Willa was already moving before the second shadow cleared the tree line.
She vaulted the table, landed low, rolled, and came up with a blade in each hand. Cade shifted mid-motion beside her—bones snapping, sinew twisting, his form stretching until the man was gone and the beast remained.
Wolf. Huge. Jet-black. Eyes glowing like twin embers.
"Go left!" she shouted.
He didn't hesitate.
The three figures rushed the cabin, fast and unclean—half-formed abominations made of bone and hunger. Not shades. Not purebloods either.
Hybrids, she realized. Council-engineered mutts.
Her rage surged.
The first one lunged at her. She pivoted, slashed it across the throat, and ducked under a clawed swipe. The creature's skin steamed where her blade met it—silver and salt. It screeched, stumbling back.
Behind her, Cade barreled into the second, teeth sinking into its shoulder. The creature howled but didn't fall. They wrestled across the porch, Cade snarling, the creature's claws ripping at his side.
The third came straight for Willa.
She caught it mid-leap, slammed it into the floorboards, and drove her dagger into its gut. The creature shrieked and thrashed—but didn't die.
"What the hell?" she growled.
Then she saw it. A glowing rune etched into its chest. Ward-bound. Reinforced.
"These aren't scouts," she shouted, ducking a swipe. "They're hitmen."
Cade let out a howl that shook the cabin.
The second creature was down, twitching in the dirt. Cade, bloodied and panting, turned toward her.
The one she'd stabbed lunged again—too fast.
It slammed her into the wall hard enough to rattle her teeth. Pain shot through her ribs. Her dagger clattered across the floor.
It pinned her.
Breathless. Cornered.
And then it went still—snarled once—and collapsed.
Cade stood behind it, hand still raised, claws dripping with black ichor.
Willa gasped for breath, blinking up at him.
"You good?" he asked, chest heaving.
"Define 'good,'" she rasped.
He pulled her up gently, his hand lingering just a beat too long. "Not dead works for me."
A long silence followed as the last of the creatures disintegrated into ash.
Willa took one step back, adrenaline still crashing through her veins.
Then she slapped Cade hard across the face.
His head jerked sideways. Slowly, he turned back toward her, a low growl building in his throat.
"That," she snapped, "was for not warning me this cabin was compromised."
He bared his teeth. "And the thank-you for saving your life is coming when?"
She glared. "Don't hold your breath."
Their chests were still rising and falling, blood in their mouths, battle heat making everything too bright. The kind of heat that blurred lines and made stupid decisions seem smart.
Cade stepped in close. "You felt it."
She didn't deny it.
Didn't look away either.
"I'm not letting them take you," he said.
Her jaw tightened. "I don't need protecting."
"Maybe not. But I've got enough blood on my hands. I'm not adding yours to it."
That silence again. Loud. Unavoidable.
Then—footsteps outside.
Both turned fast.
But it wasn't an enemy.
It was Roman.
Boots crunching in ash, jaw set tight, eyes scanning the damage.
"Well," he muttered. "Looks like someone really doesn't want this story told."