Chapter 22

Chapter

Twenty-Two

Rowan

T he world around me started to fracture like a shattered mirror. Vibrant hues of redwood trees bled into unrecognizable smears, and the bland walls of the room around me blended into a disorienting fog that clawed at my senses. A dull roar filled my ears, distorting into a cacophony that threatened to swallow me whole.

Pain lanced through my skull, sharp and persistent as if my wolf was clawing to break free, to run from whatever was causing this upheaval. But even he seemed lost in the chaos, his primal instincts dampened by whatever magic or ailment gripped me.

I staggered, my legs suddenly insubstantial. I reached out for something, anything solid to anchor myself to reality, but my hands grasped only empty air. As hard as I tried to will my alpha strength to the fore, to command my body to obey, my knees buckled, and the ground rushed up to meet me.

In the fragmented haze of my vision, memories flashed—flickers of life in Black Lake Pack, the faces of those who relied on me, their alpha. The pressures of leadership, the weight of expectations, they all dissolved in this maelstrom, leaving behind a hollow feeling where once there had been purpose.

I didn't care.

None of it mattered.

Who was Rowan Steele without his pack? Without his role as protector and provider?

A phantom sensation brushed against my skin—the touch of a mate I had yet to claim—and it stung with a yearning that felt like another piece of the puzzle slipping away. My thoughts chased the fleeting comfort of that imagined touch, spiraling at dizzying speed.

And then heat exploded in my thigh, sharp and brutal. I gasped, the pain a lifeline that hauled me back from the brink of unconsciousness. My mind cleared, sharpening as if drawn from a sheathe, and I clutched at my leg, probing for the cause of the sting.

"Rowan!" The voice cut through the remnants of my stupor, tethering me to the here and now. It was her. Evelyn.

The sight of her ignited a rush of relief through my veins. Her hazel eyes locked with mine. She was above me. Was I on the ground? How had I gotten there?

I opened my mouth to speak, but then a flicker of movement snagged my attention—a shadow detaching itself from the wall behind her.

I tensed, every muscle coiled tight as instinct screamed a warning through my blood. "Behind you," I managed to growl, my voice low and rough with urgency.

Evelyn didn't hesitate, didn't falter, merely shifted her stance. My wolf bristled beneath my skin, eager to leap forward, teeth bared in defense.

A shifter. In a gas mask.

I forced myself up and lunged, wrapping my arms around his waist and tackling him to the ground. I was weak. Clumsy. My wolf clawed at my consciousness, demanding release, but this fight needed precision over brute strength.

He landed a blow against my temple, and I faltered, then twisted, throwing him sideways. I blocked a kick, pivoting to strike back. I scrambled to my feet and pivoted, letting instinct guide me as I sidestepped a wild punch. My counter was swift—a palm strike to his sternum that sent the man stumbling backward. He was strong, but I was the alpha for a reason.

"Yield!" Alpha energy poured out of me, and I felt him flinch.

The man lunged, a desperate edge to his movements, but I read them like the open pages of a well-thumbed book. I dodged and wove through his attacks, my own blows landing with satisfying thuds against his flesh. A hook to the gut, a jab to the throat—I was a tempest, relentless and unforgiving.

The taste of victory was on my tongue as the man faltered under the barrage. His breaths were ragged, his stance unsteady. I could end him, let the beast within loose, and watch as he crumbled before me.

But we needed answers.

With a final surge of control, I slammed my fist into the side of his knee, bringing him crashing to the ground with a howl of pain. The fight left his eyes, replaced by the dawning realization of defeat.

I hauled him into the tunnel to get the hell out of whatever mist still hung in the air, then reached down and stripped off his mask.

"Justin." Evelyn hissed his name, then snatched up what looked like an aluminum pill bottle from the dirt floor.

He looked up at me then, hate mingled with fear, and I knew I had won. Not just the fight but the upper hand in whatever game he thought he was playing. This might be his territory, but he attacked my mate, and that meant he would pay.