They wanted to run. But they couldn’t. Not yet. All around me, the whisper of the pack took on a single word. Alpha, alpha, alpha.
And that was when we realized—Chase and his wolf and I—that all of the other wolves seemed to be staring directly at me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
ME? HOW COULD THEY POSSIBLY BE LOOKING AT ME and thinking a word that conveyed that kind of power? Absolute, unerring, eternal. Protection. Punishment. Justice.
A pack alpha was many things, but human definitely wasn’t one of them. And yet, there the others were, staring at me with a kind of palpable expectation, their bodies humming with the energy of the kill. They wanted to run, and they wanted me to tell them they could.
Yours, Chase told me silently, and then, he rested his head on top of mine. His breath was hot on my scalp, and I shivered.
Mine. That assertion came from the wolf inside Chase—battered and bruised from the fight and angry that he hadn’t been allowed to take down his prey: the man who had dared to touch The Girl. Chase’s wolf wasn’t making a claim over any of the other Resilients, he wasn’t answering their silent plea to run. He was stating what was, to him, quite obvious.
I was his.
I wanted to burrow inside of Chase, to hide in his mind, to take refuge in his wolf’s possessiveness and look away from the dozens of eyes—human and wolf—boring into my own, but I couldn’t.
Alpha. Alpha. Alpha.
The words became a high-pitched whine in my mind.
Do what you want, I told them. If you want to run, then run.
That wasn’t enough for them. It wasn’t what they needed. They needed me. They needed the assurance, the answers. They needed what I’d sworn to give them a moment before—anything and everything to help them overcome years of Wilson’s abuse.
Run. The word left my mind an instant before it left my mouth, and on both counts, it came from the deepest part of me—from something ancient and pure and utterly confusing. I wasn’t a werewolf, but there was something inside of me. Something as raw and primal as the wolf inside of Chase. A survival instinct—and a protective one—and as I told the others to run, gave them my permission, I shuddered, and then I let their joy overwhelm me as I had that day with Callum’s pack. I let all of them in, felt each and every one of them through our newly formed bond.
The pack was brutal and beautiful and alive, and overcome with their energy, I threw my head skyward and howled.
I felt, rather than saw, the effect the sound had on Chase. He arched his back, and the wolf clawed its way to the surface, forcing him to Shift. Instinctively, I dropped down on my knees next to the midnight-black body beside me, and stared into the wolf’s eyes. Chase’s eyes. I buried my hands in his fur—silky, not coarse—and I felt his heart beat under my palms.
Run. Run. Run, I told the others. This time, my mind-words carried with them joy, as well as power. Lost to the connection and the drive and the urge to move as one, I scrambled to my feet and took off running, an entire pack at my heels, mobbing me. Wanting to be close to me.
The warmth of their bodies kept my skin from chilling, and the adrenaline passed from one member of the pack to another to another, like a stone skipping on the surface of a pond. Lake, tall and blonde even in wolf form, butted my heels with her head, pushing me to run faster, to let go of myself more.
And when I did, when the last of my walls crumbled away, that was when I knew.
The pack was together.
The pack was safe.
The pack was mine.
And this time, I’d die before I let anyone take that away.
An hour later, the Weres had settled reluctantly back into their human forms, and I’d managed to remember that I was human. Madison and one of the other older Resilients began helping the little ones into new clothes, and for the first time, I realized that some of the children weren’t that much older than the twins. The youngest was two, maybe three. Red-haired and solemn, she toddled toward me the second Madison got her into a faded hand-me-down dress. I knelt and let the little one come into my arms, and I settled her on my hip with an ease that I never could have managed before Alex and Katie.
An ease that felt too natural even now, given that this girl should have been a stranger to me.
Lily.
Her name came to me, in the recesses of my mind, like I’d always known it. Her small head leaned contentedly against my chest, and what she knew of life passed into my consciousness. Wilson—sweet and scary and oh, he’d hurt her once. Red. The bad color. Bad things. Blood. A ratty stuffed bunny whose neck had been ripped out. Cotton in her mouth. Not allowed to cry.
And then, there was me.
In her eyes, I was beautiful. Tall. Powerful.