The Limestone Quarry

The quarry was a scar on the land. A massive, open pit of white stone, flooded at the bottom with black water. Old rusted machinery sat like skeletons on the ridges.

Jax was down there.

Mara crested the ridge, her chest heaving. She brought her scope up.

Jax was backed against a rusted excavator bucket at the bottom of the pit. He was in human form—he didn't have the energy to shift again. He was holding a piece of rebar like a club. He was swaying on his feet.

Five Rogues had him surrounded. They were playing with him. Circling. yipping. Enjoying the slow death of a legend.

"Look at him," the Rogue leader taunted, stepping into the circle. "The great Jax. You look like a drowned rat."

Jax spat blood. "Come closer. I'll show you what a rat can do."

"End him," the leader commanded.

Mara’s crosshairs hovered over the leader’s head.

The distance was three hundred yards. The wind was gusting. The rain was blinding.

If she missed, they would swarm him. He would be dead in seconds.

Her hands shook violently. She was a medic. She fixed things. She scouted paths. She didn't take lives.

*I can't do it,* the voice in her head whispered. *I'm too weak.*

She looked through the scope. She saw Jax’s face. He wasn't looking at the Rogues. He was looking up at the ridge. At the tree line.

He was looking for her. He was hoping she was safe.

The look in his eyes wasn't fear. It was love. Pure, unadulterated devotion.

Mara’s hands stilled.

The fear didn't vanish. It just became irrelevant. Bravery wasn't the absence of fear; it was doing the necessary thing while terrified.

She wasn't a Scout right now. She was a Mate.

She exhaled, holding her breath at the bottom of the curve.

"My wolf," she whispered.

She pulled the trigger.

*CRACK.*

The sound echoed off the limestone walls.

Down in the pit, the Rogue leader’s head snapped back. Red mist sprayed into the rain. He dropped like a stone.

The other four Rogues froze, looking up at the ridge.

Mara didn't stay hidden. She stood up. She threw the rifle down. It was empty anyway.

She sprinted for the edge of the quarry.

She jumped.

It was a forty-foot slide down loose gravel. Mid-air, she let go of her humanity.

She shifted.

She wasn't a massive timber wolf like Jax. She was smaller, sleeker, a blur of russet and cream fur. She hit the gravel on four paws, scrabbling for traction, sliding down the slope like an avalanche.

Jax saw her coming. He saw the russet wolf tearing down the wall.

He roared. The sound wasn't weak anymore. The sight of her—fighting, not running—poured adrenaline into his veins, overriding the silver.

He swung the rebar, shattering the knee of the nearest Rogue.

Mara hit the bottom of the pit. She didn't slow down. she hit the second Rogue at full speed, her jaws clamping onto his hamstring. She used her momentum to spin him around, exposing his throat.

Jax was there. He lunged, finishing the kill.

Back-to-back.

The remaining two Rogues hesitated. They were facing a wounded titan and a feral blur of speed.

They looked at each other. They charged.

It was a dance. Mara went low, weaving between legs, slashing tendons. Jax went high, using his brute strength to crush ribcages.

It was messy. It was brutal. It was the most intimate thing they had ever done.

When the last Rogue fell, silence returned to the quarry, broken only by the rain and their ragged breathing.

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