The moment Willa crossed the last stretch of cursed ground between her and Cade, the trees closed behind her—branches groaning as if alive, twisting and curling to block her retreat.
She didn't care.
Her eyes were locked on him.
Cade's chest rose and fell with labored breaths. His skin was slick with blood and sweat, his wrists chafed raw where rusted iron shackles bit deep. Runes had been carved into the bark of the twisted tree behind him—some glowing faint red, others pulsing with a dark rhythm that felt like a heartbeat.
"Don't," he croaked. "It's a trap—"
"I know," Willa said.
Still, she stepped closer.
"Then why the hell are you here?" he growled, straining against the chains. "You should've run."
"I've done enough running," she said, unsheathing her dagger. "And I don't leave my people behind."
He laughed, low and bitter. "So I'm 'your people' now?"
"You're mine until I say otherwise," she snapped, then paused. "And I'm not saying otherwise."
A pause passed between them. A heartbeat. Maybe two.
Then a voice slithered out from the dark:
"Oh, she's fiery. No wonder you kept her a secret."
Willa turned, blade raised.
From the shadows stepped three figures—tall, feral, half-man, half-beast. Their skin was an unnatural shade of gray, their eyes pure black, and their mouths—too wide, too sharp.
They were beautiful in that way nightmares often are.
"Bloodhound," one of them purred. "Brought to heel. What a twist."
"I don't heel," Willa said.
"No," said another, stepping closer. "But you bleed like the rest."
Cade struggled harder, the chains grinding against bark. "Touch her and I swear—"
"You'll what?" the third laughed. "You belong to us, Cade Mercer. Your blood sings to the soil of this place. You were born of it. Forged in it."
Willa frowned. "What the hell are they talking about?"
Cade didn't meet her eyes. His jaw clenched.
The leader grinned, all bone and malice. "Tell her, boy. Tell her why the council really wants you back. Why they branded you rogue."
Willa's voice cut through the rising wind. "Cade?"
His eyes finally met hers. Pain. Shame. Fury.
"My father," he said. "He wasn't just a shifter. He was one of them. A Deep Pack alpha. My mother tried to run. To hide me. She failed."
The creatures laughed.
Willa's stomach twisted.
"You've got their blood?" she asked.
"Barely," Cade said. "But enough. Enough to make me a threat. Enough for them to try to claim me—and for the council to want me dead before they succeed."
The lead creature stepped closer to Willa, eyes glinting. "And now you understand. We don't want to kill him."
"We want to crown him."
Willa didn't hesitate.
She threw the dagger.
It hit the creature square in the throat.
He staggered back, shrieking—but didn't fall.
Not quite.
But it bought her time.
She lunged for Cade, grabbing the hilt of a blade lodged in one of the runes binding him. It burned her hand, but she didn't let go.
Cade growled—feral, desperate—as he ripped one arm free, the chain snapping as if sensing its defeat.
The Deep Pack surged forward.
And Cade was already shifting.
Not fully wolf.
Not fully man.
Something else.
Something terrifying.
Something beautiful.
"Run," he growled.
Willa stood her ground, raising another blade. "I don't run anymore, remember?"
Together, they turned to face the monsters.
The world around them burned.
Not with fire, but with pressure—ancient, suffocating, blood-soaked pressure. It coiled around Willa's spine like a noose and pressed hard against her skull, whispering things she didn't understand but felt deep in her bones.
Cade stood between her and the monsters.
No, not stood.
Stalked.
He wasn't just in his shifted form anymore. He was something else entirely—half-shadow, half-scorched flesh, eyes burning gold with a ring of midnight. His voice was a low growl layered in something… wrong. Older than wolves. Hungrier.
Willa knew he was still Cade.
But barely.
The Deep Pack moved in a circle, not attacking, but invoking. Their leader's voice rose in a chant that made her skin crawl.
"Born of soil and sacrament… blood of bone, heir of ash…"
Willa stepped forward. "You want him to be your puppet king. You think he'll kneel."
The lead creature sneered. "We know he will. It's in him. He was carved for this."
Cade's breath hitched. She heard it—saw the flicker of pain ripple through his face.
Willa moved closer, slowly, deliberately, between Cade and the pack. "Then you don't know him at all."
The leader lunged—and Cade moved.
Faster than a blink.
His claws tore across the creature's chest, and the beast let out a howl of rage, stumbling backward as Cade loomed over him.
"I don't kneel," Cade said, his voice deepened by something not entirely his own. "Not to you. Not to them. Not anymore."
The pack faltered, but Willa didn't miss the twitch in Cade's hand, the way his claws flexed like they wanted to dig deeper. His breathing was ragged, controlled only by a thread.
She had to reach him.
Not as a soldier.
Not as a bounty hunter.
But as herself.
Willa stepped up behind him and laid a hand on his back.
His muscles jerked under her palm.
"Cade. You're stronger than them," she whispered. "But you've gotta fight it. They want you to give in. To forget who you are."
A moment of silence passed. Then his voice came, hoarse, rough.
"And who am I?"
Willa stepped around him, into his line of sight. "You're mine. You're the man who makes me crazy, who drives me nuts, who gets under my skin."
Her throat caught. "You're the man I came into this damn realm to save. Don't make me regret it."
He blinked—and his body shuddered.
The shadow around him began to burn away, flickers of light cracking through the darkness like dawn through a storm.
The leader of the pack let out a shriek. "No!"
They lunged.
But this time, both Willa and Cade were ready.
Willa ducked under a claw, sliced across the creature's thigh, and rolled. Cade ripped into another's side, pure fury unleashed.
They fought back-to-back, blood and breath and bond.
When the last of the Deep Pack was broken and scattered, the cursed world began to crumble. The tree behind them cracked and split down the middle, pouring light.
A way out.
Willa turned to Cade, his face slick with sweat and blood, his golden eyes locked on her.
"You still with me?" she asked.
He gave her a broken smile. "I think so."
"Good," she said. "Because I'm not done with you yet."
Together, they stepped into the light.