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“She’s telling you the truth, not challenging you,” Skhal said, his voice rough and deep, full of every ounce of authority the male could muster—a tone that spoke of the days when he’d been more father than brother, and cleaned Zev’s childhood wounds.

“She’s telling me she’s loyal to the Alpha who might have killed my mate and son,” Zev snarled.

“She’s proven her worth, her willingness to help you—to help us!” Skhal growled.

“But to what end?” Zev snapped. “She’s standing here pleading the case for that bitch. You expect me to trust her to be among our people—close to my mate—when she’s probably just gathering information and—”

‘Do you want to hear a difficult truth, Zev? Or the lie that makes you feel better?’ Skhal growled through the link.

It was a low blow. A reference to Zev’s days training and strengthening as a young adolescent—when Skhal had been among the wolves grooming him for Alpha. Before the humans had taken him back into the human world.

When, in his youth and ideology, he’d been taught—and loudly declared—that no matter how difficult his life became, he’d always seek a painful truth over a pleasant lie. He’d made Skhal vow it to him: Never hesitate to speak the truth to me, even if you think it will hurt.

.....

And the male had stayed true, all these years. At times he’d been the only one Zev could trust not to stroke his fur. Except his brother—who’d take the low blow on purpose.

Zev snorted, trembling with restrained rage—but not at Skhal, he reminded himself. His anger was not for his brother who’d freed him, or even his brother’s mate.

His rage was for that fucking Queen who postured and spat because she had dozens of warriors at her back.

Let her meet Zev on a dark street.

Hell, let her meet Zev in a well-lit clearing.

He would disembowel her first to make certain she felt the pain before he tore her throat out.

The thought made his chest tighten with anticipation—but recognizing that thrill terrified him. He wasn’t the monster the humans had tried to mold him into.

He was more than a weapon.

Was that truly all Jayah saw in him?

He broke eye contact with Skhal to look at his brother’s mate over his shoulder. Jayah hadn’t backed away. Her eyes were clear and fixed. She held his gaze and waited patiently.

She was well matched for Skhal—softer than his friend who always reminded him of an old tree—weathered and rough, but so deeply rooted he was impossible to blow over in a storm.

Unless someone put an ax to it.

He narrowed his eyes, focusing on Jayah. He didn’t miss the wariness in her gaze. Not out of fear. But she looked at him the way he’d look at a gun on someone’s table.

A weapon, not drawn, but bringing with it the potential to kill.

Was that all she thought he was?

He startled when a hand landed on his elbow, but resisted the instinct to jerk away from it. It was Sasha, his own mate, warm and exhausted, and afraid.

“Zev… please. Let’s just go. We can sort this all out later.”

He turned to look at her, then down at their son, his shock of black hair peeking out of the sling on her chest, and his heart melted.

Turning away from Skhal, he put a hand to his son’s bottom, pulled the sling back far enough to see that tiny, soft face, the thick cheek pink and shoved up to look even fatter because he had his face curled against his mother’s chest.

Sasha’s dirty shirt, the top button torn off at some point so that the v revealed the rounds of her breasts.

His stomach fluttered at the sight.

How long had it been since he’d taken her? How long since all he’d thought about was to be with her?

How long since he’d felt free enough to give his mate his full attention?

He dragged his eyes back up to meet hers—wide and shining… pleading.

Why was everyone so certain he was about to do something he shouldn’t?!

He cupped her face, then leaned down to brush his lips on hers, the tiniest flutter of desire and warm flush of love spreading through his chest as they touched.

They were free, he reminded himself. No longer watched over by guards. No longer having their steps, their meals, their fucking toileting determined by an aggressor.

They would be alone tonight. He’d make certain of it.

“Let’s go,” he whispered to her.

Her brows rose in hope and her eyes softened. She nodded and turned away in the direction Skhal had gone to check for the patrols Jayah had warned them were in the area. But Zev didn’t move.

As Skhal turned to take Jayah’s hand and lead her into the forest, Zev caught his elbow.

“She doesn’t enter the encampment as long as she’s loyal to that bitch,” he growled, low and hard.

Skhal froze, his jaw tightening.

But it was Jayah who squeezed his other arm. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ll show you past the patrols, then… then I’ll go back,” she whispered.

That grating voice in Zev’s head screamed about separating mates, but he pushed it away.

No one would be given the chance to undermine the safety of his people, his mate, his son again. No matter who they were—or who they were mated to.

Skhal quivered and Zev scented the tidal wave of anger and hurt that crashed over him. But he ignored it, stepping away, to follow Sasha, who was frowning again now, but silent, even in the bond.

And so was Skhal.

Good. Good.

They all needed to sit up and fucking pay attention. This wasn’t Thana. This wasn’t peace. This wasn’t safety.

This was fucking war. And he had three days to get them through it, to the other side. To real safety.

Or die trying.