Chapter 18

18

IRENE

T he fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls of Beck’s suite. Irene paced the room, her mind a whirlwind of questions and emotions. She’d grown used to being the one with a plan, the one calling the shots. But here, surrounded by Beck’s pack and his unwavering presence, she felt unmoored.

The door creaked open, and Beck stepped inside, his imposing frame filling the space. He searched her face, sharp and assessing. He shut the door behind him and leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well?” Irene asked, her voice sharper than she intended. “What did Des want?”

Beck’s lips twitched, but the faint smile was reflected nowhere else on his face. “Nothing to worry about. The pack’s curious, that’s all.”

“Curious?” Irene arched a brow, stopping in her tracks. “About what?”

“About you,” Beck said simply, his gaze steady. “And about what my plans are.”

Irene’s stomach twisted at his bluntness, though she kept her expression neutral. “Funny,” she said dryly. “I’d like to know the answer to that, too.”

Beck’s eyes glinted with something unreadable as he pushed off the door and took a deliberate step toward her. “Would you now? I’d have thought that claiming bite would have made it fairly obvious to anyone paying attention, especially you.”

“Don’t play coy,” she shot back, holding her ground even as her heart raced. “You brought me here, Beck. You dragged me into your world. So, what is it you want from me? Protection? Partnership? A pawn in whatever game you’re playing?”

His gaze darkened, the teasing edge disappearing as he closed the distance between them in a few long strides. Irene’s breath hitched as he stopped just inches away, his presence as overwhelming as always.

“I want you,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “All of you.”

The words sent a shiver down her spine, a heady mix of anticipation and defiance warring within her. She tilted her chin up, refusing to back down. “What does that even mean, Beck? You can’t just throw around declarations like that without?—”

He cut her off with a hand on her waist, his grip firm but not forceful as he pulled her closer. “It means I don’t see you as a pawn, Irene. You’re not some piece on a board for me to move around. You’re my mate. My equal. And I’m done pretending otherwise.”

The intensity in his voice sent heat coursing through her veins, but she wasn’t about to let him off the hook so easily. “Equal?” she challenged. “Because so far, it feels like you’ve been calling all the shots.”

Beck’s lips twitched again, this time with a faint trace of amusement. “Fair enough,” he said. “But tell me this—if I hadn’t stepped in when I did, how much longer would you have lasted on your own? Between the hunters, the treasure, and your pack’s survival?”

Irene opened her mouth to argue but stopped short. The truth of his words was a bitter pill to swallow, and he knew it.

“That’s what I thought,” Beck said, his tone softening slightly. “I’m not here to take over, Irene. I’m here to stand beside you.”

She looked up at him, her anger faltering as his sincerity broke through her defenses. “And what about you?” she asked quietly. “What matters to you?”

He didn’t hesitate. “You.”

The single word hung between them, heavy with meaning. Irene’s heart twisted, the gravity of his admission crashing over her.

“Beck...” she began, but he silenced her with a finger under her chin, tilting her face up to meet his.

“No more running,” he said, his voice firm but laced with a quiet vulnerability. “No more games. I want you to stay, Irene. Here. With me. We’ll figure out the rest together.”

Her breath caught, her body betraying her as it leaned into him, drawn by the gravity of his presence. “And if I say no?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Then I’ll fight for you,” he said simply. “Because that’s what fated mates do.”

The term fated mate sent a jolt through her, her wolf stirring restlessly within her. She searched his face, trying to find cracks in his resolve, but there were none. Beckett Grey was a force of nature, and he was looking at her like she was the only thing in his world.

The charged energy between them was electric, crackling like a live wire. Irene’s chest heaved, her pulse racing as she weighed her next words. But before she could speak, Beck leaned down, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was equal parts gentle and commanding.

Her resolve crumbled. She kissed him back, her hands finding their way to his chest, her fingers curling against the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt. Beck’s arms tightened around her, pulling her flush against him as the kiss deepened, the heat between them flaring into an inferno.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard, their foreheads touching as they stood tangled in each other’s arms.

“This conversation isn’t over,” Irene murmured, her voice trembling with a mix of defiance and desire.

“Not by a long shot,” Beck replied, his lips quirking into a wolfish grin as he swept her up in his arms and carried her to his bed—their bed now, she supposed.

He stripped her of her clothes and laid her down, when Irene reached for him to do the same, he wouldn’t let her. He removed his clothes and then joined her on the bed, covering her body with his own. With both of her wrists in one of his huge hands, he pulled her arms over her head and held them tight. Her body was stretched out, naked and glistening with sweat and slick. Beck took advantage of her immobility to press his nose into the crook of her neck to inhale and gently kiss the claiming bite on her throat. After he filled his lungs with her scent, he growled softly, then marked her again with wet, open-mouthed kisses across her skin, drowning her in his own scent.

"Beck, please..."

Her labia were swollen and wet almost to the point of being painful, and Irene was too far gone to care about dignity or what would happen next. All she knew was that she needed this man, this wolf, his knot, and she needed them more than she had ever needed anything. Her last coherent thought was that she would beg for his knot if he wanted her to. She knew at this point she’d beg for anything and everything if that’s what it meant to be his.

"Don't worry, Irene. Everything I have—everything you need—is yours."

As he said it, he demonstrated by dragging the length of his cock down her crease. Still pinning her to the bed with one hand, he made a space between her thighs for himself, guiding his cock with the hand not holding her immobile. The hot, velvet skin of his crown teased her lips, making her cry out in frustration when he didn't just press or thrust in. Her body was on fire, and he was the only thing that could quench her need. Instead, he used himself to smear her slick over more of her skin, his chest rumbling with a pleased purr at the sight.

Irene bucked her hips up, begging for something more...anything more. But he held her still. He was immovable, and there was nothing she could do about it other than to lie there and take this exquisite torture he gave her. She tried to soothe herself with how he surrounded her: his scent, his touch, his body, all of it caging her in and holding her tight.

When he finally thrust inside her, all Irene could do was whimper. He was thick and long, but her body opened up to him greedily. She needed to be filled. Her inner muscles clenched around his shaft, attempting to pull him deeper, clutching at a knot she could feel just beyond her entrance.

As he began to stroke, Irene finally felt whole. There was no time to adjust as he began to thrust harder and faster, but she didn’t care. She needed it… him. The knot continued to swell, and she could feel it bumping against her entrance. With a brutal thrust, Beck buried his knot inside her. Irene cried out as excruciating and exhilarating pain flashed through her—but only for a moment as feelings of completion and need fulfilled washed over her. Everything around her faded into nothing as her body seemed to dissolve into a wave of heat and pleasure. She let herself go lax, safe in his hands.

Her eyes closed, and nothing existed outside of the jolt of her body every time he snapped his hips against her.

"Please, Beck…” She didn’t even know what it was she was pleading for.

He hissed in her ear, and his cock swelled inside her at the words—he was getting close.

"Anything you want, my mate."

His thrusts became faster and more jarring, his knot tugging at her entrance until it finally caught. Her body tensed, bearing down around him and holding him tight as he pulsed inside her. The splash of hot seed filled her exactly the way she wanted it to, setting off a chain reaction of pleasure and rightness through every inch of her soul.

Irene didn't know how long they lay there, tied together. Her body continued to work on instinct, milking his knot for every drop of cum that she could drain from him. She took infinite pleasure in the soft groans that she was pulling from him, as well, while he continued to trace the curve of her neck with his tongue.

“I love you, Irene. We were destined to be together,” he said as he rolled from her body several hours later.

“I never believed in the whole fated mate thing, and if it did exist, I thought it was for others, but never for me. Guess I was wrong about that. I love you, too, Beck,”

The sound of footsteps outside the door broke the spell, and Beck’s expression darkened. He threw back the covers of the bed and pulled on his jeans, his protective instincts snapping into place.

“Stay here,” he said, his voice low and serious.

Irene frowned. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing good,” Beck muttered, his eyes narrowing as the footsteps grew louder.

He moved toward the door, his body tense and ready. Irene’s heart pounded as she watched him go, the sense of danger settling over her like a shroud.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth as Irene grabbed Beck’s shirt and left their bed. It was too lonely without him. She wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d been gone, but she’d begun to crave his presence. The fire’s warm glow cast flickering shadows all over the walls. Irene crossed to the window, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she stared out at the darkened landscape that lay beyond the main grounds of the estate. The tension in her shoulders refused to ease, her mind spinning with the events that had led her to this time… to this place… to this man.

She heard the door open and close behind her. Knowing she was safe, she saw no reason to glance back over her shoulder. She could feel his presence; it was impossible to ignore. He’d been watching her in silence since he’d reentered the room, his calm, commanding energy filling the space between them.

“You’re mine now,” Beck said finally, his deep voice breaking the quiet.

Irene turned slowly, her eyes narrowing. “Possessive bastard, aren’t you?”

He chuckled. “I would have thought you’d have figured that out by now,” he said, stepping closer. The firelight danced in his eyes, highlighting the sharp angles of his face. “You’re my mate, Irene. And you’ll remain here—with me.”

Her pulse quickened, a mix of anger and something far more dangerous coursing through her veins. “And if I refuse?” she challenged, tilting her chin up.

Beck’s lips curved into a slow, wolfish grin, the intensity of his gaze pinning her in place. “You know the answer to that.”

Her wolf stirred at his words, a primal response she couldn’t fully suppress. But Irene wasn’t about to let him win this battle so easily. “You think you can just decide that for me?” she asked, working up the level of defiance that laced her tone.

“I don’t need to decide,” Beck said, his voice low and firm. “You already have.”

The words hit her like a blow, and she took a step back, her wolf bristling. “You’re insufferable,” she growled, her hands curling into fists.

Beck chuckled, the sound rich and infuriatingly confident. “Relentless. But if you’d like to challenge my claim, you’re welcome to run from me,” he said, taking another step closer, “It won’t do you any good because I’ll just run you down, Irene. Every time.”

Her growl deepened, her wolf snarling just beneath the surface. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

His grin widened, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. “More than I should, probably. But let’s not pretend, Irene—you have nowhere to run. And let’s not forget, you capitulated.”

Irene’s breath hitched, her cheeks flushing with equal parts anger and embarrassment. “I didn’t capitulate,” she snapped. “I made a choice. There’s a difference.”

Beck raised a brow, his expression infuriatingly calm. “Call it what you want, sweetheart. The result’s the same.”

Her wolf rumbled with frustration, and she let out a low growl, the sound primal and fierce. But Beck didn’t flinch. Instead, he moved closer, his large hands reaching out to gently grip her arms.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice softening as his thumbs brushed over her skin. “I’m not your enemy, Irene.”

Her growl faltered, the heat of his touch seeping into her, calming her despite herself. She hated how easily he affected her, how his presence seemed to strip away her defenses and leave her raw and exposed.

“You’re infuriating,” she muttered, her voice losing some of its bite.

Beck’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “And you’re stubborn,” he said. “Guess that makes us even.”

They stood like that for a moment, the tension between them shifting into something heavier, more complicated. Finally, Beck released her arms, stepping back and gesturing toward the couch by the fire.

“Sit with me,” he said, his tone leaving little room for argument.

Irene hesitated, her instincts screaming at her to keep her distance. But the pull of him was too strong, the need to understand him—and herself—overwhelming. With a sigh, she moved to the couch and sat down, her movements wary.

Beck joined her, his solid presence a comforting weight beside her. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the crackling fire filling the silence. Then Beck leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he turned his gaze to her.

“You’ve heard the stories about the silver,” he began, his voice low and steady.

Irene nodded slowly. “Enough to know there’s more truth to them than most people think,” she said cautiously. “What about it?”

“It’s more than just treasure,” Beck said, his expression serious. “It’s part of the history of Silver Falls—the entire town is wrapped up into its history. You know the legend that humans have been told, but there’s a separate legend that ties the shifters to the silver, a connection that’s deeper than most realize.”

Irene frowned, leaning in slightly. “Go on.”

Beck’s eyes met hers, the firelight casting shadows across his face. “The silver isn’t just valuable. It’s powerful. It was used to forge the first bonds between the packs and clans, to establish this town as a place all shifters can be safe. The silver—the bits and pieces we’ve found over the years—created the pacts that have kept our people united for generations.”

“You know where it is?”

He shook his, chuckling ruefully. No. Nobody does, but when one of the packs or clans or the whole town need it, it just kind of randomly shows up in places we know it wasn’t before. The problem became that as time went on, greed and betrayal tore the bonds between some of the packs and clans apart. We now believe the silver was scattered, hidden away to protect it and the power it represents.”

“And now?” Irene asked, her voice quieter.

“Now, it’s a symbol,” Beck said. “A reminder of what we’ve lost—and what we could regain. But in the wrong hands, it could be dangerous. That’s why the hunters want it. They don’t just see treasure—they see power. And they’ll do whatever it takes to get it.”

The impact of his words settled over her, the gravity of their situation sinking in. She stared into the fire, her mind racing.

“So, what do we do?” she asked finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

“We find it first,” Beck said, his tone resolute. “And we make sure it stays out of their hands. We restore it to its intended use.”

Irene nodded, a new spark of commitment igniting within her. But even as she met Beck’s gaze, a question lingered in the back of her mind—a question she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to.

What would they do if they found it? And at what cost?

The sun was just beginning to lighten the sky. The morning air was crisp and cool, the kind of invigorating chill that brought everything into sharp focus. Irene stood at the edge of the clearing about halfway up the mountain, the faintest trace of dawn illuminating the dense canopy of trees. Beck was beside her, his towering frame a comforting presence as they prepared to follow the latest clue unearthed from Isaiah Blakiston’s journal.

“You sure about this spot?” Beck asked, his deep voice breaking the stillness.

Irene glanced at him, her grip tightening on the worn leather journal in her hands. “As sure as I can be,” she replied, her tone laced with determination. “Everything in the journal points to this area. If I’m right, the silver should be close.”

Beck nodded, his sharp gaze scanning the terrain. “Then let’s find it before anyone else does.”

They moved together through the forest, their steps careful but swift. The trail led them to a rocky outcrop partially concealed by dense underbrush. Irene knelt, brushing aside layers of dirt and leaves to reveal a faint engraving on the stone—symbols that matched the ones from the journal.

“This is it,” she murmured, her heart racing. “This has to be it.”

Beck crouched beside her, his hands brushing hers as he helped clear away more debris. “Good work,” he said, his tone filled with quiet pride.

The ground beneath the outcrop was loose, and Irene used a small spade from her pack to dig, the blade cutting into the earth with precise, steady strokes. Beck joined her, his strength making short work of the task.

After what felt like hours but was likely only minutes, the sound of metal thudding against wood echoed through the clearing. Irene’s breath hitched as she and Beck unearthed a wooden chest, its edges reinforced with tarnished iron. Her hands trembled as she reached for the latch, which gave way with surprising ease.

Inside, the chest gleamed with the unmistakable luster of silver coins and bars, their surfaces catching the soft morning light. Irene stared in awe, the weight of the discovery settling over her like a tangible force.

“We found it,” she whispered, barely able to believe the words.

Beck’s hand came to rest on her shoulder, his warmth grounding her. “You did it,” he said, his voice steady. “You proved it was real.”

Before she could respond, a distant sound reached her ears—a faint rustling, followed by the unmistakable crunch of boots on forest debris. Her heart sank as the scent of gun oil and sweat hit her nose.

“Hunters,” Beck growled, his body tensing as his sharp gaze darted toward the tree line.

Irene’s wolf stirred, the primal need to protect her claim surging through her. “We can’t let them take this,” she said, her voice low and fierce.

“We won’t,” Beck replied, his tone leaving no room for doubt. He moved swiftly, stepping between her and the encroaching danger as the first of the hunters emerged from the shadows.

“Well, well,” the lead hunter drawled, his rifle slung across his chest. “Looks like you two hit the jackpot.”

The other hunters fanned out behind him, their weapons gleaming ominously in the pale light.

“Back off,” Beck warned, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down Irene’s spine.

The lead hunter smirked, his eyes narrowing. “Not a chance. That silver belongs to us now.”

“Over my dead body,” Irene snapped, her wolf’s growl rumbling in her throat.

“That can be arranged,” the hunter sneered, raising his rifle.

The air seemed to crackle with tension as Beck and Irene shifted almost simultaneously, their wolves bursting forth in a swirling mist of energy and power. Beck’s massive black wolf stood tall and imposing, while Irene’s sleek red wolf snarled, her eyes locked on the enemy.

The hunters hesitated, their confidence faltering as the wolves charged. Irene’s wolf lunged at the hunter standing in the front, her powerful jaws clamping down on his arm before he could fire. His scream echoed through the clearing as she dragged him to the ground and inflicted a fatal belly wound.

Beside her, Beck’s wolf tackled another hunter, his massive frame knocking the man off his feet. Teeth bared, he snapped at the man’s throat, tearing it out and killing him before he could scramble to escape.

The remaining hunters regrouped, their shouts filling the air as they fired wildly at the wolves. Irene just barely missed being struck more severely than the graze along her flank, the sharp sting fueling her fury. She turned on the nearest hunter, her jaws closing around his leg and pulling him to the ground.

The fight was chaotic, a brutal clash of primal strength and human weaponry. Irene and Beck moved as a unit, their bond driving their movements as they fought to protect the silver—and each other.

Beck’s wolf growled in pain as a bullet struck his shoulder, but he didn’t falter. Irene’s wolf snarled, her ferocity unmatched as she drove the remaining hunters back. One by one, they retreated, their confidence shattered by the relentless assault.

When the last hunter disappeared into the trees, Beck shifted back into his human form, blood staining his shoulder. Irene followed suit, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she knelt beside him.

“Let me see,” she said, her voice trembling as she reached for his wound.

“It’s nothing,” Beck said, though his wince betrayed him.

“It’s not nothing,” Irene snapped, her hands steady as she tore a strip of cloth to bandage the wound.

Beck’s eyes softened as he watched her work, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the pain. “You’re as relentless as I am, you know that?”

“Stubborn, or so I’ve been told,” she muttered, tying the bandage tightly.

Their gazes met, the intensity between them momentarily eclipsing the chaos around them.

“You’re mine,” Beck said softly, his voice filled with quiet conviction.

Irene’s heart twisted, the weight of his words settling over her like a brand. “And you’re mine,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her.

Before either of them could say more, a faint sound reached their ears—the distant rumble of approaching footsteps and the crackle of radios.

“They’re coming back,” Irene said, her heart racing as she stood, her eyes scanning the forest.

Beck rose beside her, his expression grim. “As distasteful as it is, we need to use some of their clothing,” he said, his tone firm. Irene nodded. “We’re not losing this silver—or each other.”

As they grabbed what clothing they could use, they dressed and gathered what they could carry, disappearing into the forest, Irene couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. The hunters wouldn’t stop, not now. And the silver they carried was more than just a treasure—it was a target.