Shadow Of Mountain

SARA:

My heart thammers against my ribs like a trapped bird, each beat echoing loud and frantic in my ears. I am sandwiched between Zayne and Kyle in the back of the blacked out SUV, my body locked in a agonizing war against itself.

Every time the vehicle sways, my shoulder brushes Zayne’s solid arm, or Kyle’s knee presses against mine. Sparks of overwhelming heat shoot through my veins, threatening to dissolve my panic into helpless surrender. The dual mate bond isn't just a faint pull, it’s an electric current sizzling beneath my skin, demanding that I lean into them, that I seek comfort in the very men who just dragged me from my life.

Fight it, I scream at myself, digging my fingernails into the palms of my hands until the sharp pain grounds me. You are half-human. You don't belong to them.

"Stop fighting it, Sara," Kyle’s smooth, low voice murmurs beside me. He isn't smirking anymore. His golden eyes wander over my trembling form, a dark, ravenous possessiveness gleaming in their depths. "The bond is only going to burn hotter the longer you push us away."

"I don't care," I choke out, staring straight ahead at the driver's headrest, refusing to meet his gaze. "You kidnapped me. You threw me into a car like cargo."

"We saved you," Zayne says, his voice a deep, stoic rumble that vibrates right through the leather seat. His heavy, warm palm rests on my knee, his thumb making slow, deliberate circles over the fabric of my jeans. The touch sends a shudder down my spine. "The city police task force was three blocks away from your café. They knew a wolf was operating there. If we hadn't taken you, you’d be in a silver cage right now, or worse."

"I had a plan!" I snap, finally turning to glare at him. "I was leaving!"

"You were running," Zayne corrects coldly, his storm-gray eyes locking onto mine with absolute authority. "And you're done running."

The SUV slows down as the asphalt turns into rough gravel. Outside the tinted windows, the concrete buildings and neon lights of city landscape fade, replaced by towering ancient pines and jagged, snow capped peaks. We pass through massive, spell bound iron gates flanked by heavily armed pack sentinels.

The Bloodmoon Pack Estate looms before us, a sprawling fortress of cold stone and heavy timber. My sanctuary in the city is officially gone.

The vehicle grinds to a halt in the courtyard. Zayne steps out first, offering a hand, but I ignore it, sliding out on my own legs only for them to instantly buckle under the sheer weight of the pack aura hanging in the mountain air. Before I hit the cobblestones, Kyle catches me around the waist, pulling my back flush against his chest.

"Careful, sweet hybrid," Kyle whispers against my ear, his hot breath sending a goosebump, inducing shiver across my nape. "We've got you."

"Sara?"

A choked, trembling voice breaks through the crisp mountain wind.

I freeze. Standing near the stone arches of the main entrance are two figures. My mother, her face pale and lined with tears, and my father, Beta Thomas, standing tall in his uniform, though his eyes are wide with stunned disbelief.

Three years. Three years since I disappeared into the night during the rogue raid.

"Mom... Dad..." The words catch in my throat.

My mother takes a frantic step forward, her hand reaching out, but my father catches her arm, his face tightening into a mask of rigid pack discipline as his eyes fall on Zayne and Kyle standing guard over me.

"She was found, Beta Thomas," Zayne announces, his tone formal, cutting through the emotional air. "And the bond has manifested."

My father’s breath hitches. His eyes dart between Zayne, Kyle, and the way both Alpha heirs are physically shielding me. He knows what a split mate bond means for the pack. He knows the political storm brewing behind those heavy wooden doors.

"There will be time for family reunions later," Zayne adds, his tone leaving no room for argument. He wraps a firm, protective hand around my waist, steering me toward the estate doors. "Our father doesn't have much time."

I am led through endless, stone corridors lined with ancient weapons and flickering wall sconces. The air grows heavier, thick with the medicinal tang of silver root herbs and the lingering decay of dying strength.

We reach the heavy double doors of the Alpha quarters. Two guards bow their heads and push the heavy oak doors open.

Inside, the room is dimly lit, dominated by a massive canopy bed. Hooked up to hiss-and-hum medical equipment sits Alpha King Jonathan. The fifty-eight-year-old leader looks broken, his once-commanding frame withered by illness, his breath coming in shallow, rattling gasps.

As we step into the room, Jonathan’s clouded eyes slowly open, fixing onto me, then onto his twin sons standing closely beside me.

"You... brought her..." the Alpha King rasps, his voice barely a whisper.

Suddenly, the heart monitor beside his bed begins to beep erratically, a sharp, piercing alarm cutting through the quiet room as the air around us grows suffocatingly thin.