Page 7 of Rebel for Claws
My son, showing wisdom beyond his years.
Alaric nodded, grateful for Kieran's practical approach even as part of him desperately wanted to bridge the gulf that years of deception had created between them. "You're right. There'll be time for explanations once we're on secure territory."
Malcolm rose from his chair, moving to help as Alaric struggled to stand on unsteady legs. The simple act of rising sent waves of dizziness through his skull—a reminder of how thoroughly the past five months had depleted his strength.
Kieran stepped forward, offering his arm for support with careful formality. "Can you make it to the vehicle?"
"I ran fifteen miles tonight," Alaric muttered, accepting his son's assistance with rare humility. "I can manage fifty yards."
The three of them made their way through Cade's cabin and out into December's brutal cold, their breath forming crystalline clouds in the frigid air. Kieran's black SUV waited in the clearing, its engine already running warm.
As they settled into the vehicle—Alaric in the passenger seat and Malcolm behind him—the familiar scent of Silvercrest territory filled his lungs. Home. After five months of sterile medical facilities and Thorne's psychological torture, the simple comfort of pack-scented air nearly overwhelmed him.
The engine hummed beneath them as Kieran guided the vehicle through winding forest roads toward Silvercrest territory. Alaric stared out at the snow-covered landscape, his mind already turning to the challenges ahead—rebuilding trust with his sons, preparing for Thorne's inevitable retaliation, and somehow finding a way to expose the Council's corruption before it destroyed everything they'd worked to protect.
The weight of uncertainty pressed down heavily on his shoulders. How long did they have before Thorne discovered his escape? How long before the next attack came? And most pressing of all—could his sons ever truly forgive him for the father he'd been forced to become?
THREE
VIVIAN
Vivian woke to the scent of coffee and bacon drifting through Logan's reinforced cabin, the familiar aromas doing nothing to ease the restless energy coiled beneath her skin. Three days. Three days of being trapped in this luxurious prison while her spiritual rebel group remained vulnerable in Shadow pack territory, probably wondering if their leader had abandoned them or been killed.
The most valuable hybrid in the Pacific Northwest Cascade territory.The words echoed in her mind with bitter irony as she rolled out of the king-sized bed, her bare feet hitting the cold hardwood floor. Valuable enough to kidnap, apparently, but not valuable enough to trust with her own safety.
The borrowed clothes from Zoe—dark jeans that hugged her curves too tightly and a fitted green sweater that strained across her breasts—served as another reminder of how completely her life had been upended that snowy December night. When Damon Gray and Elena Walsh had breached her office like tactical ghosts while she'd been too absorbed in decoding the ancient texts that her enhanced senses had failed her entirely. The memory still stung her pride.
The last descendant of the original ancient shapeshifter bloodline,Elena had said that night when they'd arrived here at Logan's old cabin when she had finally explained the desperate urgency to extract Vivian from her rebel base. Vivian had secretly hoped all these years that more of her ancient bloodline still remained somewhere in the Pacific Northwest Cascade territory. The shocking revelation that she was truly the last one left of her kind had sent her reeling for the past three days.
As Vivian brushed her long, pale blonde hair with its unique silver undertones in front of the full-length mirror, she thought about her great-great-great-great grandmother, the first human magical queen to mate with a wolf shifter in this territory 350 years ago. The woman who started the bloodline the High Council had spent centuries trying to erase through the Severance laws.
Vivian wondered what her great-great-great-great grandmother had thought when she settled in this territory three and a half centuries ago and fell in love with a wolf shifter. Did she ever think she would be the sole reason for such social upheaval in this territory three and a half centuries later? Probably not. She probably was just trying to live a happy and peaceful life with her mate. But sadly, the High Council was threatened for some reason by their beautiful union.
Vivian padded barefoot toward the kitchen, her violet eyes scanning the open living area with practiced efficiency. Logan's cabin bore all the hallmarks of a former enforcer's paranoia—reinforced walls, multiple escape routes, and sight lines that covered every approach. The irony wasn't lost on her that she felt safer here than she had in years, even as a current prisoner.
"Morning." Zoe's voice carried warmth despite the early hour, her curly hair catching the morning light streaming through the kitchen windows. She stood at the stove, hermovements graceful and efficient as she flipped bacon with one hand while scrambling eggs with the other.
Logan occupied the dining table, his imposing frame hunched over what appeared to be tactical maps spread across the wooden surface. His dark auburn hair was already styled for the day, and the multiple scars visible on his forearms spoke of a violent past she was only beginning to understand.
"Sleep well?" His deep green eyes assessed her with clinical precision, the same way he'd evaluated everything since becoming her unwilling guardian.
"Like a baby." The lie rolled off her tongue with practiced ease. "If babies spend the night planning seven different escape routes and cataloging every weapon in their immediate vicinity."
Zoe laughed, sliding a plate of perfectly prepared breakfast across the kitchen counter. "Only seven? You're slipping these past few days."
"The reinforced windows limited my options." Vivian accepted the food gratefully, her stomach growling despite her mounting frustration. Being kidnapped apparently didn't diminish her appetite at all.
Logan's mouth twitched in what might have been amusement. "I designed those security features specifically to contain shifters with enhanced magical abilities."
"Speaking of which," Zoe settled onto the stool beside her, her hazel eyes gleaming with anticipation, "Lena should be arriving shortly. She's eager to meet you."
"The Silvercrest healer who's been analyzing my stolen ancient texts." Vivian's tone carried an edge of possessiveness that surprised even her. Those scrolls and journals represented more than historical documents—they were the key to understanding her heritage, her purpose, and possibly the future of their entire shifter world.
"Our stolen ancient texts," Logan corrected, his voice carrying the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed. "The moment you infiltrated Moon Hollow's archives, you became part of something much larger than your spiritual rebel group."
The casual dismissal of her life's work ignited the volatile temper she'd inherited along with her magical bloodline. "My spiritual rebel group consists of five hybrid fighters who've spent months learning to harness magical abilities your modern shifters have forgotten even exist. They're not some amateur collection of shifter fighters."
"No," Zoe agreed, her tone diplomatic but firm, "but they're also not equipped to handle human Council operatives armed with weapons designed specifically to kill hybrids as powerful as yourself."
