"Jonah Hayes, you get control right now."
Her voice cuts through the frenzy. Not scared. Not pleading. Commanding.
"I didn't choose a mate who gives up. Not after shadow attacks and my asshole ex and eight months documenting this place waiting for you to come home. So you shift back. Now."
Her command hits something primal in me.
My bear hesitates. The rage still burns but her presence—her strength—provides an anchor. The mate bond flares between us, golden and demanding. She's not backing down. Not running. Not treating me like I'm fragile or dangerous or something to be managed.
She's commanding me.
And I respond.
I force the shift. Pain tears through my body as bones crack back into human form. Fur recedes. I collapse to my knees on the destroyed floor of my cabin, gasping, naked and shaking and barely in control.
Maren drops to her knees in front of me. Her hands cup my face, forcing me to look at her.
"There you are," she says.
I grab her wrists, holding her hands against my face. Need to feel her here, tangible, anchoring me. "You should have run. I could have hurt you."
"But you didn't. You won't. I know you."
The trust in her voice steadies something fundamental in me. The rage drains away, leaving exhaustion and relief and need. I pull her against me, burying my face in her neck, breathing her in.
"I'm losing control," I admit against her skin. "The corruption is winning."
"No, it's not." She pulls back just far enough to meet my eyes. "You're still here. Still fighting. Still mine."
The possessiveness in that last word makes my bear rumble approval.
I kiss her. Hard. Claiming. Needing to feel her respond, to know she's real and choosing this, choosing me despite everything. She kisses back just as fiercely, fingers digging into my shoulders, not gentle or careful but demanding.
I pull back before I lose control again. "Not like this. Not when I'm barely holding it together."
"Then let's fix it." She stands, pulling me up with her. "The bonding ceremony. At dawn. We're not waiting anymore."
Dawn. In a few hours. The final commitment. The blood ceremony that will either save me or kill us both.
"At dawn," I agree.
She finds clothes for me—jeans, shirt, anything that survived my bear's rampage. I dress slowly, every muscle protesting. She doesn't look away from the damage in the cabin, from the evidence of how close I came to losing complete control. Doesn't flinch from what I am or what I could become.
She just stays.
We sit on what's left of the bed. The frame is bent, mattress shredded, but it holds our weight. She leans against me, head on my uninjured shoulder. I wrap an arm around her, pulling her close. The connection between us thrums with anticipation.
"I was so scared," she says quietly. Not asking for comfort. Just stating fact. "When I felt you losing control through the bond. When I realized you were trapped in the nightmare and I couldn't reach you."
"You reached me." I tighten my arm around her. "Your voice cut through when nothing else could."
"I almost didn't." Her fingers trace patterns on my chest. "The others tried to stop me. Said you were too dangerous, too unstable. Sawyer wanted to sedate you."
The thought of my brother trying to drug me makes my bear growl. She feels the rumble in my chest and smiles slightly.
"I told them no. That you needed me, not sedation. That commanding you would work better than coddling you." She looks up at me. "Was I right?"
"You were right." I capture her hand, bring it to my lips. "You're always right about me. Even when I don't want to admit it."
