Page 52 of Ranger's Honor
Before I can respond, Maggie sweeps in and cups my face between her hands. "You’re a damn warrior," she says, eyesglistening. "I baked like six loaves of stress bread waiting for news. We’ll eat our way through the trauma."
I huff out a laugh as she kisses my cheek. "I’ll take you up on that."
Sutton lingers behind them, arms crossed but eyes softer than I’ve ever seen them. She steps forward slowly, gives me a nod. "You didn’t flinch."
I tilt my head. "Neither did you."
She shrugs, but there's a glint of approval in her expression.
Before I can blink, Maggie kisses my cheek, and even Sutton offers a nod that feels more like a salute. They’re safe. They’re alive. We all are.
Inside, laughter and voices spill from the kitchen. Rush claps Dalton on the back. Gideon hands me a glass of whiskey without asking. Gage throws himself into a chair and sighs so loud it sounds like an exorcism.
Sutton finds me on the porch later, eyes bright. She doesn’t speak at first, just leans against the rail beside me, the quiet between us not uncomfortable but weighted.
"You know," she says after a long moment, "I wasn't sure you were the right one for this. Not at first."
I glance over at her, surprised by the admission. "I know."
Sutton exhales slowly, eyes fixed on the horizon. "But I was wrong. You finished what Sookie started. You brought her voice back when they tried to silence it."
"I didn’t even know her," I say, voice low. "I never met her. Never even heard her name until after she died."
"Doesn’t matter," Sutton murmurs. "You gave a damn when it counted. That’s more than most." Her voice tightens, rough around the edges. "I feel like somehow I failed her."
"You didn't."
"I gave you the files because I knew you’d do what I couldn’t. You’d tell her story. You did." She nods, biting the inside of hercheek. "Seeing that piece you wrote... seeing her face up there—it gutted me. In the best and worst way."
My voice is rough when I speak. "I hoped it would make her death stand for something."
"It gave her justice," Sutton says, firmly. "And you gave me the peace I didn’t know I needed. So... thank you."
We stand together a while longer, side by side in silence, watching the sun bleed into the horizon.
I nod, throat tight. "You both deserved at least that much."
"She deserved more. But this... this helps."
The pack run happens at dusk. No words, no countdown. Just a shared look and the sound of thunder whispering over the hills.
The mist rolls up from the ground—rich with twilight, laced with electricity—and pulls us under. Lightning flickers at the edge of vision. Color churns in the air like breath held too long. Then comes the shift. Sudden. Silent. Complete.
My paws hit the earth with a jolt of exhilaration. The world sharpens—scents layered and vivid, heartbeats thudding in the grass, stars bleeding into a purpling sky. I take off without hesitation, the silver of my coat gleaming in the dusk.
Cassidy runs beside me for a stretch, her form sleek and sure, tail brushing mine in quiet greeting. Maggie howls in the distance, joyful and wild. Gideon overtakes us both with a bark of challenge, and I chase him for a while, not to win—just to feel the strength in my legs and the rhythm in my body.
Dalton finds me when we crest the far ridge. He doesn’t speak—can’t—but he runs close enough that our sides bump, that his heat floods into me in waves. We descend together, fulltilt into the open field, cutting through dew-soaked grass like arrows.
The others howl again, voices layered in a chorus that’s part celebration, part declaration. We’re still here. Still standing—not just in body, but in the ways that matter most. Every scar, every hard-won breath is proof of how far I’ve come from the woman who once only wrote about danger. Now I’ve lived through it, grown stronger because of it, and I’ll carry that change into whatever comes next.
It’s not about the hunt.
It’s about the freedom. The unity. The sacred relief of motion and wind and pack.
The air is electric. The world smells clean again. I race beside Dalton, silver to his black, and feel every heartbeat like a drum in my chest. We’re faster than wind, sharper than shadow, untouchable in this moment.
When we return to the ranch, laughing and panting, we head into separate male and female areas and allow our human skins to return with the stars. We pull on our clothes and join the others. Gage is already waiting, shirt rumpled, tablet in hand, expression grim.
