Page 47 of Forbidden Love

“Let me see if I can get you back to your place,” he said softly, crouching beside her with a steady hand bracing her arm.

Deb nodded, trying to pull herself together. Her foot throbbed, her clothes were soaked, and her heart was still trying to claw its way out of her chest.

Then—just as Asher began to help her stand—a low growl rumbled from the woods behind him. They both froze slowly looking over their shoulders.

Brock stepped into the clearing, bare-chested, his skin slick with rain and streaked with blood. Deep scratches lined his chest and ribs, still bleeding but already beginning to close. His black sweatpants clung to his legs, soaked through, and his wild, dark hair was plastered to his forehead. He looked wild and untamed making Deb’s heart pound in her chest, but for a whole different reason than being terrified.

Deb’s breath caught as their eyes met. Oh, God, she couldn’t go through this again. Looking at Asher, her eyes pleaded with him, “Please get me home.” She whispered, but Brock’s approach stopped them both from moving.

“I’ve got her.” His voice was deep and rumbled like the thunder in the distance.

CHAPTER 20

Brock moved silently through the trees, keeping low, his senses tuned to every sound, every flicker of movement. He hadn’t shifted as he ran. Sometimes he did and then other times he just liked to run as a man. His wolf understood and relaxed inside him other than being alert. The storm had passed, but its weight still lingered in the air, heavy and damp. Lightning occasionally flickered on the horizon, and thunder rolled low and distant like a warning growl.

He ran the perimeter near Deb’s property, muscles coiled tight, his breath steady but sharp. That feeling was back—the one that always settled in his gut before something went sideways.

His instincts had never failed him. They’d kept him alive through battles most wouldn’t have walked away from. They’d protected his Pack when he wore the mantle of Alpha. Even though this was a different Pack and different Alpha, Brock never ignored a feeling like this.

Something was off. He knew it, and so did his wolf.

Taz had shown him the tracks earlier in the day. They had been fresh, deep, and definitely not from one of theirs. It was a lone wolf. The storm had done its best to wash the tracks away, leaving only the faintest impressions near the edge of the woods.

Still, it was enough.

He’d passed Deb’s house more than once tonight, his eyes drawn to the windows like a moth to flame. The place had been quiet. No lights on, no movement. Just the dull hum of rain dripping from the gutters and wind rattling the trees.

Brock wasn’t the type to hover, but this wasn’t about hovering. This was about instinct. And every damn one he had told him something was about to happen. He just didn’t know what.

He had also swung by the old supply hut that had been turned into a temporary shelter for Asher. It was close to Deb’s land, and that gave him a little comfort. At least she wasn’t completely alone out here. Brock had warned Asher to stay sharp, to keep an eye out, and to check in if anything felt off. The good thing about their kind is that they could mentally telecommunicate when attuned to each other. Anytime they went on runs, everyone had their minds open.

Brock moved back into the thicker part of the woods, scanning the tree line near Deb’s property again. The rain had softened the ground enough that every step left an impression, but even that wouldn’t help if someone—or something—was being careful.

He paused. The air shifted. He didn’t hear anything. He felt it and that bad feeling in his gut flared.

Brock broke into a sprint, heart hammering, tearing through the trees with no real direction—just instinct guiding him like a wirepulled taut. His boots pounded against the wet earth, splashing through puddles, dodging low branches and half-fallen limbs still slick from the storm.

He didn’t know exactly why, but he knew where he had to go.

That same gut-deep feeling that had kept him alive more times than he could count now screamed inside him, louder than ever.

Then, he heard it.

A scream—raw and terrified—cut through the woods like a blade.

Brock skidded to a stop, his head snapping toward the sound, ears tuned and alert. The scream echoed again, this time farther to the right, and there was no doubt in his mind. It was Deb who was screaming.

Rage exploded in his chest. He swore if anyone hurt her, they would die by his hands in the most painful way possible.

He shifted without hesitation, muscles snapping and reshaping mid-stride, and in the next heartbeat, a massive black wolf tore through the trees. His paws dug into the mud as he bolted, pushing harder, faster, wind whipping through his fur as he raced toward the sound of her fear.

His vision sharpened, scent filtering through the wet air—earth, pine, rain… blood… and her.

She was close, and she was in danger. Absolutely nothing—not lightning, not the dark, not even the threat waiting in those shadows was going to stop him from reaching her.

The underbrush exploded as Brock barreled into the clearing like a force of nature, his massive wolf form crashing through the darkness just as the rogue wolf lunged for Deb.

With a guttural snarl, Brock slammed into the side of the other wolf mid-air, the impact sending them both tumbling across the muddy ground in a violent tangle of fur and teeth. They rolled hard, growling, snapping, claws tearing through the storm-soaked earth until Brock pinned the rogue beneath him with a bone-rattling thud.

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