FOURTEEN

Ethan

WE'RE IN THE actual Den, with The Den, with the exception of Micky, Dom, Brandon, Enzo, and—oh yeah—our mate.

She came back into the guestroom around 6:00 a.m., shortly after she "snuck out." Then she proceeded to get dressed while letting us know that she'd promised to go on a ride with Enzo while she was down here and that it was happening this morning.

Xander insisted that one of us tail them in Jax's car. Billie flat-out refused.

He then calmly explained that it would only be for her safety, reminding her about the shifters from the match last night and how little we know about them. It was about protecting her, nothing more. Again, she flat-out refused.

Seeing that he wasn't getting anywhere when it came to her caring about her own safety, he changed tactics. He let her know how uncomfortable he was with this and that he didn't appreciate her dismissal of his concerns, both as her mate and as her alpha. She said her decision was not about hurting him or disrespecting him, that in fact it had nothing to do with him at all. It was her decision, and she'd made it. She then kissed all of us goodbye and promised she'd be waiting for us at the gym by the time we arrived.

We've been here for thirty minutes. They're still not here.

The three of us had been cautiously tapping in and out of the bond throughout the early morning. And I do mean cautiously. When I first opened the link, I thought I was going to either shift or have a heart attack when her naked fear whizzed through the bond with the force of a rapid-fire machine gun. I may not have gone into cardiac arrest, but my hand was clutching my chest all the same. Soon after, Jax opened the pack link, and she assured us she was fine. It's just how Enzo rides. Then she suggested that if we didn't like it, maybe we shouldn't tap in anymore.

I didn't like feeling her fear. I didn't like hearing the change in her tone talking with us this morning when it came to her and Enzo. I don't like how she has suddenly closed herself off from us. A complete one-eighty from last night to this morning. Screw it, I don't like any of this.

We're trying to trust her and show her that though we may be possessive (shifters, remember?), we will not let it interfere with her other relationships. Her friendships. They're friends. Just friends. We didn't react well when we first met The Den, and we need to prove to her and ourselves that we've learned from that experience. This is time for us to personally get to know her family and The Den. To form our own friendships or at least connections with them.

Regardless, I still don't like her being out there without at least one of us. It feels off, and my wolf is pacing inside of me, tired of waiting around, urging me to shift and run through the streets of Boston with our snout in the air, utterly confident he'll be able to scent his way to her.

I scrub a hand over my head and recross my arms over my chest while letting my eyes survey the area. The gym isn't flashy. It's a gym with a central focus, boxing. It's clean. All the equipment is high-end and well-maintained. There are pictures of members training with Micky or Jimmy, along with pictures of Billie and Marcus and a couple with the rest of The Den, as well as framed magazine covers from back when Micky was competing. I bet there will be some of Jimmy in the near future. Though we're the only ones here, you get the feeling that everyone knows everyone. It has that family vibe.

We've gone through a dynamic warm-up, including light bag work, with Jimmy giving oral instructions since the broken ribs are limiting his movements. He also can't seem to stop eating or drinking water. I guess the month-long prefight meal prep needed to be really strict. Not for him to make weight—he's a heavyweight—but for that weight to be effective. Not a pound unaccounted for. I've got to admit, for guys that were out into the wee hours of the morning, Marcus, Jake, and Jimmy seem to be managing well. Dom on the other hand is still at the house, trying to stop puking.

I chance another glance at the front door and then at the staff entrance in the back. But no, our mate is still not here. I settle on returning my gaze to the ring, where Jake and Jax are sparring.

We know how to fight, just not in a technical way. We're predators, naturally able to read our opponents. Our prey. We know how to wait, find their weaknesses, and exploit them. We connect with our base instincts and trust our shifters' innate hunting abilities. Jax is incredibly good at this. Unless he's playing a game of Nip and Run with our mate; then other instincts seem to take over. The wolf-shifter boxer from last night was clearly not trained in harnessing his wolf's natural predation skills. He had trained in boxing, though not nearly as much as Jimmy. It seemed like his connection to his wolf was strained, as if they were two separate entities cohabitating in the same form instead of living and working together.

Jake lands a glancing blow on Jax's ribs. Marcus snickers. "About freakin' time, Jakey."

Jax blocks two more attempts, a jab and a hook, and then answers with two quick jabs to Jake's chest, sending Jake stumbling back to the ropes. "Nice one, Jax!" I shout from outside the ring.

There's a knock on the link.

Little Fox here. Need help ASAP! Wolves... feckin' wolves! Over.

My heart lodges in my throat, choking me. My body hunches over, hands pressing into the edge of the raised mat. Jax becomes distracted and takes a hit from Jake. With a vibrating thud, he falls to the mat in front of me.

Wilhelmina, where are you, what's going on? Over.

Xander is too worried to care about using her format.

Waiting... Waiting... What the fuck is going on! Calm, Ethan. Stay calm. I don't dare communicate. I don't dare give any piece of my attention to anything other than holding my wolf in and listening. Breathe in and out through my nose. Wait for more information. Stay clear-headed.

Billie comes through panting.

Near Castle Island. Shifters from the boxing match are after me and Enzo. Ran us off the road... we're on foot... I'M SORRY! Can't stay in the link. Need to run. Over and out.

I come out of the link blazing with fury and drowning in desperation. I push off the mat and begin to prepare. Prepare to hunt and kill. Stowing all softer human emotions away in a corner deep inside, ensuring pesky morals will not interfere with any actions I need to take in order to save my mate. Things around me temporarily blur from the veil of detachment blanketing my vision. Once it snaps into place, everything becomes crisp and clear. There is a calmness in feeling nothing. There is a stillness that can only be experienced when you allow your darkness to seep through. That darkness that made life seem so bleak and inconsequential. Nothing mattered when they were dead and I thought I was the reason. I may be able to accept the truth that their death wasn't my fault, but it doesn't diminish my ability to access that cold indifference that is an ingrained part of me.

Jax tosses his gloves in a corner of the ring before scrambling his way out. His face is tight, and his hands are shaking with urgency as he yanks his headgear off.

"Where's Castle Island?" Xander demands, looking at Marcus and Jimmy, both in black O'Sullivan's gear, T-shirts, and wind pants.

"It's less than two miles northeast, not far. Why?" Jimmy asks, his bruised face looking painful and puzzled.

"Billie and Enzo are in trouble," Jax pants, fingers hurriedly pulling at the wraps around his hands. "We need to get there. NOW."

"Wait, how do you know? What kind of trouble?" Marcus probes, arching a brow and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Listen we don't have time to explain," Xander grinds out hands fisted at his sides, face blank, cold, unflinching eyes on Jimmy. "They're in serious trouble. Can you tell us how to get there or not?"

"If they're in trouble, we're goin' with ya," Jake hollers while smoothly sliding, chest up, under the bottom rope of the ring, bending his back with the flexibility of a contortionist. His baggy red T-shirt is plastered to his chest with sweat.

"No, you're not. Just tell us how to get there," Xander commands, his eyes getting brighter and brighter by the second.

Jimmy steps right up to him chest to chest. Pointing a finger less than an inch from Xander's face, he growls, "She's my feckin' sister, and he's Den! We're going."

Xander grinds his teeth, probably his canines, resisting the urge to snap out and bite that finger. His nostrils are flaring with his desire to object, but Jax interjects with wide eyes, raging. "We don't have time to debate! Our mate is in trouble! We need to get there. She's all that matters." He turns to Marcus. "NOW!"

Marcus nods. Grabbing his hoodie, wallet, and keys out of one of the cubbies behind the desk, they run toward the exit, with me and Jake right behind them, Xander and Jimmy quickly following.