Wade laughed, some of the tension from the evening finally releasing. “I run hot. You can have all the covers you want.”
As they prepared for bed, Wade found himself marveling at how natural this felt. How right it seemed to have Alex moving around his space, borrowing his toothbrush, climbing into his bed wearing one of Wade’s T-shirts.
The mate bond hummed contentedly between them, recognizing what Wade’s conscious mind was still processing—this was home now. This was family.
When they finally settled under the covers, Alex curled against Wade’s side like he belonged there. Wade wrapped an arm around his mate, feeling the smaller man's breathing gradually slow as sleep claimed him.
But Wade stayed awake longer, staring at the ceiling and listening for any sound that might indicate Valcore had returned. His mate was safe in his arms, surrounded by pack, protected by wards and weapons and the fierce loyalty of sixteen wolves.
But Wade knew this was far from over. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new threats to navigate. For tonight, though, Alex was safe.
And that was enough.
Chapter Five
Alex clutched the now-charged phone in his palm, the screen mocking him with its “No Location Found” message. Whatever had happened to his wallet, the GPS card inside was either dead or destroyed. A digital ghost leading them on this wild goose chase through the downpour.
Rain pattered against Alex’s jacket, a persistent drumming that somehow made the whole situation more ominous. Wind whistled through cracks in the weathered siding, carrying the damp chill of early autumn.
He pulled his jacket tighter, already regretting this entire mission.
Wade, Bayne, and Liam moved through the darkness with practiced precision. Not a word between them, just quick hand gestures that might as well have been ancient hieroglyphics to Alex. Left, right, do the wave, clenched fist. He was half expecting to do the Hokey Pokey at any second.
“Remind me to take the wolf shifter night class when we get back,” Alex whispered, earning a quick finger to the lips from Wade.
“This is officially the worst idea in history,” Alex whispered, trying to keep his voice steady despite the jackhammer pulse in his throat. “Next time I suggest breaking into a murder house, maybe suggest mini golf instead.”
Wade did some elaborate hand-signal conversation with Bayne and Liam. This time it consisted of finger-wiggling and head-nodding that translated roughly to “let’s break into a crime scene like special forces commandos.”
Compared to the wolves, Alex felt like a toddler playing spy games.
Wade crouched by the back window, fingers testing the frame before sliding a thin blade between sash and sill. Breaching the window lock had taken Wade approximately three seconds.
These guys definitely had experience with B&E, which should have been more concerning than comforting.
Liam went first, sliding through the opening with impossible grace for someone his size. Bayne followed.
“After you,” Wade whispered to Alex, who felt about as enthusiastic as someone facing a root canal without anesthesia.
Wade gestured for Alex to go next, keeping watch.
Halfway through the window, something sharp caught Alex’s side, tearing through his shirt and into flesh. He bit down hard on his lip, swallowing the yelp that threatened to escape. Just another perfect moment in this increasingly perfect day.
A rusty nail protruded from the wooden frame, now painted with a fresh streak of crimson. You just can’t stop leaving your DNA in this place.
“You okay?” Wade’s hand steadied him from behind, voice barely audible over the rain.
“Fine,” Alex lied, feeling warm wetness spreading beneath his shirt. “Just my pride taking another hit. Let’s find the wallet and get out of here.”
Right. Because bleeding in a house where you’d previously killed someone was the definition of “fine.”
They moved deeper into the house, past the bedroom where they’d entered, down a narrow hallway.
The kitchen smelled of mildew and cigarettes. Police tape still hung in tatters from the doorway, yellow strips fluttering like macabre party decorations. Alex’s feet carried him automatically toward the living room, where his memory played a highlight reel he’d give anything to delete.
The bloodstain was still there. Dark brown now instead of crimson, a grotesque Rorschach test splattered across the beige carpet. Drew had fallen there, eyes open but seeing nothing, blood pooling beneath his cracked skull. The memory hit so vividly that, for a moment, Alex could smell it again, that coppery tang that had filled his nostrils as he’d backed away, phone tumbling from numb fingers.
The pipe was gone. Probably bagged and tagged in an evidence locker somewhere, complete with his fingerprints and DNA. Alex pressed his palm against his injured side, feeling sick.
