Page 43 of Beckett's Fate

Beck’s wolf snarled, the sound a low rumble that reverberated through the chamber.

The hunter didn’t need to be told twice. He turned and bolted, his footsteps echoing wildly as he disappeared into the darkness.

Irene’s wolf let out a satisfied huff, her gaze flicking to Beck as the primal energy in the chamber began to ease. But even as the immediate danger passed, she knew it was far from over.

Beck padded over to her, his black fur brushing against hers as he nudged her shoulder with his snout. She met his gaze, the connection between them stronger than ever.

But as they turned toward the deeper recesses of the cavern, a faint sound reached their ears.

Voices. More hunters.

Irene’s wolf stiffened, her body tensing as the realization hit her like a punch to the gut. They weren’t alone—and the next wave was already on its way.

The faint sound of approaching footsteps echoed ominously through the cavern, each muffled thud sending a jolt of adrenaline through Irene’s veins. Her red wolf bristled, her eyes darting to Beck. His black wolf stood tall and imposing beside her, his eyes glowing with feral intensity.

The second wave of hunters was closing in. There was no time to regroup, no time to plan. All they had was each other—and the unrelenting resolve to survive.

The first hunter appeared at the edge of the chamber, his flashlight casting jagged shadows on the walls. He froze for a split second when his beam illuminated the two wolves, but he recovered quickly, barking orders to the others behind him.

“Spread out! Don’t let them escape!”

Irene didn’t wait for them to make the first move. With a guttural snarl, she launched herself at the closest hunter, her powerful legs propelling her across the cavern. Her claws raked against his arm, knocking his weapon aside as he staggered back with a yell.

Chaos erupted in an instant.

Beck lunged at another hunter, his massive frame colliding with the man like a battering ram. The hunter went down hard, his rifle skittering across the floor as Beck’s teeth snapped dangerously close to his throat.

But the hunters weren’t amateurs. They regrouped quickly, their weapons raised as they shouted to each other, their movements coordinated and deliberate. Irene twisted out of the way as a shot rang out, the bullet sparking against the cavern wall behind her.

The confined space turned every sound into a deafening roar, every movement into a frantic dance of survival.

Irene darted to Beck’s side, her wolf growling fiercely as she joined him in fending off two hunters who had managed to corner them. Her jaws clamped down on the strap of one man’s rifle, yanking it away as Beck knocked the other to the ground with a powerful swipe of his paw.

The acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air, mingling with the coppery tang of blood.

Beck roared in pain as a bullet grazed his flank, the scent of his blood igniting a fire within Irene. Her mate was injured. No one was going to hurt him. Not while she was still breathing. Her wolf snarled, her vision narrowing as rage surged through her.

With a feral cry, she turned on the hunter who had fired the shot, her claws slashing across his midsection in a blur of movement. He stumbled back, his weapon falling from his hands as he clutched at the deep gashes, his face pale with shock.

The fight became a blur of motion and instinct, the two wolves moving as one. Beck’s injury slowed him slightly, but he fought with a relentless brutality, his strength a beacon that drew Irene closer. Together, they pushed the hunters back, their ferocity overwhelming even the most hardened of their attackers.

When the last hunter turned and bolted, his curses echoing behind him, Irene stood panting in the center of the chamber, her red fur matted with sweat and dirt. Beck limped toward her, his body language a mixture of gratitude and pain.

Her wolf whined softly, nudging him with her nose as she circled him protectively. The wound on his flank wasn’t deep, but the sight of his blood made her stomach twist.

They shifted almost simultaneously, the mists swirling around them in a cacophony of lightning, thunder and shards of color and energy. Irene emerged first, the cool air against her bare skin doing little to calm the fire still burning in her veins.

Beck stood before her, his tall, muscular frame glistening with sweat and streaked with dirt. The wound on his side trickled blood, the sharp red stark against his bronzed skin. Bloodied and dirty with sweat and things she’d rather not think about, he was still gorgeous—even better than the dream.

“You’re hurt,” she said, her voice trembling with a mix of worry and anger.

“It’s nothing,” Beck replied, his tone rough as he stepped closer. “You fought like hell, Irene. That was incredible.”

She shook her head. “Don’t,” she snapped. “Don’t act like this is normal. You’re bleeding, Beck. You could’ve been killed.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing her arm in a gesture meant to soothe. “So could you,” he said softly. “But we’re both alive, and that’s all that matters.”

The tension between them was palpable, the adrenaline of the fight still coursing through their bodies. Irene looked up at him, her chest heaving as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her.

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