Page 52 of Talk Howly to Me

Within seconds, the estate's foyer erupted into chaos. Ronan's wolf and Kozue's wolf moved with lethal precision while Sloane flowed between them like deadly water, her movements perfectly complementing theirs. Bodies fell and blood splattered the marble floors while the sounds of combat echoed through the obscenely luxurious space. When the last rogue wolf dropped lifeless, Darius stood alone at the top of the staircase, his suitcases abandoned at his feet. The Alpha who had terrorized territories for years, who had murdered Ronan's family in cold blood, finally had nowhere left to run.

His bones began to crack and shift as he transformed, auburn fur erupting across his skin as his massive reddish-brown wolf emerged. His ice-blue eyes blazed with desperate fury as he launched himself down the staircase directly at Sloane.

But they were ready for the bastard.

Ronan's wolf intercepted from the left while Kozue attacked from the right, their coordinated assault forcing Darius to fight on multiple fronts. The rival Alpha was skilled—Ronan had to admit that—but he fought dirty, using underhanded tactics that spoke to his character.

Still, he was no match for the power of their triad bond.

When Sloane finally leaped onto Darius's back and pinned him to the cold marble floor, Ronan's wolf was already moving, and his massive jaws clamped around the rival Alpha's throat with deadly finality.

For our family, Ronan projected as his teeth found their mark. For our pack. For our future.

The life drained from Darius's wolf form, his ice-blue eyes finally losing their predatory gleam. In death, his body shifted back to human form, leaving only the corpse of the man who had caused so much pain.

Sloane rolled away from the dead shifter as her chest heaved with exertion, and around them, the estate had fallen silent. Through their pack connection, Ronan could sense his pack warriors finishing the last of the Kade forces outside. He and Kozue shifted back to human form, their naked bodies bearing various cuts and bruises from the battle. None of the injuries were serious, but they served as reminders of how close they'd come to losing everything.

Sloane's bloodied form immediately wrapped around both of them, her arms pulling them close as they stood over their enemy's corpse. In this moment—holding his mate and his brother, surrounded by the evidence of their victory—Ronan finally felt the weight of twelve years lift from his shoulders.

Justice had been served. His family could rest in peace. And together, they had protected what mattered most.

"I'm ready to go back home now," Sloane whispered against his chest, her voice carrying exhaustion and relief in equal measure.

Home.

The word settled into Ronan's bones with perfect rightness as he tightened his arms around the two people who meant everything to him.

TWENTY-ONE

SLOANE

Three days had passed since Darius Kade's final breath echoed through the opulent halls of his estate, since justice had finally been served for crimes that had haunted the Hale pack for twelve years. Three days since Sloane had looked into the lifeless ice-blue eyes of the man who'd tried to destroy everything she'd finally allowed herself to believe she deserved—two incredible mates who loved her unconditionally, a home at Hale Lodge, and a pack family that had fought to rescue her and protect the future she'd just begun to imagine.

Now, on this Monday morning, Sloane stood in the spacious kitchen of Hale Lodge, her hands dusted with flour as she kneaded pasta dough beside Kozue. Sunlight poured through the windows, casting golden rectangles across the polished granite countertops and illuminating the controlled chaos of their ambitious cooking project. The familiar scents of garlic, herbs, and simmering tomatoes filled the air, but today carried something different—an electric anticipation that made her skin tingle with excitement.

Over the past three days, she'd convinced Ronan and Kozue to embrace a new tradition. Instead of limiting the Monday communal spaghetti dinner to lodge guests, they would open it to the entire Hale pack—all one hundred and fifty wolf shifters who called this territory home. And rather than waiting until Wednesday for their usual bonfire, they'd incorporate both events into a single celebration of community.

"You're overthinking that dough," Kozue observed, his warm green eyes dancing with amusement as he watched her work. "It's supposed to be pasta, not a stress ball."

Sloane paused in her aggressive kneading, realizing she'd been channeling her nervous energy into the innocent ball of flour and eggs. "Sorry. I just want everything to be perfect."

"It will be." Ronan's deep voice carried absolute certainty as he entered the kitchen carrying an armload of fresh herbs from the lodge's garden. His black hair was slightly tousled from the morning breeze, and dirt smudged his strong hands—evidence that he'd been working alongside the pack members who maintained their vegetable gardens. "The fact that you care this much already makes it perfect."

The sight of her Alpha mate—powerful, commanding, utterly devoted—still made her heart skip. Through their completed triad bond, she felt his quiet satisfaction at seeing her so invested in pack life, his pride in her natural leadership instincts, and underneath it all, his profound contentment at having her permanently woven into the fabric of their community.

When she'd first suggested expanding the dinner, Ronan had questioned whether they could accommodate two hundred people. But Sloane, Kozue, and Emerson had presented a coordinated campaign that would have impressed military strategists. They could utilize the wedding reception ballroom that usually sat empty, transform the sprawling back gardens with string lights and additional seating, and create multiple food stations to manage the flow of guests and pack members.

"The logistics are sound," she'd argued during their planning session. "And think about what this represents—breaking down the artificial barrier between 'business' and 'family.' The lodge guests will see the warmth and love that makes this place special, and our pack gets to celebrate openly in their own home."

Emerson had chimed in with her usual enthusiasm: "Plus, can you imagine how amazing it'll feel to have everyone together? No more pretending we're just employees when we're really family."

Even Ronan's practical Alpha mind couldn't argue with the benefits. Kozue had sealed the deal by pointing out that guests often commented on the lodge's incredible atmosphere—this would show them the source of that magic.

Now, after slaving away with Emerson yesterday to transform the ballroom and gardens, Sloane found herself in the heart of the lodge's kitchen with both her mates, preparing to feed an army. The intimacy of cooking together—their hands occasionally brushing as they reached for ingredients, the easy rhythm of their shared tasks, the way Ronan had rolled up his sleeves and tied an apron around his narrow waist—filled her with a warmth that had nothing to do with the heat radiating from the industrial ovens.

"Hand me that wooden spoon," Ronan said, gesturing toward the utensil drawer as he stirred a massive pot of marinara sauce. Steam rose from the bubbling surface, carrying the rich aroma of tomatoes, basil, and secret ingredients Kozue guarded like state secrets.

Sloane grabbed the spoon and moved to pass it to him, but their fingers lingered when he took it from her. The simple contact sent that familiar electric shock racing up her arm—a reminder that even the most mundane moments carried the magic of their bond.