Run to Her.

Run to Her.
Hunter

The world’s still burning when it finally goes quiet. Smoke and flames curl through the wreckage, soft and grey now instead of black. The flames lick low and tired. The smell of gunpowder and blood is heavy enough to choke on. I’ve been in wars, in ambushes, in rooms painted red, but nothing’s ever looked like this. The garden’s unrecognisable. Tables split in half, chairs melted, blue and pink streamers fused into ash. And in the middle of it—standing like they built the fire themselves—are my mother, my sister, and the woman who carries my child. Mum's got blood on her cheek and her hair half-down, but she’s smiling that sharp, dangerous smile I’ve known my whole life—the one that means the enemy’s done. Isla’s heel is still prodding against the man’s face, calm as you please. And Alina—Christ. Alina stands between them, shoulders square, soot clinging to her skin, her hands shaking just enough to remind me she’s human. There’s a streak of blood across her arm that isn’t hers, a glint of gold and silver on her finger that catches what’s left of the firelight. She looks like every god the world ever forgot to fear.

Lethal. Perfect. Mine.

I can’t move for a second. I just watch. The air hums around them, some quiet, ancient rhythm that doesn’t belong to men like me. The made men hanging back don’t speak; they don’t even breathe. Everyone knows what they just saw. Three women turned an ambush into an execution. They didn’t need saving. They never did. I take a step forward, glass crunching under my boots. My chest hurts. Maybe from the smoke. Maybe from pride. Maybe from sheer fucking awe. When Alina finally looks my way, something in me unravels. Her eyes find me through the haze, and all the noise in my head stops. She’s alive. She’s standing. Bean’s heartbeat is hopefully still safe beneath her hand. God, I’ve never been so terrified of her and so in love at the same time. She just slaughtered an army while pregnant. That’s…that’s my fiancée. That will be my wife. The thought makes me laugh once, low and hoarse, half disbelief and half reverence. Then I’m moving again, closing the space between us. Ariana and Isla part for me like they know what’s about to happen. When I reach her, I don’t say anything. I just pull her into me, my hands framing her face, my forehead pressed to hers. She’s trembling, her breath catching against my throat.
“You’re out of your damn mind,” I whisper. “You and Bean both.”
She gives this tiny, tired laugh, the kind that sounds like victory and heartbreak stitched together. “We’re fine,” she murmurs.
I look at her—really look—and nod. “Yeah. You are.”
Then I wrap an arm around her waist, one protective hand on the curve of her stomach, and steer her toward what’s left of home. The fire can keep the rest.

Kaiden

The world shook itself apart and then went still. I was under the table with a pile of kids, holding one against my chest, another tucked under my arm, whispering shh, shh, stay down, while gunfire chewed holes through everything we’d ever built. Tiny hands clung to my shirt, their small breaths hot against my neck. I could hear Hunter shouting somewhere out there, the crash of glass, the roar of fire. I couldn’t move—not yet. If I left, these kids were dead. Then the air changed. The screaming slowed. The gunfire turned into something else—short, brutal sounds, close range, too clean to be panic. It wasn’t our men. It was… them. I couldn’t see much through the smoke and the tablecloth fluttering in the draft. Still, I caught flashes—Mum's dark hair like a banner, Isla’s silhouette twisting, striking, the shape of Alina’s body moving through the chaos with something that didn’t look human. Every sound carried the same rhythm: certainty. They weren’t running. They were ending it.

One of the kids whimpered, and I pressed a finger to my lips. “Almost over,” I whispered. “They’ve got us.”
Because they did. My mother. My sister. My woman. Three storms, tearing apart the men who thought they could own them. When the final strike echoed, the silence that followed was too heavy to breathe. The children were still crying, but their cries were softer now, as if even they understood the danger was gone. I stayed crouched until the smoke stopped stinging my eyes. My arms ached from holding them all so tight. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned, blinking through the haze, and saw Tony. He looked like hell with blood on his cheek and shirt torn, but his eyes were steady. He reached down, pried the child from my lap with a gentleness that broke me a little, and nodded toward the garden.
“Go,” he said.
I hesitated for half a heartbeat, just long enough to see him pull the kids closer, his massive frame wrapping around them like a wall. Then I crawled out from under the table and ran. The air outside hit like a furnace. The yard was wrecked—smoke, fire, pieces of what used to be home—but all I saw was her. Alina. She was standing with my mother and sister, their clothes torn, blood streaking their arms, but their backs straight, faces lifted. I could see Hunter running to her, too. Her hair was half loose, clinging to her skin; her eyes were wild and alive. She looked like she’d been carved out of the fire itself. My knees almost gave out. She was everything—lethal and beautiful and mine—my little fighter.

I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, with my heart pounding in my ears.
“Hey,” I said, voice rough. “You okay, baby?”
She smiled, exhausted and radiant. “We’re okay.”
I still scanned her anyway, looking for any injuries, anything that would indicate she or Bean weren't okay. My hands came through her hair, over her shoulders, down her stomach, where they rested, and I dropped to my knees.
"Hey, little man. Did you look after your mamma?"