Page 38 of Fated Wolf's Redemption

“I’m not leaving him here.”

Max faces me. His eyes are glowing faintly. Not wolf. Not human. Something in between, and for a moment, I can see through to the warrior he was before.

Lucas and I start to move, but Max doesn’t. I walk toward him, reaching out. He flinches. “Come back Max. Come back. We need to go.” I flex my fingers, beckoning to him. “Please.”

I don’t remember running. I don’t remember standing. I just remember the sound of Lucas breathing hard next to me, Max groaning in the corner, and the metal of the cell door groaning open like it’s dying a slow death.

The Windwoven left me drained. My skin’s too hot, my hands tingling from the storm I pulled through the ground. But it worked. We’re out of those cells, and whatever the hell they used to suppress Lucas’s wolf appears to be weakening.

The hallway outside is narrow, carved from old stone, with crude wiring stapled along the ceiling. It smells like piss, bleach, and decay. One long corridor lit by humming fluorescents, and far too many doors that promise things I don’t want to see.

Lucas catches my arm, pulls me behind him with a look that brooks no argument.

“I’m fine,” I whisper, yanking my arm back. “You lead, but don’t treat me like I’m breakable.”

He doesn’t argue. Just nods once and hands me the blade he took off the wall in the control room. He nods to Max. “Don’t fall behind.”

Max returns the nod. Perhaps he, too, can come all the way back.

I grin at Lucas, despite the fact that my legs feel like wet paper. “That’ll never happen.”

Max stumbles as we move, his steps uneven. I slide under his arm and let him lean on me. He reeks of sweat and old blood, but his eyes are clearer than before. Still wild, but tracking.

“You remember me?” I ask.

He nods slowly. “Windrider. Silver braid.”

“That’s Kylie.”

Max looks confused, but continues to move. “Knife-thrower. Talked shit to an Ironclaw general during a treaty meal.”

I laugh. “Again, that’s Kylie. But glad to know we made an impression.”

His mouth twitches. “Has she stabbed anyone yet?”

“Not today that I know of, but that can change at any time.”

Lucas throws a hand up, stopping us short. He listens—then points to a junction ahead. Two guards. Crimson Claw. Their scent is unmistakable. One has the scent we’ve come to expect, the other has the normal scent, plus something different—probably enhanced, like the ones we fought in the forest.

Lucas turns to me. “You take the one on the right.”

I blink. “You’re trusting me with the loud one?”

He doesn’t even glance at me. “I’ve seen what you do when you’re angry. I trust that more than I trust silence.”

A smile tugs at my mouth. Not now, not here, but later? I’m going to make him say that again.

He crouches, then launches. No more talk.

The fight is fast and brutal. The wolf is strong—bigger than most, faster than I expect—but not stronger than Lucas. He slams into the Crimson Claw operative mid-lunge, and the impact sends both of them crashing into the stone wall with a crack that echoes down the hall. I hear bones snap. Maybe Lucas’s. Definitely the wolf’s.

The second one sees me and lunges, jaws wide, claws raking through the air. No blade. Doesn’t need one.

I drop into a low roll, his claws grazing my shoulder as I slide beneath him. My knife flashes, slicing the back of his hind leg clean. He stumbles with a howl, skidding across the stone. Before he can recover, I’m already moving—on him, under him, past his fangs.

My blade drives straight into the soft spot just below his jaw. He jerks, claws scrabbling against the floor, trying to catch purchase.

He lets out a wet, broken whine.

---