Page 16 of Wolf at the Door

The hours drag as I wait for Wolf to come back. Every creak of the house, every sound outside, sets my nerves on edge. My thoughts keep spiralling, jumping from fear to hope and back again. What if he didn’t come back? What if this was the night I lost him?

But then I think about the way he’d looked at me before he left, the promise in his eyes. “Always,” he’d said. And for the first time, I let myself believe it.

Because if there was one thing I knew about Wolf, it was that he didn’t break his promises.

I thought about the pack and what it meant to be part of it. The brothers had treated me with wary acceptance, but I knew it was only because of Wolf. He commanded respect, and that respect extended to me, for now. But what would happen if I couldn’t live up to their expectations? If I couldn’t fit into their world?

The pack wasn’t just a club or a family. It was something deeper, primal. They moved as one, their loyalty unshakable, their bond stronger than anything I’d ever known. I’d seen it in the way they looked at each other, the way they worked together without needing words. It was beautiful and intimidating, and I couldn’t help wondering if I could ever truly be part of it.

Would they ever see me as more than just Wolf’s woman? Could I find my place among them, or would I always feel like an outsider?

I thought about my past, about the little girl I used to be. My mother had always been the soft-spoken one, gentle and kind to the point of self-sacrifice. She’d taught me how to be empathetic, to listen more than I spoke, and to care deeply about the people around me. But her gentleness came with a price. My father had walked all over her, his temper as sharp as the words he used to cut her down. I remembered hiding in my room, clutching a pillow to my ears as they fought downstairs, wishing for it all to stop.

When he finally left us, there was relief—but also a void. My mother tried to fill it by working herself to the bone, but the world had already worn her down too much. By the time I wasin high school, I was more caretaker than daughter, balancing school, part-time jobs, and making sure she didn’t completely fall apart. There wasn’t room for fighting back or standing up. Survival was all I knew.

Maybe that was why I hadn’t fought Dylan sooner. By the time I realized he was just another version of my father, I was already trapped, too afraid of what might happen if I left. I’d learned how to keep the peace, how to shrink myself to avoid the blow-ups. Fighting wasn’t in my nature. Or at least, that’s what I’d always believed.

But now? Now I wasn’t so sure. Being with Wolf, seeing the strength in him and the way he looked at me like I was someone worth protecting, it made me want to believe I could be more. Maybe I could learn to fight—not just for him, but for myself.

I thought about the things that made me who I was, the small pieces of me that hadn’t been stolen by fear or pain. I loved quiet mornings, the way the light filtered through the trees, and the smell of coffee brewing. I loved books, the kind that let you escape into another world where the endings were happy, or at least hopeful. I loved music, the kind that made your heart ache in the best way. And I loved the idea of belonging, of finding a place where I didn’t have to be anything but myself.

Dislikes? Those were easier. Loud voices, raised fists, the smell of alcohol on someone’s breath. They all reminded me of my father and Dylan, of a life spent walking on eggshells. I hated feeling powerless, like my choices didn’t matter. But most of all, I hated the idea of going back to that place, of losing the fragile hope I’d started to build with Wolf.

How would I fit into the pack? That was the question that kept circling back. They were strong, unyielding, bound together by something I didn’t fully understand. But maybe that was the point. Maybe I didn’t have to be like them to belong. Maybe I just had to be willing to try.

For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel completely alone. I had Wolf, and through him, I had the pack. It wouldn’t be easy, and I had no idea what the future looked like. But for the first time, I wasn’t afraid to imagine it.

When the sound of bikes finally roared back in the distance, relief floods through me so fast it leaves me dizzy. I run out to the porch, my heart pounding as the headlights came into view. And there he is, at the front of the pack, his silhouette as familiar as my own shadow.

He’d come back. He always would. And maybe, just maybe, I’d find a way to be brave enough to stand by his side.

Chapter 10

The warehouse loomed ahead, dark and silent against the night sky. We cut the engines a quarter-mile out, the silence between the brothers a sharp contrast to the hum of adrenaline coursing through us. This wasn’t just another fight. This was a message, and it was personal. Dylan had made the mistake of thinking he could take what was mine. Now, he’d learn the price of crossing the pack.

Cutter was the first to speak, his voice low and measured. “What’s the play, Wolf?”

I glanced around, the shadows of my brothers blending into the darkness. Each one of them was a force on their own, but together, we were something more. A pack. Unstoppable.

“Ironhead,” I call, jerking my chin toward him. “Shift. Get eyes on how many we’re dealing with.”

Ironhead gave a tight nod and disappeared into the trees. A moment later, the faint sound of bone and muscle reshaping carried through the still air. The rest of us waited, tension coiled tight, hands on the grips of our weapons. The air was thick with the scent of oil and metal, and the promise of violence hung heavy.

Ironhead returned minutes later, his human form slipping from the shadows. “Fifteen, maybe more,” he said, his voice rough.“Spread out across the main floor. They’ve got firepower, but they’re sloppy. Won’t expect us to hit hard and fast.”

“Then that’s what we do,” I said. My wolf stirred, itching for the fight. “Cutter, take Rocco and a few of the others and flank left. Finn, you’re with me on the right. Ironhead, hold back with the rest of the men until we’ve cleared the way. When we move, we don’t stop.”

The brothers nod, their expressions grim but ready. This was what we did. This was who we were.

The first shot rang out the second we breached the door. Dylan’s men were waiting, but their aim was wild, bullets punching into the walls and crates around us. I ducked low, returning fire with calculated precision. The sharp crack of gunfire filled the air, mingling with the shouts and curses of the enemy.

Cutter’s group moved in from the left, their advance swift and unrelenting. Rocco took out two men with clean headshots, his sniper-like precision unmatched. On the right, Finn and I pressed forward, cutting through the chaos like a blade. My shots found their marks, and the men who didn’t fall ran for cover, their panic palpable.

“Move!” I bark, signalling Finn to cover me as I closed the distance to the centre of the room. Dylan wasn’t among the grunts—he was smarter than that. He’d be waiting, watching, biding his time like the snake he was.

The brothers worked as one, a machine of precision and brutality. Ironhead shifted mid-charge, his wolf tearing throughthe men who dared to get too close. His growls and the screams of his victims blended with the chaos, a symphony of carnage that only fuelled my fury.

I found Dylan on an upper platform, his smirk lit by the dim overhead lights. He was flanked by two men, their weapons aimed and ready. But I didn’t stop. I didn’t hesitate.

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