(Dorian POV)
Cassian had arranged everything before I landed—permits cleared, weapons licensed under diplomatic cover, ground routes mapped to the second.
I traveled alone. It was safer that way. Fewer moving parts. Fewer targets.
At the same airport where the Queen's manifest had logged her arrival just twenty-four hours earlier, a black SUV waited near the hangar. The driver saluted and stepped aside. I opened the trunk myself—old habits.
Inside: spare ammunition, sealed med packs, two pistols, a short-range rifle, and one thing Cassian never forgot—a thermos of coffee, still steaming.
I scanned the tarmac. Nothing out of place. No tails. No scent trails that didn't belong.
Still, something felt wrong.
The mountains that separated the borderlands from the high kingdom were treacherous, narrow, and often shrouded in fog thick enough to hide an ambush. I started the engine, pushed the SUV hard through the switchbacks, and let instinct guide the wheel.
The link between us flickered in and out like bad radio static. I reached for it again, pressing past the interference.
Little wolf… can you hear me?
Nothing.
Then a faint pulse—panic. A quickened heartbeat. Hers.
She was blocking me, but even walls leak when the bond runs this deep.
Don't run, I sent through the bond, voice raw even in thought. Please. Don't run from me.
The connection snapped closed.
I drove faster.
Two hours of unbroken terrain later, the cabin came into view. A dark shape against the ridge, lights off, no smoke from the chimney. Too quiet.
I parked off the road, killed the headlights, and loaded a smaller pack: spare ammo, rations, medical supplies, and a blade I'd carried since training. I locked the vehicle, slung the pack, and melted into the tree line.
Her scent was there—pine, rain, and the sweetness that only my wolf could name. It hit me like gravity.
I barely had time to register the metallic click.
Cold steel pressed to my temple.
"Lower your weapon," came her voice—steady, deadly, and unmistakable.
"It's me, little wolf," I said softly.
The gun wavered, then fell. A small sob escaped her lips, and before I could lower my own weapon, she was in my arms—legs wrapped around my waist, face buried in my neck. The scent of her tears soaked through my shirt.
"Shh," I whispered, one arm around her waist, the other still holding my pistol. "I've got you."
Her belly pressed hard against my midsection, the unmistakable swell of life between us. My throat tightened.
She was shaking so hard she could barely breathe.
"Dorian," she whispered against my skin, voice breaking. "I thought—"
"I know."
She kissed my jaw, then my neck, frantic, salt and warmth. I kicked the cabin door closed with my boot. We didn't need light. Wolves see what they need to see.
For a heartbeat, the world was still. Just the two of us breathing the same air again.
Then the sound came—distant at first, then closer.
Engines. Boots. The metallic chatter of weapons being loaded.
"Baby," I said quietly, tilting her face toward mine. "Focus. We've got company. Tell me we have another way out of here."
She nodded, wiping her tears with the back of her hand, already shifting from fear to action.
The first round hit the cabin wall, sending a dull thunk through the metal frame. A second followed, splintering wood.
"Son of a bitch," I muttered. "They're willing to kill a pregnant woman."
She looked up, calm as stone. "The door's reinforced steel. Windows—bullet-resistant. It'll buy us two minutes."
She crouched beside the kitchen island, slapped her palm under the marble lip. A click. A hidden panel.
I blinked. "Smart girl."
The floor hissed open, revealing a narrow staircase leading into darkness.
"You first," she said, smiling.
I shook my head no. She knew not to argue, and literally bounded down the stairs with glee.
I wanted to argue—every instinct screamed to shield her—but there wasn't time. She descended quickly, bare feet silent on the metal stairs. I followed. She hit another button, closing the steel plate that slid over the entry, locking us in.
The bunker stretched deep under the cabin—stocked shelves, medical kits, crates of ammo, survival gear.
"You've been busy," I said, scanning the space.
"Never stopped preparing," she replied.
She moved to a bench, stripping off her torn shirt, pulling on tactical pants, and boots. Her movements were efficient, practiced, and I couldn't take my eyes off her.
Her stomach curved beautifully beneath the low light, skin glowing faintly gold. I could hear it then—two smaller heartbeats beneath her own.
Twins, my wolf registered, growling protectively. My Lycan was abnormally quiet, but I could feel him radiating heat beneath my skin, ready to kill anything that threatened what was his.
My knees nearly gave out.
I stepped closer, hand trembling as I brushed her belly. "My Goddess… twins?"
She nodded once, eyes glistening. "Talk later. We move now."
An explosion rocked the earth above us, showering dust from the beams. She didn't flinch. She grabbed a pre-packed bag, slung it over her shoulder, and glanced at me.
"Ready?"
"Always," I said.
We moved together down the tunnel, following the narrow glow of emergency lights. The passage twisted through rock, deeper and then up again. The smell of smoke filtered through the vents.
When we emerged from the exit hatch, night had broken into gray dawn. We crouched under the trees as the cabin behind us went up in flames.
She didn't look back.
"Let's go," she said, voice steady.
Two hours later, we reached the clearing near an old airstrip. I waited in the woods while she contacted the pilot through a secure satellite line the Queen had given her months ago.
Minutes later, the faint chop of blades broke the silence. A black helicopter dropped low, landing between two runways long reclaimed by moss.
She winced as I helped her into the cabin of the helicopter, her body already strained by exhaustion and the weight of our unborn. I settled beside her, one arm around her shoulders.
For the first hour, we didn't speak. Just breathed.
Halfway through the flight, she fell asleep against my chest. I listened to the rhythm of her heart, and beneath it, the double heartbeat that would change everything.
I didn't realize I was crying until Cassian's voice came over the radio, crackling with static.
"ETA six hours, sire. The palace is secured."
"Good," I replied. "Keep it that way."
By the time we landed on the palace helipad, dawn had broken fully. Cassian stood waiting, coat flapping in the wind, eyes sharp but relieved.
No words. Just a nod.
I stepped out, cradling her in my arms.
"Welcome home, Your Majesty," Cassian said softly.
Inside the palace, everything was quiet. The scent of polished stone and lavender oil filled the air. I carried her straight to our suite.
In the bathroom, steam rose as I ran the water. I set her down gently and helped her undress, every bruise and scratch evidence of the hell she'd survived.
We washed in silence, touching softly, speaking little. She traced the scar on my shoulder with shaking fingers.
"I didn't think you'd find me," she whispered.
"Then you don't know me at all," I said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
When the water cooled, I lifted her out, wrapped her in a towel, and carried her to bed. The moonlight spilled through the balcony doors, silvering her skin.
She brushed my cheek. "You found me."
"Always," I said again, the promise old and true.
We fell asleep like wolves after war—her head on my chest, her hands over the lives between us, my heart finally quiet.
Outside, somewhere beyond the palace walls, the world was still burning. But for the first time in weeks, I didn't care.
She was home.
And so was I.