Chapter 15

Blood and Consequences

Jace's POV

The attack came without warning.

We were twenty minutes from Storm pack territory, the SUV's headlights cutting through the mountain darkness as Connor navigated the winding road home from Silver Moon. Dad was reviewing notes from the summit in the passenger seat, while I brooded in the back, replaying every word of my conversation with Grace for the hundredth time.

*"The girl who would have given anything to hear those words is gone."*

Her dismissal had been clinical, surgical in its precision. No anger, no pain—just the cold statement of fact that whatever we'd once shared was beyond resurrection. I should have accepted it, should have been grateful that she'd even given me those few minutes of her time.

Instead, I'd spent the entire drive home analyzing every micro-expression, searching for cracks in her armor. The way her pupils had dilated when I stepped closer. The slight tremor in her voice when she'd said my name. The careful distance she'd maintained, as if being too close might compromise her control.

Grace Silver might claim to feel nothing for me, but her body had told a different story.

That's when the first rogue hit our vehicle.

The impact sent us spinning across the narrow mountain road, metal screaming as we slammed into the rocky embankment. My seatbelt cut into my chest as the world turned sideways, and I heard Dad curse as his notes scattered across the now-vertical interior.

"Everyone okay?" Connor's voice was tight with pain, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead.

"Dad?" I called, struggling to orient myself in the wreckage.

"I'm alive," he replied grimly, but I could hear the strain in his voice.

Through the spider-webbed windshield, I saw them—at least eight rogues emerging from the tree line, their eyes gleaming red in the darkness. They moved with the coordinated precision of a hunting pack, not the chaotic desperation of typical rogues.

*Coordinated attacks,* I thought, remembering Marcus Silver's casual mention of increased rogue activity. *Someone's testing Storm pack defenses.*

"Connor, can you move?" I asked, already working to unbuckle my seatbelt.

"Yeah, but the engine's dead. We're on foot from here."

I kicked out the rear window and crawled through, landing in a crouch on the broken asphalt. The rogues were closing in, their formation designed to cut off any escape route back toward pack territory. Professional. Military-precise.

This wasn't random harassment. This was an assassination attempt.

"Alpha Storm," the lead rogue called out, his voice carrying the rough accent of the eastern territories. "You shouldn't have come this far from home."

Dad emerged from the wreckage with Connor's help, and I could see immediately that something was wrong. His left arm hung useless at his side, and dark blood stained his shirt. The impact had done more damage than he'd initially let on.

"Jace," he said quietly, his Alpha voice carrying despite his injuries, "get to pack territory. Alert the border patrols."

"I'm not leaving you."

"That's an order."

*"What I am is free. Free from your judgment, your cruelty, your pack's toxic hierarchy."*

Grace's words echoed in my mind as the rogues began their advance. Free from the hierarchy that demanded I abandon my injured father to save myself. Free from the toxic loyalty that put politics above family.

She'd been right about so many things. But she'd been wrong about one crucial detail—strength didn't come from abandoning the bonds that mattered. It came from protecting them, even when the cost was everything you had.

"No," I said, stepping forward to put myself between the rogues and my father. "We fight together, or we die together."

The first rogue lunged with silver-tipped claws designed to cause maximum damage to our kind. I met him head-on, my own shift beginning before conscious thought could interfere. Bones cracked and reformed as my wolf burst free, three years of guilt-driven training condensing into pure violence.

I caught the rogue's throat in my jaws and twisted, feeling vertebrae snap. He dropped like a stone, but two more were already moving to flank me.

*"You're stronger without you. Happier without you."*

Maybe Grace was stronger without me, but I wasn't stronger without her. The mate bond might be severed, but the memory of her strength carried me forward as I pivoted to engage the next attacker. She'd shown me what real power looked like—not the inherited authority I'd always taken for granted, but the kind that had to be earned through sacrifice and determination.

The second rogue came at me low, trying to hamstring me while his partner struck high. I rolled aside, feeling claws scrape across my ribs as I brought my weight down on his spine. The crack of breaking bone was lost in the larger battle as Connor engaged two more attackers near the wreckage.

*"The woman who stands here now doesn't need your validation."*

But I needed hers. Even if she never forgave me, even if I'd destroyed any chance of redemption, I needed to become someone worthy of the strength she'd shown. Someone who fought for what mattered instead of what was easy.

A silver-tipped blade sliced across my shoulder, and I spun to face the rogue wielding it. Human form, fast and skilled, with the kind of training that spoke of military background. Not just an assassin—a professional soldier.

"This is what happens," he said, circling me with predatory grace, "when packs get too comfortable. Too soft."

Behind him, I could see Dad struggling against two more rogues, Connor's support the only thing keeping him upright. My father—Alpha of one of the most powerful packs in the region—was about to die because I'd been too distracted by my own failures to notice the signs of organized resistance.

*"And the woman who stands here now doesn't need your validation."*

Grace didn't need my validation. But my pack needed my protection. My father needed his son to be the Alpha he'd raised, not the broken shell I'd become since that night three years ago.

I launched myself at the knife-wielding rogue with everything I had. He was fast, skilled, dangerous—but he'd made the mistake of threatening the only family I had left. The blade opened a line across my chest as I closed with him, but my claws found his throat before he could withdraw.

His eyes widened in shock as arterial blood painted the asphalt, and he collapsed backward into the spreading pool.

But even as he died, I heard the sound that turned my blood to ice—my father's agonized cry as silver claws raked across his spine. The kind of injury that could cripple or kill an Alpha, that could end forty years of leadership in a single moment of violence.

"DAD!"

I spun toward him, but there were still four rogues between us, and Dad was down, Connor trying desperately to shield his fallen Alpha from the killing blow that would end everything.

*"That girl was weak. But she's dead now, and I'm what grew from her ashes."*

Grace had been reforged by pain into something stronger than she'd ever imagined possible. Now it was my turn. The pampered heir, the arrogant future Alpha who'd thrown away his mate for the sake of appearances—he was dead now.

What rose from his ashes was something harder. Something willing to pay any price to protect what mattered.

I threw back my head and howled—not just a battle cry, but a call that would carry for miles through the mountain air. A summons to every Storm pack warrior within hearing range, a demand for aid that couldn't be ignored.

Then I charged the remaining rogues with the fury of a wolf who'd finally learned what was worth fighting for.

Grace might not need me anymore. But my family did.

And I would not fail them the way I'd failed her.