Chapter Four – “Lines We Shouldn’t Cross”

The house felt too small.

It was noon and already Silverveil felt wrong — tightened, drawn in. Patrols had doubled. Liam was barking quiet orders out back. There were people in wolf form circling the lodge like silent shadows. Melody had locked herself in the small study with two tomes and a bowl of water that smelled like ash.

And Collin was in Alpha mode.

Not protective. Not sweet.

Cold.

Baylee hated it.

He’d listened when she told him about Ash. He’d listened when she said someone had crossed over. He’d listened when she’d said this Hollow King existed — whatever He really was — and that He was hungry.

He’d listened.

He hadn’t reacted.

Not at first.

He’d sent Liam to put Ironclaw and Frostfang on alert. He’d called Nyra through the stone-link Melody had left and told her Nightshade scouts were to slit anything that smelled wrong before it sucked air. He’d ordered no one past the third ward ring without Beta clearance, Beta presence, or Collin himself.

But the whole time he’d been… distant.

“It’s fine,” Heather whispered under her breath at Baylee’s side. “This is his ‘doing math’ face. He’ll come back down.”

Baylee hadn’t answered.

Because under all that calm, Collin’s hands had been shaking.

Now the room was empty except for the two of them. The conference table still smelled like ink and leather and stress. The map of Silverveil lay open, little marking stones set on high ground, their borders, the scar.

Collin stood over it with both hands braced on the wood, head bowed.

He hadn’t looked at her in five minutes.

That shouldn’t have hurt like it did.

“Collin?” she said softly.

He didn’t answer.

Her throat tightened. “Say something.”

He did.

Just not what she expected.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Baylee swallowed. “We already—”

“No,” he said, and his voice had an edge he almost never used on her. Alpha. Hard. Tired. “We didn’t. We told Liam. We told Heather. We told the air. You haven’t told me.”

“I told you about Ash.”

“After you went to the scar without me.”

Her jaw clenched. “We talked about this.”

“No,” he repeated, louder. “We didn’t. We didn’t talk. You informed me. After the fact. After you walked to the Veil with one guard and no healer and you.”

“Heather’s not ‘one guard.’”

“She’s not you.”

“Exactly,” Baylee snapped.

That made him go still.

His eyes lifted slowly. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Her pulse kicked. “It means she can still fight if something happens. It means if something tried to take me again, she’d make it bleed before she called for help. It means she’s not you and she won’t throw herself into a tear in reality to stop me from getting pulled, she’ll get us both out. You asked what it means? It means I trust her to keep me alive without sacrificing herself.”

Silence.

Collin stared at her like she’d carved him.

And she realized, too late, what she’d said.

“I didn’t mean—” she started.

“Yes, you did,” he said softly, and that softness hurt far worse than if he’d yelled. “You meant it.”

“Collin—”

“You think I don’t hear you?” His voice shook, but it wasn’t gentle anymore. “You think I don’t hear you and Heather whispering in the hall about how ‘he’ll break himself,’ how ‘he’s drowning,’ how ‘he can’t do this again?’ You think I don’t notice Melody looking at me like I’m a cracked jar that’s going to spill if she moves too fast?”

Baylee stood frozen.

Collin’s hand curled into a fist on the map. “You all already decided I’m reckless and fragile in the same breath. That I’m going to die for you and shatter doing it. You all sat in corners two feet from me and made a plan for how to manage me.”

Baylee’s chest burned. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s honest.”

“It’s cruel,” she whispered.

“So is leaving me out,” he said.

Her mouth opened. Closed.

Because she had.

She’d made a call in her head in the dark hours between “blood” and dawn. She had decided that protecting him from parts of the truth was love. She had decided it and acted on it without letting him have a say.

He could feel that.

He hated it.

“I didn’t tell you,” she whispered, “because I knew what you’d do with it.”

“Good,” he shot back. “That means you do know me.”

“Yeah,” she said, throat tight enough to ache. “Yeah, I do. You’d go stand at that scar and scream ‘come and take it’ and dare something we don’t understand to try. You’d bleed on the dirt just to prove to me it couldn’t. You’d put your throat in front of mine in a heartbeat. And then I’d lose you.”

“And?” he demanded.

Her breath stuttered. “And I can’t.”

“Baylee—”

“I CAN’T.” Her voice cracked hard, too loud in the empty room.

He flinched a full step back.

Her hands shook. Tears jumped to her eyes so fast it almost hurt. “I can’t, Collin,” she repeated, quieter, hoarse. “You think I don’t know what you’re carrying? You think I don’t see you sit awake every night and listen to make sure I’m still breathing? You think I don’t wake up and feel your hand over my stomach and know you’re checking, not just touching? You think I don’t hear you whisper to them when you think I’m asleep and promise you’ll die before anything touches us? You think I don’t hear you begging the Moon — a goddess you actively hate — to take you instead if she ever tries again?”

His face twisted.

Her tears spilled. “If I tell you everything, you’ll kill yourself with love. I am not letting you do that.”

“What if that’s my choice?” he demanded.

Something in her snapped.

“You don’t GET that choice,” she shouted.

Silence punched through the room.

Collin stared.

Baylee’s breathing shook. “You don’t,” she whispered, voice killing itself to keep from breaking. “You don’t get to decide to die and leave me here. You don’t get to choose to be noble and tragic and self-sacrificing and expect me to just raise this pup alone and lead a pack and hold together all these alliances and survive the Hollow King smiling politely like, ‘oh yes, my mate died for me, but it’s fine, I’m strong.’ I won’t do it, Collin. I WON’T. So no. You don’t get that choice.”

His lips parted.

His eyes were wet now too.

“Bay…” he said hoarsely.

It was the first time she’d said the words out loud.

I won’t do it alone.

It shook him.

It also hurt him in a way she hadn’t intended.

“Do you think I want to leave you?” he asked, voice fractured. “Do you think that’s the goal? Baylee, listen to yourself. You think I’m doing this because I don’t want to be here?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Then what are we even fighting about?”

“We’re fighting,” she said, trembling, “because you keep trying to make yourself the shield. And I am DONE watching the person I love turn himself into a weapon for me.”

He laughed — one harsh, disbelieving sound. “Done? You’re DONE?”

“YES,” she snapped, swallowing down a sob. “YES, I’m DONE.”

He let out a low, incredulous breath. “That’s interesting,” he said. “That’s so interesting, Bay. Because from where I’m standing, you haven’t stopped doing the exact same thing.”

Her spine went stiff.

“I watch you,” he said, voice fever-quiet. “I watch you walk around like you’re fine, like you’re healed, like your body didn’t literally burn itself out to save us and then rebuild from smoke. I watch you pretend you’re not still exhausted. I watch you smile at Jessica and Heather and the triplets so they don’t worry. I watch you talk Liam down when he’s scared. I watch you make me breathe when I wake up shaking because I thought you were gone again. You keep everybody moving, you soothe everybody’s fear, you reassure all of us while you barely stand and you call me a shield?”

Her throat knotted. “Collin—”

“I’m not stupid,” he said, and now he was the one shaking. “You had a nightmare last night. You woke up like something had its hands around your throat. You’re still pale. You’re shaking now. You think I didn’t feel that? You think I sleep through anything that touches you? Something is wrong, and you’re keeping it from me, and you’re calling me selfish because I’ll die for you? Baylee.” His voice cracked. “Baylee, you’re cutting me out and telling yourself it’s love.”

It landed like a slap.

Her jaw clenched.

Her body felt hot and icy at once.

He wasn’t wrong.

He was just...

He was just saying it out loud.

“Collin,” she whispered, “don’t.”

“Don’t?” His laugh was sharp. “You can tell me not to die, but I can’t tell you not to push me out of the only thing that matters in my entire life?”

“It’s not—”

“What else is there, Bay?” he demanded, stepping in and pointing to the ground between them. His eyes were bright, almost fevered. “What else is there? Tell me. Tell me one single thing in this world that matters to me more than this — you, this baby, this pack. Go ahead. Name it. I’ll wait.”

She couldn’t.

He knew she couldn’t.

He kept going, breath rough. “This is it. You and the life growing in you are it. You and the wolves in that house are it. You and this territory that breathes like it’s mine are it. That’s it. So if something wants to come and tear it out of my hands, if something wants to take you away from me again, if something wants to touch you, I am going to stand between you and it and I am going to tear it apart. That is love. That is all I have. And you are telling me I’m not allowed to do that because it upsets you?”

Her body shook. “It’s not about upsetting me, Collin, it’s about SURVIVING.”

“I am surviving,” he roared.

She flinched.

He swallowed, breath ragged. “This is how I survive,” he said, quieter but more raw. “I don’t breathe when I think you’re in danger. I don’t sleep unless I’ve already planned how to get you out of five different rooms. I don’t exist without knowing where you are. You’re not letting me be strong, Baylee—you’re ripping out the only way I know how.”

Her stomach twisted.

God.

God.

She hadn’t seen it like that.

Not fully.

She’d seen his obsession, his protectiveness, his jaw always clenched like he was braced for the next blow. She’d seen his refusal to rest and thought, he’s killing himself for me.

She hadn’t stopped to think that maybe this was how he stayed alive.

That protecting her wasn’t what ruined him — it was what kept him from shattering entirely.

Her eyes burned hot.

“Collin,” she whispered, “I am trying to keep you here with me. That’s all I’m doing. That’s it. I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to make sure you live to see our pup take their first breath, and their first steps, and you yell at them when they bite Heather, and—”

His breath hitched. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Put the future in my mouth and then tell me I can’t bleed for it,” he said. His voice shook. “That’s not fair.”

Her hands shook so hard now she had to cross her arms to steady them. Her wolf paced under her skin, agitated, distressed, protective. The pup inside her pulsed, restless, the way it had last night in the dream — aware.

Baylee swallowed a stun of panic. “We can’t just keep doing this,” she whispered. “We can’t keep tearing each other open every time we’re scared. It’s going to kill us before any Hollow King gets a chance.”

Collin’s jaw clenched. “Then what do you want, Bay? Tell me what you want and I’ll do it. You know that. Tell me how to stop scaring you.”

“I want—”

She choked.

Because for a heartbeat — just one heartbeat — something ugly, something mean, something wounded and old and exhausted slipped out of her mouth faster than her better self could grab it.

“I want to go home,” she snapped.

Silence.

Collin stared.

Baylee blinked.

Her mouth opened. “Coll—”

“What?” His voice was so quiet it hurt.

“I didn’t— I didn’t mean—”

“What did you just say to me?” he asked.

Her throat closed. “Collin, I—”

He took one step back from her.

Just one.

It felt like the floor dropped out from under her.

“Home,” he repeated, voice rough, like the word scraped him from the inside. “You want to go home.”

Her stomach turned. “Collin—”

“You mean,” he said, still in that too-quiet voice, “back to them.”

Ice hit her veins.

He didn’t say Gunner’s name.

He didn’t have to.

“I didn’t say that,” she whispered, panicking. “I didn’t mean it, it just—”

“But that’s what you meant,” he said.

“No—”

“Silverveil isn’t home,” he said, still numb. “I’m not home. Our child isn’t home.”

Her eyes blurred. “Stop.”

“You want to go back to the pack that broke you,” he said, voice finally snapping. “You want to go back to wolves who let a man tear you apart and called it love. You want to go back to the people who didn’t keep you safe when you were theirs, and you think that is safer than letting me hold you here. You want to run, Baylee. That’s what you’re saying. Just say it. Say it out loud. Say you want to run.”

Tears spilled hard and fast down her cheeks. She shook her head. “No, I don’t, I don’t, I swear, I—”

“You just said you want to go home,” he snarled. “Say it again.”

“It was anger—”

“Say it,” he snapped, voice loud enough to shake the glassware on the shelf.

Her voice broke. “I didn’t mean it, Collin.”

For a long, splintering second, neither of them breathed.

Then, slowly, he exhaled.

His face had gone blank.

That was worse than rage.

“I need to step away,” he said.

Her blood went cold.

“Collin—”

“I need to step away,” he repeated. He shut his eyes. “Because I love you. And if we keep talking right now, I’m going to say something I won’t be able to take back. And I am not — ever — saying something I can’t take back to you.”

Her heart pounded. “Don’t go.”

He swallowed. “I have to.”

“Please don’t go.”

He looked at her.

Gods.

The pain on his face.

Slowly, he reached up and touched her cheek, just once, with his fingertips. His hand shook.

Then he stepped back.

“Zane,” he called.

A shadow moved in the hall.

Zane was young, but big — broad-shouldered, dark-haired, scar over the eyebrow from training with Ironclaw and not ducking fast enough. Loyal to the point of violence. A guard Collin trusted.

“Yes, Alpha,” Zane said.

“Door duty,” Collin said without looking at Baylee. His voice was clipped, Alpha-quiet. “No one in or out of her room unless it’s me, Heather, or Melody. Not even Jessica. Understood?”

Zane blinked. “Yes, Alpha.”

Baylee’s stomach dropped. “Excuse me?”

Collin still didn’t look at her. “Baylee will be in our room,” he said. “If she tries to leave alone, you stop her. You call for me or Heather and you stop her.”

Baylee saw red. “Collin.”

He finally turned to her.

There was pain all over his face, but his jaw was set like stone. “I hear you,” he said quietly. “You don’t trust me not to break myself. You think I’ll bleed out just to prove I can. Fine. I hear you. But you are not walking into that scar again. You don’t want me to die for you? Congratulations. I’m still here. But I’m not letting you offer yourself up instead.”

Her chest seized. “Collin—”

“Go lie down,” he said softly. “Please.”

Tears spilled hot and furious down her cheeks. “Don’t lock me in.”

“I’m not locking you in,” he said, and it sounded like a lie he was begging her to let stand. “I’m asking you to rest until I can think.”

Zane shifted awkwardly in the doorway like he’d just been handed a live grenade and told to balance it on his forehead.

Baylee’s wolf snarled.

Her mouth moved without permission. “I’m not a prisoner.”

Collin flinched.

For a second, his mask cracked. She saw it — the flash of heartbreak, the instant of panic, the devastated I know.

Then it was gone.

He nodded once.

That was somehow worse than arguing.

Then he turned and walked out.

He didn’t slam the door.

He didn’t yell.

He just left.

Baylee stood there for a long, shaking breath.

Then another.

Then another.

Her body felt numb and too hot and too cold all at once. Her heart hammered high and rapid under her throat like a trapped animal. Her skin hurt.

She walked down the hall past Zane — numb, silent — and into the bedroom.

He followed to the doorway like he’d been told.

She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floorboards while the house breathed around her.

She had said she wanted to go home.

He had heard: I don’t want you.

And she had watched him believe it.

Something in her broke in on itself.

Her hand found her stomach.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice ragged. “I’m so sorry.”

The pup shifted, a small warm pulse against her palm.

Forgiveness. Comfort.

It made her cry harder.

She lay back on the bed because her legs wouldn’t hold her up anymore. She tucked on her side, one arm under her head, one cradling her belly, and stared at the door where Zane’s shadow waited like a wall.

“I’m not leaving,” she whispered. “I promise. I’m not leaving him. I just… I’m scared.”

Her breath hiccupped.

“You heard him,” she whispered to the pup. “You heard him. He’ll bleed for us. He’ll die for us. He thinks that’s all he’s for. I can’t let him. I can’t.”

The pup pulsed again.

Steadier now.

A slow hum that soothed something in her she hadn’t realized was shaking itself apart.

And while she lay there, hands shaking, jaw clenched, eyes burning, too raw to even close them yet —

Sleep took her.

Dragged her under.

Not soft.

Not gentle.

Like a hand around her throat.

—

She hit the dream hard.

No drift.

No floating.

No veil.

One heartbeat: awake.

Next heartbeat: standing knee-deep in cold, dark water.

Her gasp echoed.

She stumbled, sloshing. The water came to mid-calf, icy enough to ache. It wasn’t a lake — too shallow. A flooded field? No. The ground under her feet wasn’t mud. It felt like… stone. Smooth. Flawless. Too smooth to be natural.

The air was black-blue, alive with a slow, pulsing glow that had no source. The light wasn’t warm. It was the color of distant lightning.

Her breath fogged in front of her.

“Mama.”

Her head snapped up.

That voice.

That same small voice — her child’s voice — echoed through the space, not in the air but in her.

Her throat closed. “Baby—”

“Mama,” the voice repeated, relieved.

Baylee’s heart broke open in her chest. “Hi, little light,” she whispered, voice tearing. “Hi, love. Hi. I’m here, I’m here, you’re okay, I’m here.”

Warmth answered from inside her, a steady pulse in perfect rhythm with her own heart. It washed through her like soft sunlight through cupped hands.

She almost collapsed from the relief.

But the warmth wavered.

Very slightly.

Worry, it said.

Not words.

Feeling.

Worry.

“About what?” she whispered.

The hum in her belly shivered. Not pain. Not fear.

Warning.

Baylee swallowed. “Is it the scar?” Her voice shook. “Is it the Hollow King?”

Silence answered.

Her stomach knotted. “Is it Collin?”

Warmth.

Yes.

Her knees almost went out from under her.

Fear slammed through her body so hard she nearly vomited.

“Is he hurt?” she whispered.

No.

The relief was so brutal it stung. Her breath hitched. “Okay. Okay. Okay. Then what is it, what are you trying to tell me?”

The warmth pulsed, more insistently now.

Protect.

She swallowed. “Protect him?”

Protect.

How? she almost demanded.

But her throat went tight.

Because the water around her had gone still.

Too still.

And for the first time since falling in, she realized she wasn’t alone.

Across from her, maybe twenty feet out in the dark-gleaming shallow, someone was standing.

No.

Not someone.

Something.

It was tall. Human-shaped. Vaguely. But wrong in the way Ash had been wrong, only worse. Where Ash’s edges bled like smoke, this thing’s edges bled like absence. Wherever it stood, the air seemed to bend inward, like reality couldn’t quite wrap around it. It had no face. No features at all. Just smooth pale nothing, like skin stretched too tight over a skull no one bothered to carve.

And yet — she knew, in some deep animal place — it was looking at her.

No.

Not at her.

At her stomach.

Rage shot through her so hard she saw white.

She bared her teeth. “Get away from us.”

The thing tilted its head.

It stepped forward.

Water didn’t ripple.

Baylee’s whole body reacted. She surged forward too, instinct winning out over thought — plant between threat and pup, no hesitation. Her wolf slammed up so fast it hurt, hot under her skin, snarling.

The thing didn’t stop.

When it moved, the air pressed wrong. It felt like a storm you could choke on. Old and heavy and greedy.

“Mama,” the voice in her pulsed, louder now.

She didn’t look down. “I’ve got you.”

Protect, the warmth inside her pushed. Panic starting to bleed into it now. Urgent. PROTECT.

“I AM,” she snapped.

The faceless thing kept walking.

Not fast.

Not lunging.

Just sure.

Like nothing in the world could stop it from getting what it wanted.

Baylee’s lip curled. “If you touch my child,” she said, voice shaking with fury, “I will tear your throat out and feed it to the dark you came from. I don’t care what you are. I don’t care if you’re a god. I don’t care if you’re the Hollow King. I don’t care if you’re the Moon herself wearing a different face. I will END YOU. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”

The water rang with her voice.

The faceless thing stopped.

It didn’t move for three long, pounding heartbeats.

Then, slowly, it lifted one arm.

Its hand reached out.

Palm up.

Not grabbing.

Not clawing.

Asking.

Baylee’s stomach turned.

Her vision swam.

Because suddenly she understood.

Not words. Instinct.

It wasn’t here to take her.

It wasn’t here to take Collin.

It was here to ask.

To invite.

To negotiate.

Like Ash kneeling.

Like a messenger.

Her skin crawled, revulsion and horror and rage boiling in her chest.

“No,” she snarled.

The air pressure spiked.

The thing’s head tipped again, thoughtful. Almost curious.

Baylee’s hands shook so hard they hurt.

“You don’t get to ask me,” she choked. “You don’t get to ask me. You don’t get to stand here and offer me— I know what you’re offering. I know. I KNOW.”

Her throat burned.

Because she did.

She understood with a clarity that made her want to scream.

It was offering her a trade.

Blood.

One for many.

One cut to save the rest.

One life for a world.

Her life.

Her child’s life.

Her child’s power.

She didn’t know which. That was the worst part. It didn’t either. It didn’t care.

It just wanted an opening.

“No,” she whispered.

The word tore her throat.

The thing went still.

Baylee took a shaking, staggering breath. “Did you hear me?” she whispered, voice low and shaking and lethal. “I said no.”

Silence.

Then—

Slam.

The force hit her like a physical blow.

Her back hit invisible stone so hard it knocked the breath from her body. Pain flared white-hot down her spine. The water around her exploded outward in a ring.

Her hands flew to her stomach.

The warmth inside her pulsed, startled — a flash of distress that made her vision go red.

“NO!” she screamed.

Her own scream ripped her awake.

—

She came up like she’d been dragged from drowning.

Her body arched violently off the mattress. Her throat tore around a raw, breaking sound. Her hands clawed at her stomach so hard she left red marks on her own skin.

“MAMA!”

The word wasn’t in the room.

The word was in her bones.

The first face she saw wasn’t Collin’s.

It was Heather’s.

Heather was on her in a second, both hands on Baylee’s shoulders, pinning her gently but firmly to the bed. “Bay! Bay, breathe. Breathe, breathe, Baylee, look at me, hey—”

Baylee choked, air tearing in her lungs. “He— he— he tried—”

“I know,” Heather said, voice shaking for once. “I know, I know, you’re okay, you’re okay, breathe—”

“Collin,” Baylee gasped. “Get Collin—”

“He’s—” Heather swallowed. “He’ll be here, okay? He’ll be here.”

There were footsteps. Fast. Heavy. Uncontrolled.

A snarl ripped down the hallway like a storm.

Zane’s voice: “Alpha, she’s— I didn’t— she woke up screaming, I swear, I didn’t—”

Then Collin blew through the doorway like something that had chewed its way out of a trap.

He looked half-feral.

No shirt. Barefoot. Eyes bright, almost silver. His mark was glowing — actually glowing, bright and hot at his throat and racing faint down his veins like lightning under skin. His hair was a mess, jaw clenched so hard his teeth might crack. He looked at Baylee and all the anger from earlier wasn’t just gone — it was incinerated.

“Bay,” he breathed, voice wrecked.

Heather moved fast. “She’s okay. She’s okay. She’s breathing. She’s awake. She’s—”

“Out,” he said.

Heather blinked. “Excuse me?”

Collin didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “Heather.”

Heather swallowed.

Her hand squeezed Baylee’s shoulder. “I’ll be right outside,” she whispered. She pressed her forehead to Baylee’s for one quick heartbeat, then slid off the bed and out the door, shoving Zane out with her. She shut it.

The second it latched, Collin was on his knees beside the bed, hands on Baylee’s face, fingers trembling like they didn’t remember how to be hands.

“Bay,” he whispered. “Baylee Elizabeth. Baby. Look at me. Look at me, love, please, look at me—”

She did.

The second her eyes met his, the sound that ripped out of him barely qualified as human.

“Oh my God,” he breathed. Tears hit his face so fast he didn’t have time to try and stop them. “Oh my God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean any of it, I’m so sorry, don’t ever say you’ll leave again, please don’t leave me, I can’t—”

Her breath hitched. “Collin—”

“I didn’t mean it,” he choked. Words spilled out of him in a ragged rush, frantic and desperate. “I didn’t mean to leave you alone, I shouldn’t have left, I was just angry, and scared, and when you said ‘home’—” His voice cracked on the word. He had to swallow hard to keep going. “—when you said ‘home’ I saw you walking away from me. I saw you gone. I saw you choosing somewhere that wasn’t me. And I panicked. I panicked, Bay. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have walked away—I should’ve stayed—I should’ve held you until you calmed—I should’ve—”

Her hand flew to his cheek, shaking. “Collin—”

“—and I swore on everything I am I would never leave you alone in fear again and then I LEFT—”

“COLLIN,” she shouted, voice cracking.

He stopped.

He sucked in a shaking breath.

He pressed his forehead to hers, clinging. “Please tell me you’re okay,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “Please. Please, baby. Please tell me you’re okay.”

She was still shaking. Her pulse still raced. Her throat felt raw. Her chest hurt.

But his hands were on her.

His face was there.

His scent, grounded and sharp and safe and familiar, hit her like oxygen.

And the warmth in her belly — her pup — had steadied. Still humming. Still there. Still hers.

Slowly, she exhaled. “We’re okay,” she whispered.

His whole body shuddered.

“We’re okay,” she said again, voice steadier this time. She slid one hand down and covered his where it still hovered against her stomach. “Both of us.”

He let out such a broken little laugh she almost cried.

Then he broke completely.

Not in anger.

In relief.

He folded forward, pressing his face to her stomach, arms wrapping around her waist, shoulders shaking hard. He didn’t make a sound. Just clung. Just breathed her in like he hadn’t breathed since he walked out of that room.

Baylee threaded her fingers into his hair and held on.

Her own tears were falling again, but they weren’t panic tears now. They were everything tears. Release tears. I love you tears.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, voice shaking. “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it. Collin, I didn’t mean it. This is home. You’re my home. You are. You are. I didn’t mean it. I swear I didn’t mean it.”

He made a wrecked sound against her skin.

Her throat tightened. “I’ll never leave you,” she whispered fiercely. “Do you hear me? I’ll never leave you. I’m yours. I’m not going anywhere. I was scared and I was stupid and I hurt you and I’m so sorry. I’ll never do that again.”

He sucked in a ragged breath and nodded against her.

“And you,” she added, hands still shaking in his hair, voice going rough, “don’t you ever leave me again like that. Don’t you ever walk away from me when we’re scared. You are not allowed to disappear to ‘cool off.’ You don’t get to shut me out when you’re hurt. You don’t. You don’t get to go quiet and guard and give orders to Zane like I’m some crazy prisoner who’s going to run off a cliff. You come to bed, you hold me, you yell at me there, and we do it together or we don’t do it at all. Do you understand?”

He let out a sound like a laugh and a sob smashed together. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes. I promise. I swear. I swear on everything. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Baylee Elizabeth. I’m so sorry.”

She swallowed.

“Say it again,” she whispered.

He lifted his head.

His eyes were red-rimmed and wet and open in a way she didn’t think anyone else ever got to see. “Baylee Elizabeth,” he whispered. Like prayer. Like vow.

Her heart broke in her chest in the best way possible.

She cupped his face. “You’re my home,” she whispered. “You. Not any territory. Not any pack. Not any prophecy. You.”

His mouth trembled.

“You and this pup,” she went on softly. “That’s it. That’s all. That’s all I want. You two and Heather screaming in the background and Melody lecturing us while she hides tears and Liam pacing and Jessica feeding us until we explode. That’s it. That’s all I want. That’s home.”

He laughed wetly. “That’s a loud home.”

“I like loud,” she whispered.

He swallowed. “Me too.”

She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his. “So don’t you ever make me say something like that again.”

He huffed a broken little laugh. “Yes, Luna.”

Her lips twitched. “Good.”

He kissed her.

It wasn’t hungry. It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t a crash.

It was slow.

Soft.

Apology and promise and belonging.

He kissed her like he was telling her without words, I heard you. I won’t run. I won’t shut you out. I choose you. I stay.

When he pulled back, his chest was still shaking. “What happened,” he whispered. “In your sleep. Tell me. Please.”

Her breath stalled.

Blood.

It was right there on her tongue.

He’ll take it.

Her stomach knotted. Her wolf snapped its teeth in her head. Her pup hummed, comfort/comfort/comfort, like a warm hand.

Protect him.

She swallowed, and something about the way his eyes were looking into hers — not like she was a weapon he had to hold, not like she was glass he couldn’t touch, but like she was his, equal, loved — made her change what she had planned to say.

She didn’t lie.

Not this time.

She just didn’t tell all of it.

“I saw something,” she whispered. “On the other side. I think it’s Him. The Hollow King. Or His shadow. I don’t know. He tried to… reach. He wanted me to agree to something. To open. I told Him no.”

Collin’s jaw flexed. “Good girl.”

Her eyes stung.

“It didn’t like ‘no,’” she breathed.

“I’ll kill it,” he said, voice steady, terrifyingly sure. “Whatever it is, whatever He is — I’ll kill Him.”

Her throat burned. “He knew about you.”

He went very still. “What.”

Her heart pounded. “He knew you. Not just me. Not just the pup. You. He knew you’re the line between us and Him. The first wall. You’re the one He has to get through to get to us.”

Collin’s eyes went cold. “Then He’s already dead,” he said simply.

That should have scared her.

It didn’t.

It calmed her in a way very few things did.

“Collin,” she whispered, voice cracking, “we can’t fight like that again. We can’t. I thought you hated me.”

He flinched. “I could never.”

“I thought you were going to walk out and not come back.”

“I never will,” he whispered. “Baylee, listen to me. Look at me. I will never leave you. I will never leave our child. I will never leave this pack. You and this baby and our wolves are carved into me. If I’m angry, I’ll be angry on the floor next to our bed. If I’m scared, I’ll be scared holding you. If I’m losing it, I’ll lose it in your hands. I’m not walking out again. I swear it.”

Her breathing trembled. “Okay.”

He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “But you don’t get to walk toward danger without me anymore,” he whispered. “Even with Heather. Especially with Heather. You don’t get to lie to me about feeling the Veil hum. You don’t get to carry it alone because you’re afraid I’ll break. You don’t get to cut me out because you’re scared. ‘Together’ means together, Bay.”

Her eyes blurred again. “Okay,” she whispered.

His eyes flicked down to her belly. “And you tell me,” he whispered hoarsely, “if anything touches you there. Anything. Dream, vision, hum, whatever it is. You tell me. You don’t keep that to yourself, Baylee Elizabeth. You don’t. I don’t care if it scares me. I don’t care if it ruins me. I want to be ruined with you, not without you. Do you understand?”

Her throat worked.

The truth fought in her chest.

Our baby talked to me.

Our baby warned me “blood.”

Our baby is already defending you.

It hurt to hold it.

But this — this she could meet him on.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I promise. I promise, Collin. I’ll tell you next time. I swear it.”

He nodded and exhaled like his ribs finally loosened.

“Okay,” he breathed. He leaned in and kissed her again, forehead to forehead, breath to breath. “Okay.”

They stayed like that, pressed together in the dim light of the bedroom, his hands firm and steady over her, her fingers curled in his hair, both of them shaking themselves apart and rebuilding at the same time.

Outside the door, Heather leaned against the wall with her hand over her mouth and her eyes wet, glaring at anyone who got within six feet like she’d personally rip their throats out for interrupting.

Down the hall, Melody whispered to Liam, “Something’s coming,” and Liam whispered back, “Then we’re already in position.”

In the clearing by the scar, Ash still knelt in the dirt, head bowed.

Waiting.

Listening.

And somewhere in the deep place beyond the Veil — or maybe under the ground of Silverveil itself — something old shifted.

Slow.

Hungry.

Patient.

The Hollow King did not rage.

He did not thrash.

He did not demand.

He simply leaned closer.

And smiled.

Because he had heard something new in the house of Silverveil.

Not just fear.

Not just defiance.

Not just love.

He had heard cracks.

Cracks he could pour his hunger through.

Cracks called guilt. Cracks called exhaustion. Cracks called “you don’t trust me” and “you’ll leave me” and “I can’t lose you again.”

He licked his teeth in the dark.

Soon, he thought.

Soon.

And in Baylee’s body — curled against Collin’s chest, tears finally drying, heartbeat calming — the pup pulsed once more.

Not fear.

Not comfort.

Promise.

Mine.