Silas’s silver cane tapped a sharp, abrupt rhythm against the library floorboards as he scanned the darkened stacks.
The overhead fluorescents flickered, casting long, jagged shadows that seemed to breathe in the outer vision.
“A dead zone,” Silas muttered, his refined voice clipped with irritation.
“Mina warned me about the Faraday effect in this section.
The old copper piping interferes with our biometrics.
I should have never let you wander this far.”
Ariella stood rigid by the shelf, her hand still outstretched toward the book on ancient pack law, though her mind was miles away.
The scent lingered in her nostrils, a phantom touch that refused to fade.
Her neck was still tingling where the Ash-Walker’s gloved fingers had traced her throat.
“Ariella.” Silas stepped closer, his blue eyes narrowing as he studied her pale face.
“Your heart rate is one-forty.
Your pupils are dilated.
What happened?
Tell me.”
Ariella swallowed, her throat dry.
She wanted to scream it.
He was here!
The Ash-Walker!
But the words died in her mouth.
Silas had been nothing but efficient, even protective, but he was Grimshaw’s man to the bone.
If she told him about the Rogue, would it start a hunt?
Or worse, would it prove to Grimshaw that she was a liability who couldn’t be trusted out of his sight?
“I…
I thought I saw something,” she hedged, lowering her hand.
“A shadow.
The stress of the confrontation with my brothers…
my mind is playing tricks on me.”
Silas tilted his head, his expression unreadable.
He reached out and gently pressed two fingers to the pulse point in her neck—the exact spot the Rogue had touched.
“Stress,” Silas echoed softly.
“Or perhaps the Primal heat is flaring again?
It does strange things to a wolf’s perception, Ariella.
Unshifted females are notoriously vulnerable to paranoid hallucinations when their biology is in flux.”
“I didn’t hallucinate,” Ariella snapped, her feistiness surging back.
“I know what I felt.”
“You felt a draft,” Silas said, his voice hardening into a flat, unyielding wall.
“You felt the shadows of an old library.
The Ash-Walker is a myth, child.
A story the Council uses to justify their excessive security budgets.
I have been in the Fracture for a decade, and I can assure you…
“Come.
Nessa is waiting by the doors.
We are returning to the Ironfang.”
Ariella wanted to argue, but the look in Silas’s eyes stopped her.
It was a quiet, lethal warning.
Drop it.
She followed him out of the stacks, her mind churning.
Silas was lying.
She knew it in her marrow.
But why?
Ironfang Spire – The Tactical Sub-Level (Grimshaw’s POV)
The elevator doors opened onto a concrete bunker that smelled of gun oil and ozone.
Grimshaw stood before a heavy steel workbench, his back to the door.
The obsidian bone-mask of the Ash-Walker rested on the metal surface, next to the carbon-fiber chest plate and the vocoder collar.
The Rogue was stripped away, leaving only the Alpha.
But the Alpha was trembling.
He gripped the edge of the workbench until the metal dented under his fingers.
His eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached.
He could still feel her.
Going to the library had been a monumental risk.
A stupid, reckless breach of protocol.
But when he had felt her Primal spark flare on the campus quad—when she had stared down Atlas and made Asher’s wolf submit—he hadn’t been able to stop himself.
The Void inside him had demanded to be near the fire.
And when he had touched her in the shadows…
she hadn’t cowered.
She had looked at the mask like it was a lifeline.
She had leaned into his touch.
It was a hunger that Grimshaw, the husband, the mate, couldn’t satisfy.
Ariella looked at Grimshaw and saw a cage.
She looked at the Ash-Walker and saw a way out.
The irony was a physical agony.
He was slowly losing her to a ghost.
To himself.
The bunker door opened, and Silas walked in.
The Beta didn’t blink at the gear on the table.
He simply leaned on his silver cane, his expression tight.
“You broke the primary protocol,” Silas said, his voice devoid of its usual playful lilt.
“You went to the university.
“I had to see her,” Grimshaw growled, not turning around.
“You saw her.
And in doing so, you nearly exposed the entire operation.
If Mina hadn’t intercepted the campus security feed, we’d have the Council breathing down our necks.” Silas stepped closer, his cane clicking.
“She told me she saw a shadow.
She’s confused, but she’s not stupid, Grimshaw.
If you keep appearing to her as the Ash-Walker, she’s going to put the pieces together.”
“Then I won’t appear again,” Grimshaw said, finally turning.
His face was a mask of cold fury, though his eyes were wild.
“The Rogue is retired.
Until the Sanctuary is ready to be revealed, there is only Ironfang.”
“And what do we do about the text you sent her?” Silas asked.
“‘We’re a good team.’ You gave yourself away, Alpha.”
“I wanted her to know she wasn’t alone in fighting them,” Grimshaw muttered.
“I wanted her to know I approved of her defiance.”
“She thinks her mate is a controlling tyrant who watches her from the shadows, and a masked stranger is her only ally.
You’re creating a disaster of epic proportions.” Silas sighed, rubbing his temple.
“Vane is moving.
The Council is demanding a presentation of the Luna at the Equinox Ball.
If Ariella walks into Black Ridge looking at you with hatred and longing for a ghost, the Council will sense the weakness in your bond and tear her apart.”
Grimshaw picked up the obsidian mask, staring into the hollow red lenses.
“I’ll fix it.”
“How?”
“By reminding her who holds the leash,” Grimshaw said, his voice dropping into a dangerous rumble.
Ironfang Spire – The Master Suite
Ariella was pacing by the glass wall when the bedroom door opened.
Grimshaw walked in.
He was freshly showered, his dark hair damp, wearing only a pair of loose black sweats.
His chest was a roadmap of scars, the bite mark on his shoulder stark and purple.
He looked exhausted, but his eyes were laser-focused on her.
“You’re late,” Ariella snapped, crossing her arms.
“Silas had to play babysitter because you were too busy ‘handling business’ to come get me yourself.”
“I was handling you regardless,” Grimshaw countered, walking toward her with a predatory, unhurried stride.
“I was watching the campus feed.
I saw you make Asher’s wolf submit.
It was…
impressive.”
Ariella flushed, the silver spark in her chest humming at the praise.
“I lost control.
It won’t happen again.”