Cass’s POV

"Every twenty minutes, the guard completes a round," one of my scouts whispered. "That’s our window."

I crouched in the shadows, staring at Oliver’s pack house. The phantom sensation of the iron mask—the memory of the drill biting into my skull—still prickled against my skin, fueling my rage. My team was small, but we were lethal. I didn't want the caution of Garret or Victor; I wanted Oliver’s head.

"He’s moving," Kanda signaled.

"Now," I commanded. "Take down anyone you encounter—except the children. No alarms."

We ghosted through the darkness, infiltrating the pack house like smoke. Kanda was a blur of efficiency, knocking out guards before they could even draw breath. We reached a door with light spilling from the threshold. I took a steadying breath and threw it open.

We surged into the room, blades drawn, ready to neutralize the occupants. But I froze mid-step.

"COLT!"

"CASS!"

Colt lunged, his arms wrapping around me with such force I nearly lost my breath. He pulled back, scanning my battered face, then hauled me into a tighter, gentler embrace. My hands shook as they clung to his shirt. The man I had fought through hell to reach was finally here.

"I found you," I sobbed into his shoulder. "I actually found you."

"Help...!"

I pulled away, startled to see Victor—Colt's Alpha—being held in a chokehold by Kanda.

"Kanda, release him," I said, my voice steadying. "They’re my pack."

Victor stood up, brushing off his clothes with a scowl, before his gaze drifted to me. "What is the meaning of this? We came to take Oliver down, but the coward has already fled."

Colt cupped my face, his eyes searching mine. "What did they do to you?"

"It’s a long story," I whispered.

"We have time," Victor interjected, his expression sobering. "Cass... your father. He’s alive, but the wolfbane in his blood is preventing him from healing. He’s not strong enough to lead. He was clear in his final orders before the attack—you are the Alpha."

The weight of the words hit me like a physical blow.

Me. Alpha.

Later, after securing the pack house and setting Kanda to clean up the remaining stragglers, Colt led me to a private room. He didn't ask questions; he just started the shower, helping me strip away the filth of the arena.

"New scars," he murmured, his thumb tracing the jagged lines on my skin.

"I'll tell you everything," I promised, leaning into his touch. "But not now. Just stay with me."

We stepped under the hot spray, the water washing away the blood of my enemies. As we embraced, the unspoken tension between us snapped. Colt cupped my face, his green eyes burning with an intensity that made my pulse race.

"Look at me," he whispered. "I love you. Mate bond or not, you are my life. You are my mate."

I didn't wait. I sank my fangs into the sensitive cord of his neck, and he mirrored the act, marking me in return. The pain was eclipsed by a surge of overwhelming, divine heat. The mate bond didn't just flicker to life; it roared, connecting our souls in a way that rendered every previous touch, every previous kiss, insignificant.

"Love me," I moaned, my core throbbing with a primal need.

He swept me into his arms, carrying me to the bed. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty—only the absolute, consuming claim of two souls who had survived the pit. As our bodies joined, the world beyond the walls ceased to exist. In the dark of that room, surrounded by the remnants of a war I had helped fuel, we finally found our peace.

We were mates. And for the first time in my life, I was exactly where I belonged.