LOGINAthena
The bond doesn’t roar to life. It snaps. Sharp and sudden, like a chain pulled tight around my chest, dragging every breath from my lungs. My knees threaten to buckle as Tristan’s grip steadies me, his hand firm around my wrist, grounding and unyielding. The world narrows to him. His scent floods my senses smoke, leather, rain soaked earth, and the unmistakable power of an Alpha who has survived too many wars. My wolf slams against her cage, frantic and furious, demanding answers. Demanding him. “You feel it,” he says quietly, not a question. I wrench my hand from his grasp, stepping back even though every instinct screams not to. “Feeling something doesn’t mean I owe you anything.” His jaw tightens. “I know.” That stops me. Tristan Blackwood has never been known for restraint. Never for patience. Yet here he stands, hands open at his sides, posture deliberately non-threatening even as the bikers behind him shift, sensing the tension crackling in the air. “I didn’t come here to take,” he continues. “I came here to face what I broke.” I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest like armor. “You don’t get to rewrite the past because it’s inconvenient now.” “I’m not trying to,” he says. “I’m trying to own it.” Orion clears his throat nearby, drawing both our attention. My brother’s expression is sharp, Alpha to Alpha, but there’s confusion there too. He can feel the bond humming beneath the surface, the truth pressing against the pack. “You should explain,” Orion says carefully. “Both of you.” Tristan nods once. “Fair.” The Razorback MC members dismount, forming a loose perimeter, respectful but alert. Pack wolves watch from the treeline, tension rolling through the territory like a coming storm. “This isn’t the place,” Tristan adds, glancing around. “Too many ears. Too many enemies.” Enemies. The word sends a chill down my spine. “Then talk,” I say. “Right now.” His gaze returns to me, intense and searching. “Five years ago, I felt the bond lock into place. Not just attraction. Fate. And it terrified me.” I swallow hard, throat tight. “I was already knee deep in MC wars. Blood debts. Threats that don’t stay contained,” he continues, voice low and heavy. “Anyone tied to me became a target.” “So you decided rejecting me was safer,” I say bitterly. “I decided leaving you unclaimed was better than dragging you into hell.” My wolf snarls, furious at his logic and the painful truth beneath it. “You don’t get to choose for me,” I snap. “You took my choice away.” “I know,” he repeats, rougher this time. “And I’ve paid for it every day since.” The bond pulses, aching through me, pulling memories, desire, and fury together into something sharp and unrelenting. “What changed?” Orion asks, voice cautious but insistent. Tristan exhales slowly. “The war followed me anyway.” Silence drops like a blade. “I spent years cleaning up the mess I helped create,” he continues, eyes never leaving mine. “Burning down enemies. Ending threats. Making sure no one could use her against me.” Her. Me. “And now?” I ask, voice barely more than a whisper. “Now I’m strong enough to protect what’s mine.” The word mine vibrates through the bond, possessive and unapologetic. My wolf surges forward, responding before my mind can catch up. I hate how much of me believes him. “This doesn’t erase what you did,” I say, forcing my body to stay rigid. “It doesn’t fix the damage.” “I’m not asking for forgiveness,” Tristan replies, his voice low and absolute. “I’m asking for the chance to prove I deserve it.” A sudden shout erupts from the edge of the territory. “ALPHA!” One of the sentries runs toward us, breathless. “Riders approaching fast unmarked bikes.” Tristan’s posture changes instantly. The biker Alpha steps forward, power radiating from him like a living storm. His MC moves as one, hands drifting toward concealed weapons, engines roaring back to life. Orion shifts beside me, wolf on high alert, teeth flashing beneath his lips. “Take Athena back,” Tristan orders one of his men without looking away from the treeline. “I can stand my ground,” I snap, chest rising, wolf surging forward instinctively. His head turns sharply, gold eyes flashing with steel. “Not today.” Something in his voice absolute, unwavering makes my wolf still. “This is exactly what I was protecting you from,” he adds quietly. “And exactly why I won’t let it touch you now.” The distant growl of engines grows louder, echoing across the trees, vibrating beneath my feet. Orion steps in front of me, but Tristan’s attention flicks back to me one last time. “This isn’t over,” he says, voice low but commanding. “The bond won’t allow it.” “Neither will I,” I reply, heart pounding, wolf screaming in agreement. A corner of his mouth lifts, dangerous and unapologetic. “Good.” Then he turns toward the threat, Alpha authority flaring, commanding both biker and wolf alike. The Razorbacks move with lethal precision, forming a wall between danger and pack territory. I watch him go, heart hammering, bond blazing like a brand beneath my skin. Five years ago, he ran from fate. Now? Now he’s standing in front of it guns loaded, wolf unleashed, and eyes burning with a promise he doesn’t intend to break. And no matter how much I fight it… Some part of me knows this is only the beginning. Because fate doesn’t give second chances lightly. And when an Alpha claims what he lost… He does it with everything he has. Every scar. Every battle. Every broken rule. Every heartbeat. I feel it in my bones, the wolf inside me howling with a fierce clarity: this is the man I was always meant to face, the Alpha who will never run from the bond again. Every instinct screams, every nerve ending aches. My wolf surges, tethered to him, yearning for completion we both denied ourselves for too long. Not now. Not ever. And I know if he fails, the cost won’t be just mine. It will be the destruction of everything I’ve tried to protect since the night he abandoned me. But right now… right this second… all I can do is watch, heart pounding, wolf burning, as the Alpha I love steps fully into the claim he tried to deny.The silence after a fight was never empty. It was crowded with things that hadn’t finished happening yet.The warehouse still smelled like burnt rubber and gunpowder, sharp and bitter in the back of my throat. My ears rang faintly, the echo of gunfire refusing to let go. Around us, the crew moved with practiced efficiency hold checking pulses, securing weapons, dragging bodies out of sight. No one celebrated. No one relaxed.Because everyone knew the same thing I did.This wasn’t an ending. It was a warning shot.He stayed close to me as we moved, not hovering, not caging just present. A constant awareness at my side, like gravity. His hand brushed my lower back once, brief and grounding, before he stepped away to give orders. Clear. Precise. Alpha through and through.But different.The men listened to him the way they always had. What changed was how they looked at me.Not curiosity. Not suspicion.Calculation.Respect.We regrouped in a secondary safehouse less than an hour later a
Morning didn’t arrive so much as it crept in thin light leaking through broken panes, dust motes floating like they had nowhere else to be. I’d slept, technically. But my mind never shut down. It paced all night, counting exits, replaying the voice on that phone, dissecting every word like it was a threat written in code.You’re the catalyst.I sat up slowly, listening. The plant had its own rhythm now boots on concrete, the murmur of low voices, metal clinking softly as weapons were checked and rechecked. No panic. No chaos. Just readiness.He was already awake. Of course he was.I found him near the central map table, sleeves rolled up, ink smudged on his forearm where he’d been marking routes. He looked up when he sensed me, not surprised, just… aware. Like he always knew where I was, even when he wasn’t looking.“You didn’t sleep,” he said.“I slept enough.”A lie. We both knew it. He didn’t call me on it.Mara was there too, leaning against a pillar, arms crossed. Her gaze flicke
The first shot didn’t come with sound.It came with instinct.I felt it before I heard it the sharp pull in my gut, the sudden shift in the air like the world had taken a breath and forgotten to let it out. He moved at the same time I did, his hand catching my arm, dragging me down just as glass exploded somewhere above us.Then the sound hit.Gunfire ripped through the compound, loud and merciless, tearing apart the fragile quiet we’d been pretending was peace. Shouts erupted. Boots thundered against concrete. Engines roared to life, not in celebration this time, but in war.“Inside. Now,” he barked.I didn’t argue. I ran.We moved through the hallways like we’d practiced it a hundred times, even though we never had. Muscle memory built from survival kicked in. He shoved me into the reinforced room at the back of the compound, slamming the door shut behind us just as another shot cracked outside.My heart was trying to claw its way out of my chest.“They found us,” I said.“No,” he r
Morning came slower than usual.Not because the sun hesitated, but because I did.I lay awake long before the compound stirred, listening to the rhythm of his breathing beside me. Deep. Steady. The kind of calm that only came after choosing something hard and refusing to regret it.The storm had passed sometime in the night. Rain still clung to the windows, tracing lazy paths downward like it hadn’t quite let go. My body felt heavy in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion. It was the weight of certainty settling in.This wasn’t a moment anymore.It was a line crossed.I shifted slightly, testing the space. His arm tightened around my waist instantly, instinctive, possessive without being cruel.“You trying to disappear?” he murmured, eyes still closed.I smiled despite myself. “Just checking if this was real.”His eyes opened then, sharp even in the dim light. “It is.”Good. Terrifying. Good.The compound woke in stages. Doors opening. Boots hitting concrete. Engines coughing t
Morning didn’t ask permission.It arrived with the low rumble of engines and the smell of wet earth, the storm having scrubbed the compound raw overnight. I woke to gray light leaking through the curtains and the steady, reassuring weight of an arm around my waist. For a moment, I stayed still, testing the reality of it. Testing us.He was awake too. I knew because his thumb moved in a slow, absent circle against my skin, like he was grounding himself the same way I was.No rushing. No pretending.Just the quiet acknowledgment of what we’d chosen.“You’re staring,” he said.“I’m confirming you’re real.”A huff of amusement left him. “Disappointing verdict?”“Not yet.”He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow, studying me with that focused intensity that used to make me feel like prey. This morning, it felt different. Not ownership. Awareness.“Council’s going to notice,” he said.“They notice everything.”“Not this.” His mouth tipped slightly. “This is going to drive them insane.”
The first thing I learned about peace was that it never arrived quietly. It didn’t slip in through open doors or announce itself with relief. It came disguised as routine. As repetition. As the slow, uncomfortable realization that nothing was chasing us anymore—and that somehow felt worse. The compound was awake before the sun. It always was. Engines growled low in the yard as men tuned bikes and argued over nothing important. Coffee brewed strong and bitter in the kitchen. Someone laughed too loudly, the sound bouncing off concrete walls that had heard far worse things. Life kept moving. I stood on the porch, arms wrapped around myself, watching the sky lighten inch by inch. Gray bleeding into pale blue. Another day claimed. Another day survived. “You’re up early.” His voice came from behind me, rough with sleep. I didn’t turn right away. I didn’t need to. I knew the weight of him, the way the air shifted when he stepped close. “Couldn’t sleep,” I said. “Neither could I.” T







