Page 29 of Ranger's Code

I lift my head slowly, groaning a little as my body protests the movement. Then I turn toward the window—glass black and reflective at this hour, the faint glimmer of city lights painting my silhouette in faint silver.

I push myself upright, my body slow to cooperate, a dull ache spreading through my limbs like a reminder of everything that passed between us. The cotton sheet slips down my back as I shift forward, breath catching as my toes find the cool floor. I blink into the low glow of city lights bleeding through the window and catch movement in the glass. My reflection.

I rise, drawn toward it. My body feels foreign and familiar all at once. I stand before the window, bare and breathless, staring into myself.

And there it is. What I see in that reflection makes me go still. My eyes. They glimmer with a faint golden hue—muted, pulsing like embers banked under ash. Not a trick of the light. Not imagined. Alive with something new.

My pulse kicks hard, slamming through me like a starting bell. My lips part, dry and slightly trembling, the breath caught behind them. And then the truth unfurls—slow and all-consuming. It doesn’t crash into me like a sudden impact. It creeps in like tidewater, rising inch by inch, until it soaks everything I thought I knew, warm and disorienting, leaving nothing untouched.

I’ve changed. My eyes shimmer with an otherworldly light, a color caught between molten amber and sunlight through whiskey. Not the exact hue of Gideon's, but close enough to send a tremor through my chest. They aren’t just reflecting light—they’re emitting it, soft and steady, like a lit match held behind my irises.

My hand goes to the prominent bite mark at the hollow of my throat, fingertips brushing lightly over the sensitive, swollen flesh. It throbs faintly beneath my touch; not painful, but undeniably alive—as if it carries its own pulse, separate from mine. A living brand, heat still blooming beneath the surface. I don’t know if it’s my imagination or something more, but the surrounding skin feels warmer, as though it has absorbed part of him and is keeping it close. The moment my fingers graze the curve, I feel him stir behind me.

Gideon’s arms slide around me from behind, strong and sure, drawing me back against the solid wall of his chest. His bare skin presses to mine, warm and grounding. He dips his head, the stubble of his jaw grazing my neck, and nuzzles into the spot he marked. A low sound escapes him—not quite a growl, not quite a sigh—just the raw sound of possession and contentment. I shiver as his lips ghost over the fresh mark.

"You feel different," he murmurs, voice rough against my skin.

"I am," I whisper, eyes locked on our reflection in the window. My gaze flicks at the glowing embers of my eyes. "Aren’t I?"

He presses a kiss to my shoulder. "Yeah, baby. You are."

CHAPTER14

GIDEON

What have I done?

I don’t regret claiming and marking her—she’s my mate. That truth is bone-deep, cellular. But part of me still reels from the weight of it, from the jarring contrast between instinct and memory. I’ve known Maggie since she was a teenager—sharp-elbowed, all knees and stubborn fire, Kari’s best friend with a laugh that was too big for her frame. I watched her grow up from a distance I thought was safe. Now she isn’t a girl anymore. She’s mine. And that rewrites everything.

"The bite changed everything."

I say the words quietly, my fingers trailing over the edge of the sheet still tangled around Maggie’s waist. She sits cross-legged on the bed, my hoodie draping over her like a second skin, bare legs folded beneath her, posture loose but alert. Her golden-tinged eyes study me—not fearful, but sharp, curious, and calculating, like she’s working her way through a math problem with high stakes. There’s an additional weight behind her gaze, not just from the changes she’s undergoing, but from the knowledge that her world will never return to what it was. She isn’t backing away. She’s leaning in—measuring me, measuring herself, adjusting to the truth as it reveals itself layer by layer.

"You didn’t just mark me," she says, voice low, her fingers brushing the sensitive edge of the bite. "You rewired me. You changed the rules of what I am—of who I’m going to be."

I nod. "It restructured your DNA. It’s why you feel a little out of sorts. Your body is trying to integrate something it wasn’t born to carry. It’s a violent thing the first time. The bond snaps into place, and then the biology scrambles to keep up."

She’s quiet for a moment. "So what happens now?"

"You’ll change. You already are. Your body will adapt to the shifter genome. You’ll heal faster. Get stronger. Live longer. You’ll be able to change form at will once the transition completes."

She doesn’t speak right away. Her eyes lift toward the window, following the ripple of the blinds as the Gulf breeze stirs them with gentle insistence. The motion is small but grounding, like she’s letting the wind cool the swirl of thoughts behind her eyes. Her gaze lingers there—on the shimmer of moonlight catching against the glass, on the faint reflection of the two of us tangled up in a future neither of us planned for—until her shoulders ease and she turns back to me.

"And the instincts? The wolf part?"

"They’re already waking up," I say. "Which is why you’re feeling everything so sharply. The speed, the hunger, the emotional surges—they’re all part of it. You’re transitioning faster than most. Probably because of the bond. But it’s going to hit hard. And when it does, I’ll be here. Every step of the way."

Her eyes cut to mine. "You’re not going to pull the alpha card on me, are you?"

A grin tugs at my mouth. "Only if you ask nicely. Technically, Rush is our alpha—Team W follows his lead. But all of us? We’re alphas too. It’s not a hierarchy, it’s a powder keg with discipline. Sometimes it means butting heads. Sometimes it means watching each other’s backs harder. But for you? You’ll always answer to me. I’ll always be your alpha."

She rolls her eyes, but her smile cracks through—sharp, crooked, and radiant, lit by the familiar gleam of mischief I know better than my name. But something else lives behind it now. That fire I’ve always seen smoldering in her has grown into a blaze—hotter, wilder, laced with something raw and primal. It isn’t just attitude anymore. It’s something elemental, electric. Like the wild has touched her and left its mark. A pulse of feral heat shimmers beneath her skin, not quite visible, but feels like the moment before a storm breaks open the sky. And God, it stirs every instinct in me—the beast, the protector, the man. All of them answering to her.

Just as I lean toward her, ready to pull her closer, my phone vibrates sharply on the nightstand. The screen lights up with a name I know too well, and the second I read the message, the lines of my body go taut. "Damn it," I mutter, already sitting up.

Maggie stiffens. "That the team?"

I nod, already standing, already halfway back in my jeans. "Some kind of rogue pack—six of them, shifter signatures confirmed. Tied to the Grangers. They’re armed and heading into Galveston. Tonight."

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