The moment Asher turned his back, the bond didn't just fray. It screamed.
A sharp, high-pitched wave of anxiety radiated from the Rogue. This wasn't his usual brand of cynical vigilance. This was raw, vibrating terror.
The emotion slammed into Ravenna's gut, twisting it into a knot. She wasn't the only one feeling the static. Emin winced, his jaw set so tight the bone looked ready to snap. Damaris was worse; he paced in a tight, agitated circle, his eyes darting like he was trying to solve an equation with missing variables.
"Rogue," Emin commanded. His voice was a low rumble. "Identify the threat. Your panic is contaminating the link."
Asher didn't slow down. He moved through the shadows of a massive, cracked drainage pipe like a ghost with a fever.
"No threat, Alpha. Path is secure. Keep your head down and your mouth shut."
"Your 'discipline' is the problem!" Damaris snapped. The Warlock's mask of ice was melting into sharp irritation. "You are radiating primal panic. You're destabilizing the Hybrid. Control your output, or I'll sedate you myself."
Asher stopped dead.
He spun around. His green eyes were flashing with a cold, desperate fire.
"Try it, Warlock," Asher hissed. A low, predatory snarl. "Try to lock down my head, and I'll tear your throat out before the spell leaves your fingers. I lead. You follow. That's the deal."
The threat was real. It was the desperate self-preservation of a cornered animal. The Mate Bond pulsed with his readiness to kill—not for glory, but for breathing room.
He's not just scared, Ravenna realized, watching his hands shake. He's terrified of being trapped. Of being handled.
Emin stepped between them. A wall of muscle and bad attitude.
"Enough. We move in silence. Rogue, shut it down. Hybrid, filter the noise."
The journey to the Cinderport Outlands—the "Dead Zone"—was a slog through a graveyard of industry.
They traveled for hours across scorched earth. The ground was a mosaic of broken bricks and the residue of old, failed spells that made the air taste like burnt hair.
The bond remained a jagged, painful wire. Every time Ravenna found a rhythm, Asher's fear would spike. A sudden, sharp wave of dread that brought tears to her eyes and made Emin flinch as if he'd been struck.
It wasn't fear of the terrain. It was the fear of a ghost.
What happened to you here, Asher? Emin played the Alpha role, positioning himself between Ravenna and the horizon. Occasionally, he'd grab Asher's shoulder—a silent, heavy demand for control.
Damaris tried to weave a dampening field around the Rogue, but Asher's instincts were too sharp. He'd sense the magic and snap the flow, glaring at the Warlock with icy venom.
They reached the edge of the Cinderport sector. A vast industrial wasteland crawling with Ironwood Pack patrols.
"We stop," Emin ordered. He led them into the shadow of a derelict factory wall. "Cinderport security is tight. The main road is the only fast way in, but my people control it."
Damaris leaned against the rusted brick. "The bond makes stealth a joke. We can't sneak past Lycan noses when we're radiating a magical storm. Alpha, use your authority. Get us through."
Emin scowled. He hated this.
He was a man of the code, and he was about to lie to his own sentries. A violation of the only thing he had left.
"The trade gate is manned," Emin said, straightening his ruined jacket. "I go alone. I'll claim high-level recon. A direct order from the Elders."
"Your honor is irrelevant," Damaris noted. "But your conviction isn't. You need to look like an Alpha, not a fugitive."
Asher spoke up, his voice brittle. "They'll scent the lie. You reek of desperation, big man."
Emin looked at the Rogue. "That scent is yours. But you're right. I'm compromised."
Ravenna stepped forward. She didn't think about it; she just moved.
"You need to hide the tension," she said.
She reached out and put her hands firmly on Emin's arms. The touch wasn't a caress. It was an anchor.
"Breathe with me. Don't fight the bond. Use it. Take my steadiness. Send out conviction. Nothing else."
Emin hesitated. His rigid pride fought against relying on a Hybrid. But he felt the pull of her energy—clean, focused, and heavy.
He looked down at her. His golden eyes were dark with a reluctant, pained reliance.
He let go.
For a heartbeat, Ravenna felt the true burden of the Alpha's crown. The weight of every life in the Ironwood Pack. The raw fury was gone, replaced by a cold, absolute determination.
Emin closed his eyes. Inhaled.
When he opened them, the man was gone. The Alpha remained. A mask of cold, commanding stone.
"Stay here," he ordered. The voice rang with absolute authority. "Warlock, keep your magic in your pockets. Rogue, one step out of line, and I'll finish what the Pack started when I get back."
He strode out toward the lights of the trade gate.
Damaris watched him go. A thin, satisfied smile touched his lips. "The Hybrid is an excellent anchor. We must ensure she stays plugged in."
Asher, however, wasn't looking at the gate. He was staring at the route Emin had taken.
The moment the Alpha disappeared, the fear Asher had been holding back surged. It wasn't a wave; it was a flood. A crippling, bone-deep terror that nearly drove Ravenna to her knees.
This wasn't about Nyzor. This was the dread of a man walking back into the mouth of his own nightmare.
What is in Cinderport, Asher?