Chapter 125

MAGGIE

“Bastard.”

It was the first word out of my mouth as I shoved open the grimy motel room door. The air inside was stale—sweaty sheets, old coffee, the reek of damp carpet and desperation. Logan looked up from where he sat on the edge of the lopsided bed, one foot resting casually on the ratty hotel chair.

He raised a brow. “Maggie. Always a pleasure.”

I slammed the door behind me hard enough to rattle the ancient blinds. “Don’t play cute with me. You knew.”

Logan stayed seated, his expression sharpening but still amused. “Knew what, exactly?”

“There was a kid there. His kid. You didn’t tell me that.”

The amusement drained from his face. He straightened, jaw tightening. “Aiden?”

My eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Aiden.”

He stood now, slowly, cautiously, like he wasn’t quite sure what kind of storm I was bringing with me. “Was he hurt?”

“No,” I bit out. “Because I stopped it. I called the whole damn thing off.”

His relief was quick—barely a flash in his eyes—but I saw it. And I hated him more for it.

“You told me we were hitting the Silverclaw Alpha and his Eastern Ridge girlfriend,” I snapped. “That was the agreement. That’s what you said. An ambush. A message. Not a fucking child.”

“I didn’t know the kid would be with them,” Logan said, lifting his hands like that excused it. “It was supposed to be Derek and the lady. Alone. That’s it.”

“Well, it wasn’t them,” I stepped toward him, letting every ounce of fury in me come to the surface. “He was camping. In the woods. With a six-year-old boy who you had me grab in the night. If I hadn’t stopped it… And you almost made me party to that.”

Logan’s gaze darkened. “So you didn’t finish the attack.”

“No,” I hissed. “Because I have limits. You might be perfectly fine hurting a child, but I’m not.”

He tilted his head slightly, something unreadable flickering in his expression. “You don’t know what I’m fine with.”

“No?” I stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat rolling off him. “Because I’ve watched you sell off pieces of your soul for power, Logan. I’ve seen you lie, manipulate, scheme—but this? This was the final straw. I won’t be part of it. I won’t be part of you.”

He looked me up and down, anger coiling under his calm exterior. “So that’s it, then? You’re just walking away?”

“Damn right I am.”

I turned toward the door, yanking my pack from the floor. I wanted to get out of that room, that stink of rot and failed ambition, more than I wanted to breathe.

“You can keep your money,” I said as I slung the strap over my shoulder. “My rogues—my pack—don’t need it. We’re done taking your orders.”

I reached for the doorknob, but his hand shot out and caught my arm.

I stopped dead.

“Let go,” I growled without turning.

But he didn’t.

His grip on my arm tightened, just slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to make sure I didn’t walk away. I spun, ready to snarl, ready to slap him or throw him across the room.

But then it hit me.

That heat.

That tether.

That unbearable, magnetic pull in my chest like something inside me had been yanked taut. My breath caught. The room tilted. And from the way Logan’s expression changed—from cold contempt to something far darker—I knew he felt it too.

The bond flared to life between us like someone had struck a match in the center of my ribcage.

He didn’t speak. Just stared at me, like he was seeing me for the first time. Or remembering something he’d been trying to forget.

His hand flexed on my arm. His jaw ticked. He looked furious.

And then he kissed me.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t tender.

It was a collision. All teeth and heat and fury. His mouth crushed mine like he wanted to punish me with it, like if he kissed me hard enough he could erase everything that had gone wrong between us.

I gasped against him, and his tongue slid in—deep, claiming, desperate.

I should have shoved him off. Should have screamed at him, reminded him what he was, what I was. But my body betrayed me.

I kissed him back.

Hard.

My fingers curled into the front of his shirt, dragging him closer as his hands slid down to my hips, gripping them like he’d been starving and just found something worth devouring.

His mouth moved to my jaw, my throat, then back to my lips, and I moaned against him—guttural, furious, aching.

His scent—sandalwood, smoke, male—wrapped around me, dizzying. Everything about him was too much, and I still couldn’t pull away.

His thigh pressed between mine. I pressed back.

We kissed like we were trying to hurt each other. Like we were trying to forget—but all it did was remind me of everything I hated.

Hated how good it felt.

Hated the ache between my legs.

Hated him.

And Goddess help me, I hated how badly I wanted more.

We devoured each other like it was the only language we still knew how to speak. Like the bond didn’t care about our pride, our mistakes, our lies.

And oh, how I hated it.

But I let myself burn.

ELENA

I didn’t realize how much I remembered until I stepped into Derek’s office.

The scent was the same—leather, fine paper, firewood. The same low hum of quiet authority beneath the silence. But he was different.

He held the door open for me without a word, and I walked in, pulse ticking louder than I liked. I’d been here before. When I was Mia. When he still didn’t know who I was. When I was just the rogue he kept at arm’s length—and then, cruelly, closer.

Back then, this room had felt like a cage dressed up in luxury.

Now, it felt like the eye of the storm.

Derek sat across from me, nursing a cup of something strong. He looked tired. Serious. And, for once, not like he was trying to win me back with charm or pressure or anything resembling control.

Just him. Still. Waiting.

He offered me a drink. I took it. Not because I needed it, but because it gave me something to hold.

“So,” he said, voice even. “Tell me.”

I stared into the amber swirl in my glass. “Since I started memory treatments with Dr. Voss, more things have come back. It’s been gradual. Unpredictable.”

He said nothing, just nodded for me to continue.

“One of the memories that’s clearest now is… when I was taken. Right before the cliff. The kidnapping.”

He stiffened slightly, hands clenched together, but didn’t interrupt.

“I remember the ropes. The gag. Being dragged through the woods. And Pierce.”

Derek’s brows drew together. “Pierce.”

I nodded. “He was the one leading them. And then… Maggie was there.”

His eyes widened a little, but he said nothing.

“She acted like she was one of them. But she wasn’t—not really. She untied me. She told me to run. She made a scene to distract them. Pierce nearly got me anyway—grabbed me by the hair. He was going to kill me.”

The words felt heavier than I expected.

“But Maggie screamed. She shouted at him. She stopped him.”

Silence stretched between us.

Then I added, “She called him father.”

Derek sat back like I’d slapped him.

“I didn’t remember that part until today,” I said quietly.

His gaze was intense now, lips slightly parted. “Maggie… is Pierce’s daughter?”

I nodded. “I’m sure of it.”

He leaned forward slowly, voice rough. “Then she’s…”

“She was raised in the roguelands,” I said. “But… she wasn’t born there.”

Derek’s face darkened. “Before Pierce was banished, he wasn’t just a member of Silverclaw. He wasn’t just a warrior.”

I blinked. “What are you saying?”

“He was my father’s Gamma.”

I stared at him.

Derek nodded slowly. “Which means… Maggie was born here. In this pack. In my pack. Maggie was Silverclaw.”