He could attack him mid-shift, when he was weak and vulnerable. It was what the Others would have done to him. Had done. No matter how much he wanted vengeance, he would never stoop that low.
He waited, unimpressed by the defensive display Byron’s gray wolf put on. He could bare his teeth and growl all day long—Mal was in no hurry. He’d been waiting for this for so long.
Byron went for his leg, flipping him onto his back and biting into the meat connecting his hip and thigh. Mal curled, biting into Byron’s nose and holding tight. Even after Byron released him, Mal held on, crushing bone.
He heard the gunshot, felt the sting of the bullet, and his back leg gave out. The thick, white heat of silver buried itself on his hip. He let go.
Motherfucking Others. Fucking cowards didn’t respect a challenge—didn’t respect shit. Byron circled him, sinking his teeth into his injured leg and tugging. It was a dick move, but it wasn’t going to slow him down.
Mal shook off the stupor of the silver, shut out the pain, and attacked. He ripped one of Byron’s ears free, the spurt of blood invigorating. For every bite Byron made, Mal bit harder. He tore at his fur, clawed through the skin of his stomach, and tore through the muscles of his neck. He knew he’d win this fight. He had no choice.
Byron rolled, trying to knock him lose. Mal let go long enough to clamp onto his throat. His teeth sunk deep, his jaws locking in place. After the hell Byron had put him through, Mal enjoyed toying with him.
But he saw Olivia. She nudged Brown with her nose, her long broken whimper grounding him. Sadness clamped onto his heart. No vengeance could heal today. This was over now. He bit hard, snapping Byron’s neck and letting the wolf fall. He watched the gray wolf return to its human form. He was dead. The bastard was no longer a threat.
“Brown’s not dead,” Anders said. “They shot him clean through the shoulder.” He patted Mal’s shoulder.
“We need to get back,” Dante said. “If the rest of them are coming, we need to be there.”
Olivia was struggling to stand, her hand pressed to a gash in her thigh. He ran to her side, trying not to bristle when she stepped away. “They’re not. Getting Jessa and the babies was Byron’s way of redeeming himself to Cyrus.” She rubbed her forehead with the back of her forearm. “This was Byron’s plan. The Others don’t know where he is.”
Relief rolled over him, over all of them. The air seemed cleaner, lighter. Olivia was safe. So was the pack. Brown was alive. And fucking Byron was dead. All in all, a good day. Until he realized Anders and Dante were doing their best not to notice how naked Olivia was. Considering how gorgeous she was, it was damn impossible to do. Or maybe he was still being too overprotective. Either way, there was nothing he could do about it. With the burn of silver in his leg, there was no shifting.
“How’s your leg?” she asked, hesitating briefly before running her hand along his shoulder.
He groaned, pushing his head against her side and neck. He rubbed and rubbed, burying his nose against her chest and leaning into her.
She held his head in her hands and stared into his eyes. Her pain gutted him.
He had a hundred things to say to her and no way to say it. He nudged her with his nose, steering her toward the path home.
“We’re not leaving Tess here,” she protested. “I’ll carry her if I have to.”
That’s when Mal realized Tess was still a wolf. Which meant she was healing. And, good or bad, she was still alive.
...
Olivia sat in stony silence at the dinner table. While the rest of the pack was celebrating the birth of Jessa and Finn’s baby girl, Olivia was consumed with guilt. Mal sat across from her, his eyes never leaving her face. Did he know she was close to losing it? She’d killed someone. How did they do this? Cope with it?
Yes, the man had shot Mal—and she’d seen vivid red—but she had taken a life. In that moment, it had been the only thing to do. If she hadn’t, Mal would be dead.
Her gaze met his.
Mal.
Who’d left her and lied to her and made her feel whole. Saving him was all that mattered.
She was crying. At the table. In front of everyone.
“Olivia?” Anders patted on her back. “You okay?”
She sniffed, nodding.
“Does she look okay?” Ellen asked.
“No?” Dante asked.
“Killing someone is hard,” Ellen answered. “Especially the first time.”