Page 52 of Alpha Unbound

I clench the fabric in my fist. “If he’s alive, we bring him back.”

“And if he’s not?” she asks.

My voice drops low, lethal. “Then we finish what he started. We tear through every lie, every name on that list, and we burn Sable Rock to the ground—brick by brick, bone by bone. For Luke. For everyone they tried to silence. For what’s ours.”

Behind us, Eddie’s drone hums sharply, splitting the stillness with a metallic whir—less like a wasp, more like a blade spun too tight. It cuts a tight arc overhead, red lights flashing with surgical rhythm as it loops back, scouring the treetops with cold, calculating sweeps.

The drone swoops down in a calculated arc, its red lights pulsing like the heartbeat of something not quite alive. The hum of its rotors slices through the silence, not frantic, but precise—too aware, too focused, like it’s ferrying more than data. It hovers a beat longer than expected, then descends with eerie grace, blades whining like a blade drawn across steel.

Eddie snatches it out of the air with practiced ease, his jaw set tight. He doesn’t speak right away, just studies the incoming feed with narrowing eyes. His breath catches as the data loads, and the air seems to compress around us. The surrounding woods lean in, hushed and loaded with anticipation, every rustle and creak swallowed by the weight of whatever revelation is about to break.

He holds up his tablet. “There’s another site. A mile out. Heat signs, maybe bodies. We’ll need backup."

I stand slowly, the worn scrap draped across my palm like a relic. Time has softened the edges, but the scent woven into it stops me cold. Cedar soap and leather oil—Luke. The smell yanks me backward to the porch steps of his cabin, to cold beer bottles clinking, to laughter in the dark. To the brother of the woman I love. To the guy who once sucker-punched me for kissing Kate behind the barn and then laughed so hard we both ended up in the dirt. A man I might never see again.

I slide the scrap into my pocket like it’s a promise, not just evidence. A vow I won’t let fade.

Kate meets my gaze, her eyes fierce, jaw tight. “Then let’s raise hell.”

For a beat, neither of us moves. The memory of Luke’s jacket still burns between us, grounding everything in something raw and personal. I reach for her hand—just a brush of fingers—but it’s enough. A shared pulse. A promise made without words.

I nod, wolf stirring. “This ends now. We go in, take control, and make sure they don't crawl away from what they've done.”

The Hollow holds more than memories—it seethes with fury, with every tree and stone waiting to bear witness to retribution.

And we’re about to give it something to unleash.

CHAPTER 20

KATE

The sky above churns with thick, acrid smoke, its tendrils coiling like a foreboding serpent above what was once a lush, green forest, now reduced to blackened stumps and smoldering ash. The ground bears silent witness to the violence that unfolded, scorched and shredded by the relentless assault of claws and heavy boots, slick with the dark sheen of blood and littered with singed debris. Sable Rock didn't go down without a fight. The battle surged in relentless waves—howls slicing through the air like primal war cries, bodies colliding in bone-jarring clashes, chaos erupting in every conceivable direction.

I’ll never forget the visceral rush of charging through their ranks, teeth bared in a feral snarl, flanked by wolves whose once-lustrous coats were streaked with blood and soot—marked as warriors by the brutality of the fight. The battle is raw and unforgiving. Shifters and humans stand united, fighting side by side. Some shifters retain their human form, their clenched fists and determined gazes a testament to their resolve, while others have embraced their animal nature—claws ripping through flesh, bodies colliding with bone-jarring force, teeth sinking deep into adversaries with a fierce bite. The air is a deafeningsymphony of snarls and screams, the metallic scent of blood mingling with the acrid odor of scorched earth.

My face is a mask of grim determination, as I thrust a sharpened blade into a syndicate guard. My muscles are taut with purpose, my movements precise and unyielding. Nearby, Hudson tears through another foe, his eyes blazing with feral intensity, each movement a lethal dance of precision and power. He maneuvers with deliberate intent—one moment crouched behind the jagged cover of debris, the next sweeping in from the flank with lethal grace. His strikes are a blend of instinct and honed skill, a deadly dance of precision and fury. This is not merely a fight—it's a desperate struggle for survival, a collision of blood and indomitable will.

The command center lies in ruins now, flames hungrily licking at its skeletal remains, casting eerie, flickering shadows that dance like specters. We dismantled their communications, scattering their leadership like ash in the wind. The traitors who supported them? We round them up wherever possible, dragging them from their hiding spots. Those we miss vanish into the tree line, shadows slipping into deeper shadows, hunted but not yet extinguished.

Hudson stands across the field, blood-streaked and shirtless, a thunderstorm of need and fury barely reined in behind his eyes. For a heartbeat, I forget the smoke, the ash, the way the world still smolders. Seeing him like that—fierce, alive—it lights something wild inside me. Relief and hunger tangle in my chest. Shallow wounds and ash mark his skin. The moment our eyes meet, it’s like the rest of the world fades to static. My legs move before I can think. When I reach him, he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. His arms wrap around me, grounding us both. My fingers clutch his shoulders, digging into the dirt and heat of his skin. We’re whole. We’re safe.

"You’re okay," I whisper into his neck, breath catching. "You’re okay."

He leans down, pressing his forehead to mine. "You kept us steady. You brought them together."

We stand in the field long enough for the sounds of victory to settle into something quieter—torn shouts fading into murmurs, the low drone of generators kicking in, and the rustle of movement as wolves prowl through the smoking remnants of battle. The sharp scent of ozone clings to the air, braided with blood and scorched metal. Every inhale scrapes against the back of my throat.

Triage stations buzz with quiet urgency, medics moving like ghosts in the haze, voices low and clipped. Wolves with soot-darkened coats and eyes like slivers of moonlight pace the perimeter, every sense sharpened, braced for an ambush that never comes. A breeze stirs ash into small spirals across the dirt, and somewhere, a child cries, the sound abruptly cut off by a comforting voice. In the stillness that follows, we hold on to each other and breathe.

I find myself drawn to one of the scorched outbuildings the Syndicate had been using as a temporary headquarters. The roof has partially collapsed, but inside the smoldering ruin, something calls to me. My boot scuffs against metal as I kick aside the ash, revealing a rusted lockbox hidden beneath a floor panel. The scent hits me before I open it—cedar, ash, old ink. Familiar. Luke.

My heart flips, breath hitching as my fingers brush the rough lid of the lockbox. I drop to my knees, ash rising in soft clouds around me, and pry it open with trembling hands. Nestled inside is a thick, leather-bound journal—edges scuffed, corners bent, the surface mottled with scorch marks and darkened fingerprints. The scent of cedar, ink, and something faintly metallic curls up from the pages, wrapping around my memorylike smoke. The front cover has a single phrase written in Luke’s sharp, unmistakable scrawl:

Don’t look for me. Not yet. It’s not over.

I press my palm over the words, as if I can absorb them through skin and bone. Tears burn behind my eyes, but they don’t fall. Not this time. I’ve already lost him once. I won’t let go again. Not without a fight. The scrawl on the page etches itself into my bones—both a warning and a vow. My breath hitches as memory flickers: Luke grinning across the campfire, handing me the last marshmallow like it’s a treasure. That boy isn’t gone. He’s just stepped into the shadows. And now? I’ll walk through the fire to bring him back.

Hudson finds me there not long after, crouching beside me. His hand is warm and steady against my back, anchoring me to the moment. I feel the weight of him settle beside me, silent at first, like he understands the quiet grief threading through my bones.

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