"Yes. But it requires massive amounts of energy channeled through the ley lines." Calder looks at Jonah. "Under normal circumstances, Jonah could do it himself. He's strong enough. But with the corruption spreading?"
"I'm not strong enough." Jonah admits it quietly. "I can barely hold my form."
As if to prove his point, silvery mist begins to swirl around his hands. His eyes go wide. "No. Not now. I'm not shifting."
But his body doesn't listen. The transformation is happening involuntarily, his control slipping as the corruption spreads.
Calder grips his shoulders. "Focus. Push it back. You control the shift, not the other way around."
The mist flickers. Jonah's form destabilizes. For a heartbeat, I see both. Man and bear, overlapping in the same space, neither fully present.
Then the mist clears and he's human again, gasping.
"That shouldn't be possible," Beau whispers. "The shift shouldn't flicker like that."
Calder's face is grim when he looks at me. At all of us. "The shadow corruption is spreading faster than I anticipated. It's not just poisoning his body. It's destabilizing his connection to his bear." He pauses, and the weight of what comes next fills theroom. "If we don't stabilize him soon, we'll lose the man and the bear. Both will be consumed by shadow."
Silence.
Jonah's breathing has gone shallow. The black veins pulse faster.
I watch him fight to stay present, to stay human, and I have no idea how to help.
CHAPTER 4
JONAH
My family is safe. My mate is here. Now the threat needs to be eliminated—permanently.
The thought solidifies as Calder's diagnosis hangs in the air.You'll lose the man and the bear. Both will be consumed by shadow.
But right now, watching Maren stand among my family in Calder's cottage, something else stirs. Possessive satisfaction. Primal. Beyond logic or strategy.
They've accepted her. Completely. Cilla squeezed her hand when we first arrived, pulling her close with that protective warmth she shows everyone. Quinn offered her coffee without being asked, seeing the exhaustion on Maren's face and moving to help. Anabeth is explaining something about ley line convergence points with her usual intense focus, gesturing with her hands, and Maren is actually listening. Not just nodding politely—asking real questions, her photographer's eye for detail translating to genuine curiosity about the science behind the magic.
My brothers keep glancing between her and me. They see how close I stay to her. How my eyes track her across the room.
Eli catches my eye and nods once. Acceptance. Welcome. His mate went through this same overwhelming introduction to shifter life, so he understands what Maren's processing right now. Beau grins outright, the bastard, probably already planning to tease me about going soft. Sawyer just looks relieved I'm home at all, mate or no mate. Six months of searching, of hoping against hope, and here I am. Corrupted, dangerous, but alive.
She fits here. Belongs here. The rightness of it hits me hard. A growl rumbles through my chest. Clan accepts mate. This is right.
But certainty doesn't solve the corruption spreading through my system like poison through water. Doesn't seal the tear allowing shadow creatures to bleed into this world. Doesn't protect her from what I might become if the instability takes over at the wrong moment.
And it will take over. That's not pessimism, that's just what the legends say. Every hour that passes, the corruption spreads deeper. Every time I shift, the instability grows. Every time I lose control, I risk hurting the people I'm trying to protect.
Strategy. Planning. Risk assessment. That's what I need to focus on.
"Jonah." Calder's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Workshop. We need to talk."
Not a request. His alpha voice, the one that doesn't allow argument.
I push up from the couch. My legs are steadier now than they were when we arrived. Small improvement. Won't last.
"I'll be right back," I tell Maren.
She nods, still holding her coffee mug like it's an anchor.
Outside, the morning air is crisp. Calder leads the way to his compound workshop, far enough from the cottage that voices won't carry. Inside, surrounded by tools and half-finished furniture projects, he turns to face me.
