the drive is torture on my nerves and sets my jaw aching with how fiercely I'm gritting my teeth. I sneak glances at the phone’s screen and try to parse the little glimpses of the camera feeds, and have to endure a slideshow of violence against my family while I'm too far away to help.

My wolf howls through me, rabid and cruel in its territorial spark. I know that I am going to kill today, and I will relish every drop of blood I spill in the defense of Gwen and myson. There's no effort to negotiate with myself on this front: both the man and the wolf agree on this point.

By the time I careen up to the front of the house, my engine is screaming hot in protest to being pushed this much. Several figures are in the middle of hustling down the front steps: one is carrying Rowan, two are carrying a limp red wolf, and several more are getting loaded into the white van loitering in my driveway.

Gravel drags noisily beneath my tires as I brake the car, and it's barely stopped by the time I launch out of it.

“Shit! It's him!”

“What?! He’s supposed to be gone for days!”

“Apparently not—MOVE!”

I do not have a human voice to threaten or reply to their panicked outbursts. I've already shifted the moment I leave the vehicle and barrel towards them with my fangs bared and a brutal growl ripping through the air. None of my senses are spared for recognizing who these men are, nor in this moment do I care. All that matters is that they harmed my people and invaded my territory, and I will deal with them in the way a wolf is meant to.

It has been so many years since I went properlyberserk.There are times when I've grazed the feeling during dire circumstances. But not even when Paige was in danger a year ago did I dive back into this primal madness. Their screams rise over my pup’s cries and their blood joins the scent of my mate’s. I feel flesh and bone give way beneath my teeth and smell death like a heavy perfume in the air. I am nothing but the cruelty of the wild and nothing will stand in my way. The pains of my own injuries may as well be non-existent, just faint marks of sensation that my biology blocks out as white noise and nothingmore. Because I do get hurt in the course of things, as wolves attempt to circle and pounce me, but even outnumbered and surrounded, they are nothing but meat that's yet to realize it’s dead.

The only opponent that stands out in the fog is the biggest; some pale, blue eyed creature that might have been daunting to a lesser specimen. He attempts to catch my vitals several times in the fray as his lackeys try to take me down, and each time I fend him off with unhinged ferocity. He is the last left standing, his maw and body stained with both of our blood, droplets of it sprinkling off his panting tongue as we circle one another.

He lurches towards my pup left writhing on the ground, clearly hoping to take him hostage. But that merely drives my instincts to the edge and just as his teeth might threaten over my young, my own latch around his neck and I rip and tear with lunatic zeal until every strand of that once immaculate white coat is stained scarlet.

The insanity only begins to recede once my adversary has been mutilated beyond recognition, and perhaps it would last longer if not for my son’s wailing. I lift my head, squinting through one eye, as the other is wedged shut and swollen from my exchanges with the white wolf. When I pad silently towards my boy, the haggard trace of a limp marks my stride—with the cocktail of adrenaline starting to fade out, my body forces me to feel its strain.

I shift to my human self when I get to him, and my bloodied hands take up the wiggling baby to cradle him to my bare chest.

“Shhshhshsh. It's okay. Daddy's here.”

The cries continue, but they at least start to subside a bit from that painfully sharp pitch when Rowan seems to realize he is being held and comforted by his father. My one-eyed stare moves out towards the slumped red wolf nearby.

Yellow-green eyes stare back at me from her bloodied face, and her jaw lulls open to whimper.

“Gwen.”

Those eyes glaze and shut, and I scramble towards her.

“No, no no no no—”

I hold Rowan with one hand and use the other to feel for a pulse through Gwen's thick coat. And beneath my fingers I find one, weak and uncertain, but there. The relief that staggers through me is immense, and a wet sob leaves me, tears streaking down my bloodied face.

“Don't go, you can't go,” I urge her unconscious body in a teary whisper. My hand shakily pets her head, hoping that maybe her eyes will open to look at me again. “Hold on for me, doe. Please.”

I don't have time to be in these emotions. I can't sit in the terror, or let the sorrow and guilt slow me. Both of them are depending on me to take care of them. My first concern is their health at this moment, now that the immediate danger's subsided. I sway unsteadily when I stand at first, but then I force myself rigid and grit through every step to get my son carried inside first. What ordered thought I can muster right now focuses on the linear path of what needs to be handled to get things stabilized efficiently.

The time for the rest will have to come after the work is done; emotions are a luxury in this world. And for their sake, I hope that this was all of the poor souls involved in whateverharebrained scheme this was. If not, the rampage in store is going to make it very clear why I am to befeared.

Chapter 20 - Gwen

The first thing that I can do when I wake up is groan.

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