Page 42 of Fated Wolf's Redemption

I nod once. “Understood.”

Sophia doesn’t look at me, but I feel her focus shift.

We leave the meeting with more questions than answers, but no time for anything soft between us. Not yet. Not with what’s coming.

Night has faded to a gray dawn when I finally make my way to the infirmary wing where Max is recovering. Kylie dozes on another infirmary bed. He’s lucid enough now to walk, to drink water. Not enough for a debrief. Not yet. He’s wrapped in a blanket, bare-chested, cuts still scabbing over across his ribs. His eyes track me as I enter. Sharp. Wary. The wolf is still there.

He nods. “Stone.”

“Max.” I grab the chair, turn it backward, and sit. “I wish I could give you time, but I don’t think we have it.” Max nods. “I need you to tell me everything you remember.”

Max’s fingers twitch against the edge of the blanket. “They kept the lights on all the time. No windows. The gas… it eats atthe wolf. Pushes it down. But not all the way. Just enough that you feel him screaming but can’t help him.”

My stomach knots. “And Cain?”

Max’s jaw clenches. “He doesn’t care about us. Not the wolves. Not the bloodlines. He cares about what’s beneath.”

I lean in. “The gate?”

“He’s not just trying to open it,” Max says, voice rough. “He’s trying to feed it.”

“Feed it what?”

Max’s eyes flick to mine. “Us.”

The words sit heavy in the air between us. I press a hand against my knee to stop it from shaking. “How?”

“Doesn’t matter how,” Max rasps. “He’s not opening a door to escape. He’s summoning what’s on the other side.”

“Hasn’t he already done that with the Crimson Claw?”

Shaking his head, Max says, “Only partly. There are things in the Deep Below far worse than the Crimson Claw and they are voracious.”

I stand, heart pounding. “Rest. We’ll talk again soon.”

Max grabs my wrist as I turn away. “Don’t let her go back there,” he says, nodding toward Sophia.

It’s not a request. It’s a warning.

After I ensure Sophie is back in her room—Kylie refuses to leave Max—I find myself pacing in my room. I decide to go for a run. I think about taking Sophie, but when I stick my head in her door, she’s curled up on the bed, sound asleep. I decide to let her rest—the incident at the Cain estate was far more taxing on her than it was on me.

The trails east of Nightshade territory cut through thickets of pine and moss-choked ravines. The air is colder here. Cleaner. More primal, less human. I strip out of my clothes at the tree line and crouch, digging my fingers into the earth before I let the storm take me.

The mist hits hard. Not like before. This time, it resists. It wraps around me in fits and starts—patches of blue and gray flickering like bad wiring. Thunder rumbles, but distant. Off-key. The energy snaps at my bones, but not cleanly. Still, I fall into the storm, and when the mist clears, I land on four legs.

For three seconds, I’m whole. Then the ground lurches beneath me, and pain rips through my side. Not physical. Not even magical. Just… wrong.

My wolf snarls, stumbles, then retreats into the darkest corner of my mind. I collapse, naked and shaking, barely able to breathe. Something’s breaking in me, and I’m not convinced I’ll survive it.

The training ring is lit only by moonlight and the flickering glow spilling from the lodge windows. The gravel crunches faintly under my boots as I step closer, but she doesn’t turn. She’s too focused. I watch her move—deliberate, fierce. Every slash of her blade is clean. Sharp. Controlled. It’s the fifth time I’ve seen her run this exact drill, and every pass through, she pushes harder. Like she’s fighting something only she can see.

I stay just inside the fence, arms crossed, jaw set. I could call out. I don’t. She knows I’m here. She felt me the moment I crossed onto the field. I’m not exactly subtle when I want to be seen.

She finishes the sequence, knife tucked against her thigh, her chest rising fast. She turns, and there it is—that fire in her eyes, bright as ever. The sweat slicking her skin catches the moonlight. Her shirt clings to her torso, and for a heartbeat, all I can think about is the way she looked under me in that cabin. Wild. Honest. Mine.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks, dragging the back of her arm across her forehead.

“You’re bleeding.” I nod to the thin line of red along her forearm.

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