CHAPTER EIGHT - Chrome & Fang

I spent the rest of the morning hiding in my room like a coward, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about ice-blue wolf eyes and the way Phantom had whimpered at Ember's feet. Trying not to remember the devastation on Skyler's face when I'd walked away from him in the forest.

Around noon, guilt finally drove me out. Not guilt about Skyler—he'd earned every bit of my coldness—but guilt about my father. I was here for him, not to wallow in my own complicated feelings about a man who'd rejected me five years ago.

I drove to the hospital, taking the long route to avoid passing Chrome & Fang. The visit with Dad was good—he was in better spirits, joking with the nurses and complaining about the hospital food in a way that made Mom's eyes shine with relief. He was going to be okay. The doctors were optimistic about his recovery, talking about physical therapy and a return to normal activities within a few months.

"You don't have to stay in Ironvale the whole time," Dad said, squeezing my hand. "I know you have a life in Seattle. Your art. We'll be fine."

But even as he said it, I saw the hope in his eyes. The unspoken plea that I would stay, that I would come home, that maybe this time I wouldn't leave.

"We'll see," I said, noncommittal. "Let's just focus on getting you better."

After leaving the hospital, I sat in my car in the parking lot, engine running, trying to decide where to go. Back to the house felt like retreat. Seattle felt impossibly far away, like a dream I'd had once upon a time.

And Chrome & Fang...

I'd been avoiding it all day, but Ronan's words from breakfast echoed in my mind. Alpha Marcus wanted to see me. As a pack member, I owed him that courtesy. Besides, it was the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday. Skyler would be on patrol or handling enforcer business. The chances of running into him were slim.

I hoped.

The drive to Chrome & Fang took ten minutes. The shop sat on the edge of downtown, a sprawling building that had once been a warehouse before the pack bought it and converted it. The front was legitimate—a custom motorcycle shop with a showroom full of gleaming bikes and a garage where pack members worked on repairs and modifications.

The back, hidden from public view, was the clubhouse. Meeting rooms, a bar, quarters for wolves who needed a place to crash. The heart of the Iron Howl MC.

I parked in the lot, my car looking painfully out of place among the rows of motorcycles. Taking a deep breath, I climbed out and headed for the entrance.

The showroom smelled like oil and leather and something indefinably male. Classic rock played from hidden speakers, and the sound of power tools echoed from the garage. A few wolves I didn't recognize looked up as I entered, their gazes assessing, curious.

"Help you?" one of them asked, a younger wolf with grease-stained hands and friendly eyes.

"I'm looking for Alpha Marcus," I said. "Is he here?"

"Wren? Wren Mercer?"

I turned to find Marcus himself emerging from the back office, a smile creasing his weathered face. He was in his fifties now, graying at the temples but still powerfully built, radiating the quiet authority that made him a good Alpha.

"Alpha," I said, inclining my head in respect.

"None of that formal nonsense," he said, pulling me into a brief hug. "It's good to see you, girl. It's been too long."

"I know. I'm sorry—"

"Don't apologize. You're here now. That's what matters." He stepped back, studying me with eyes that saw too much. "Heard about your father. How's he doing?"

"Better. The doctors say he'll make a full recovery."

"Good. David's too stubborn to let a deer take him out." Marcus gestured toward the back. "Come on. Let's talk in my office."

I followed him through the showroom, acutely aware of the eyes tracking my movement. Word would spread quickly that Ronan's little sister was back. Speculation would run wild. The pack loved gossip almost as much as they loved running under the full moon.

Marcus's office was neat but cluttered, the walls covered in photos of the pack through the years. I spotted myself in a few—a gangly teenager at a bonfire, standing awkwardly at the edge of the group. Always on the periphery. Always watching.

"Sit," Marcus said, settling behind his desk. "Want something to drink? Coffee? Water?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. "So. Seattle treating you well?"

"It is. I've been... successful. My art is selling."

"Your mother mentioned that. She's very proud. We all are." His gaze sharpened. "But success isn't the same as happiness, is it?"

I shifted uncomfortably. "I'm happy enough."

"Mmm." He didn't sound convinced. "You know, when you left five years ago, I didn't push. You were an adult, free to make your own choices. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about what drove you away so suddenly."

My throat tightened. "It was... complicated."

"Most things worth running from usually are." He was quiet for a moment. "I'm going to be direct with you, Wren, because that's who I am. Your return has caused ripples in the pack. Particularly with one member in particular."

My stomach dropped. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you?" His eyes were kind but unflinching. "Skyler hasn't been right since you left. Oh, he's still an excellent enforcer—the best I've ever had, if I'm honest. But something broke in him around the time you disappeared. His wolf has become increasingly unstable. There have been... incidents."

"That's not my problem," I said, but my voice lacked conviction.

"Isn't it?" Marcus leaned forward. "I don't know what happened between you two, and I won't pry. But I know the signs of a broken bond when I see them. And Wren... I'm worried about him. About both of you."

Tears pricked my eyes. I blinked them back furiously. "He rejected me, Alpha. On my twenty-first birthday, when the bond manifested, he looked at me with horror and told me I was like a sister to him. That the bond meant nothing. So whatever's happening to him now, whatever pain he's in—he chose it."

The words hung in the air between us. Marcus's expression shifted from curiosity to understanding to something that looked like grief.

"Ah," he said softly. "I see."

"Do you?" Anger flared hot in my chest. "Do you see what it's like to have your mate—the person fate chose for you—reject you so completely? To have everything you've ever wanted dangled in front of you and then ripped away?"

"No," Marcus admitted. "I don't. I'm sorry, Wren. Truly. That should never have happened to you."

The validation, unexpected and genuine, made something crack inside me. I looked away, blinking hard.

"The bond doesn't just affect the one who's rejected," Marcus said carefully. "It affects both parties. Skyler might have been the one to push you away, but he's been paying for it ever since. A rejected bond... it's like a poison. Slow-acting, but fatal if left untreated."

"Then he should have thought of that before he broke my heart."

"Yes. He should have." Marcus sighed. "I'm not asking you to forgive him. I'm not even asking you to talk to him. But I need you to understand that whatever happens next—whatever choices you make while you're here—they'll have consequences. For you, for him, for the pack."

"What kind of consequences?"

"The kind where an unstable enforcer becomes a liability. Where difficult decisions have to be made." His meaning was clear. If Skyler couldn't get control of himself, Marcus would have to remove him from his position. Or worse.

The thought made my chest tight. "That's not fair. You can't put that on me."

"I'm not putting anything on you. I'm stating facts." Marcus's voice was gentle but firm. "You don't owe Skyler anything. But you should know what's at stake."

Before I could respond, a commotion erupted from the garage. Raised voices, the sound of something crashing. Then a roar that was more wolf than human.

Marcus was on his feet instantly, heading for the door. "Stay here."

But I didn't stay. I couldn't. I followed him into the garage, where a crowd had gathered around two wolves—one I didn't know, the other unmistakably Skyler.

They weren't fighting, not quite. But Skyler had the younger wolf pinned against a workbench, his hand wrapped around the kid's throat, his eyes glowing that eerie ice-blue that meant his wolf was too close to the surface.

"Skyler!" Marcus's voice cracked like a whip. "Stand down. Now."

Skyler didn't move. His attention was fixed on the wolf he was choking, who looked terrified.

"I said stand down, Enforcer." There was power in Marcus's voice now, Alpha command that no pack member could resist.

Slowly, reluctantly, Skyler released his grip. The younger wolf slumped, gasping for air. But Skyler didn't step back, didn't look away. His chest was heaving, his whole body vibrating with barely contained violence.

"What happened?" Marcus demanded.

"He—" the young wolf started, his voice hoarse.

"Shut up," Skyler snarled. His eyes swept the garage, landing on each pack member present. Then they found me, standing in the doorway, and everything stopped.

The fury drained from his face, replaced by something raw and aching. His wolf eyes dimmed, returning to their normal steel gray. For a moment, he looked lost. Broken.

"Wren," he breathed.

And I saw it then. Really saw it. The way the other wolves looked at him with a mixture of fear and pity. The way his hands shook as he lowered them. The way he seemed to be holding himself together through sheer force of will.

Marcus was right. Skyler was falling apart.

And somehow, impossible as it seemed, that was my fault.