Chapter 30:Kyle's Mate

Chapter 30:Kyle's Mate
Kyle's POV

I wasn’t supposed to stay this long.

What started as a recon mission to search for survivors turned into a bloody occupation of this godforsaken wasteland. The revolting pack, once proud and resourceful, was now nothing but ash, twisted steel, and the stench of rot. Their rebellion cost more than they ever anticipated. And I—Beta Kyle of the Blood Moon Pack—was stuck cleaning up the remains.

Every breath I took here was heavy with soot and memory.

We arrived two weeks ago, back when the blood hadn’t even dried on their packhouse walls. Most of the rebels had already fled, leaving behind a war-torn territory, scorched rituals, and broken children. That’s what gutted me the most—children, huddled in the ashes of their legacy, clutching each other like crumbling sandcastles trying to hold out against the tide.

I’d been fighting almost daily since then—sleepless nights and silent dawns. Not just for them. For us.

Trent hadn’t ordered me to stay this long. He sent me in to assess, recover, and report. I stayed because something in my gut refused to leave.

Too many questions. Too many missing pieces.

Too many whispers in the dark about “the girl with no name.”

But it wasn’t just that.

I couldn’t leave because I knew something—someone—was still out there. And I’d never forgive myself if I left her behind.

The first sign came at dawn.

Intel from one of the far patrols—a group of rogues had crossed the western ridge, slipping past the neutral zone and inching toward a neighboring pack. Too deliberate to be coincidence. Too calculated to be random. The bastards were weaving a pattern, infiltrating territories like termites, weakening the foundations before anyone could react.

I reacted.

Didn’t wait for Trent’s approval. Didn’t need it. I gathered a small unit—my most loyal, my most lethal—and rode into the fog.

We tracked them for hours, following footprints that sank into the cold forest mud. Our wolves moved like shadows, teeth gleaming, eyes wild with purpose.

When we found them, they weren’t even trying to hide.

They were escorting wagons.

That should’ve been my first clue.

Wagons meant goods. And rogues didn’t deal in gold or weapons.

They dealt in flesh.

“Fan out,” I ordered, voice low and tight. “Protect the tree line. We engage on my mark.”

The ambush was swift.

It had to be.

The forest exploded into violence—snarls, roars, the clash of steel on bone. My wolf, Varkos, was practically unhinged, tearing through the front line with the precision of a scythe through wheat. I didn’t hold back. Couldn’t.

They tried to flee.

We didn’t let them.

By the time the chaos settled, rogue blood soaked the soil. A few escaped. Two were captured, bound and gagged before they could swallow their own tongues. Their eyes were wild with defiance and fear—both good signs. I’d enjoy interrogating them.

But the wagons…

The stench hit me first.

Fear. Sweat. Blood. Feces. The unmistakable scent of captivity.

“Open them,” I growled.

My men obeyed, yanking open the rusted doors.

Hostages. Dozens of them. Some conscious, some barely breathing. Men and women, all gaunt and bruised. I stepped into the largest compartment and immediately felt my chest tighten.

Children.

Four of them. No older than ten. Huddled like cubs in a den, eyes wide, too shocked to cry.

I swallowed down the burn in my throat and kneeled. “You’re safe now,” I told them softly.

One girl blinked slowly, as if the word “safe” was a foreign language.

We began processing them one by one—freeing them, calming them, checking for enchantments or bites. Most were too weak to speak. Some flinched when we touched them.

And then I smelled it.

Not just blood.

Not just fear.

Her.

The scent was unlike anything I’d ever known—lavender soaked in stormwater, with a hint of something smoky. Old magic. Ancient lineage. My wolf froze inside me, then let out a deep, guttural howl that echoed through my chest.

I turned toward the last compartment.

It was darker than the others. Smaller.

“I’ll check this one,” I told my men.

The door creaked open on rusted hinges, revealing a dim interior and a curled figure in the corner, shackled at the ankles and wrists. Chains embedded in the floor. The air was thicker in there. Colder.

I stepped inside slowly.

Her head was bowed. Hair tangled around her face like vines. Her body was limp, shoulders trembling.

But the moment I crossed the threshold, she lifted her head.

And our eyes locked.

Everything in me—every bone, every nerve, every breath—stopped.

Her eyes were golden.

Not amber. Not hazel.

Golden.

They shimmered like shattered sunlight, too bright for that prison of filth. For a heartbeat, the world tilted. My knees nearly buckled.

She flinched back.

I did too.

Not because of fear.

Because I felt it.

The bond.

Raw. Untamed. Undeniable.

“You…” I whispered.

Her lips trembled. “W-what’s happening to me?”

She smelled it too.

Felt it.

Recognized the pull.

I stepped forward. “Don’t be afraid.”

She blinked rapidly. “I… I don’t know who I am.”

My chest squeezed. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know my name. They’ve… they’ve called me different things. Slave. Girl. Beast.” She shook her head violently. “I don’t remember my pack. Or my parents. Just… pain.”

My hands curled into fists. “Who did this to you?”

She recoiled as I stepped closer.

“I’m sorry,” I breathed, softening my voice. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

She looked up slowly, uncertain.

“You don’t have to remember anything right now,” I said. “You’re safe.”

“You keep saying that,” she whispered. “But people have said it before.”

I clenched my jaw. “Not people like me.”

Silence stretched between us.

“Get those chains off her,” I barked at the guards behind me. “Now.”

The clinks echoed in the compartment as the shackles were removed. Her limbs dropped, weak and shaking. I reached out, but she stiffened.

“I won’t touch you unless you say I can,” I said gently.

She hesitated, then gave a tiny nod.

I gathered her into my arms, lifting her easily. She was so light it hurt.

“Do you have a name?” I asked as I carried her out.

She shook her head.

“Then I’ll give you one,” I murmured. “Anaya.”

She looked up at me, confused. “What does it mean?”

“Light,” I said. “Because that’s what you are to me.”