Double Trouble, Triple Heat

Chapter 19

Chaos erupts across Blackwood territory.

From the safe room, I hear it all—gunshots cracking through the night, howls of rage and pain, the distant thunder of wolves clashing with hunters. The stone walls muffle the sounds but can't block the bond.

Through that golden thread, I feel everything.

Dominic's burning rage, a furnace in my chest. He's fighting—I can feel the impact of every blow, the savage satisfaction when an enemy falls.

He moves like death itself, protecting his pack with everything he has. Caspian's sharp fear cuts like glass, but beneath it is fierce determination. He's watching Dominic's back the way he always has, silver wolf flashing between enemies.

They're alive. Fighting. Protecting our home.

And the pack... the pack is dying.

I feel each connection snap like a thread being cut. One moment a life pulses against my awareness—a young wolf I met at the integration ceremony, an elder who smiled at me from across the clearing—the next it's gone. Snuffed out in pain and terror. Each death leaves an echo in my chest, a hollow space where a life used to be.

I pace the safe room like a caged animal, hands pressed to my belly. The baby must be protected—I understand, I do. But sitting here while my mates fight, while my pack dies, while everything I love burns...

I hate being helpless. I've always hated being helpless.

The door crashes open.

Luna stands in the entrance, blood running down her arm, eyes wild with urgency. "They're pushing toward the lodge. The outer defenses have fallen. We've lost a dozen wolves already." She grabs my arm. "We need to move. Now."

"Where?"

"Tunnels. Under the lodge. Built for exactly this nightmare."

I don't hesitate. We run.

The entrance is hidden behind a bookshelf in the library—Luna pulls a lever and the wall swings open, revealing stone steps descending into darkness. The air that rushes up is cold, ancient, carrying the smell of earth and secrets.

"Stay close," Luna says. "It's a maze down here."

We plunge into the black.

Luna leads with the confidence of someone who's walked these passages before. I follow the sound of her breathing, one hand trailing along the damp stone wall. Above us, muffled by layers of earth, the battle rages on.

Through the bond, I cling to my mates like lifelines.

Dominic is a storm of violence, tearing through hunters with terrifying efficiency. I feel his wounds—a bullet graze across his ribs, claw marks from a hunter's blade—but he doesn't slow down. Caspian moves like silver lightning, faster than the eye can track, protecting Dominic's flank the way he always has.

They're alive. That's all that matters.

"You can feel them," Luna says quietly. It's not a question.

"Yes."

"I used to feel him like that. Dominic." Her voice is hollow. "Before I destroyed everything."

We walk in silence for a moment. Then, surprising myself, I ask: "Why did you do it?"

Luna doesn't answer right away. When she does, her voice is stripped of its usual ice.

"I was terrified." She laughs bitterly. "The great Luna Nightshade, afraid. But I was. Being luna to an alpha like Dominic... it's not just a title. It's responsibility. The whole pack looking to you, expecting you to be strong, to be perfect. To stand beside a man who carries the weight of everyone on his shoulders."

"So you sabotaged it."

"I told myself I didn't love him. That I was just going through the motions, following my father's arrangement." She pauses at a junction, choosing the left passage. "The truth is, I loved him too much. And I was convinced I'd fail him. So I made sure I did, before he could see how inadequate I was."

"That's—"

"Cowardly. Pathetic. I know." Her shoulders tighten. "I've regretted it every day since. Watching him close himself off, build those walls so high no one could reach him. Knowing I caused that. Knowing I made him believe he wasn't worthy of love."

She glances back at me, ice-blue eyes unreadable in the darkness. "Then you came along. And he started to thaw. Started to let people in again."

"I didn't do anything special."

"You did everything." Luna's voice softens. "You showed him that love doesn't have to mean losing yourself. That strength and vulnerability can exist together." A pause. "I'm not asking for forgiveness. I don't deserve it. I'm just asking you to understand. I was a coward." Her voice hardens with something like respect. "You're not."

Before I can respond, pain explodes through my shoulder.

I gasp, stumbling against the wall. It's not my pain—it's Caspian's. Through our mate bond, I feel the bullet tear through his flesh, feel his shock and agony like it's happening to my own body. My vision whites out for a second.

"Caspian," I choke out, gripping the stone wall to stay upright.

Luna grabs my arm, steadying me. "Is he—"

"Hit. He's been hit." Tears stream down my face. "Silver. I can feel the burn, I can feel—"

"Is he alive?"

I reach through the bond, desperate, pushing past the pain to find the connection beneath. It's still there—flickering, weakened, but present. I feel his determination, his refusal to fall, his desperate need to keep fighting.

"Yes. He's alive. He's still fighting."

"Then we keep moving." Luna's grip tightens. "The best thing you can do for him is survive. Give him something to fight for."

We run.

The tunnel seems endless. My shoulder throbs with phantom pain, Caspian's wound echoing through the bond with every step. The danger is waking her faster than the pregnancy did. I feel my nails sharpen against the stone wall, see gold flickering at the edges of my vision.

Not yet, I think. Whatever's coming, I'm not ready. Not yet.

We emerge in the forest.

Moonlight filters through the canopy, casting everything in silver and shadow. The sounds of battle are closer here—howls and gunshots and screaming, the forest itself seeming to shake with violence. Smoke rises somewhere in the distance. The lodge, maybe. Our home, burning.

"The eastern border is that way," Luna says, pointing through the trees. "If we can reach the river, there's a safe house on the other side. We can regroup, wait for—"

She stops.

I follow her gaze.

Four figures step out of the trees ahead of us. Hunters, rifles raised, blocking our escape. Their faces are hard, professional, showing no emotion as they level their weapons at our chests. Military precision. Military training.

This isn't a random encounter. They were waiting for us.

And leading them, face twisted with triumph, is Joseph Webb.

He looks different than I remember. Harder. Crueler. The corporate polish is gone, replaced by something feral and hungry. There's a scar on his cheek—new, pink, still healing. A parting gift from someone who fought back.

His eyes find mine, and they light up with sick satisfaction. Like a predator who's finally cornered his prey.

"Hello, Sera," he says, grinning. "Miss me?"