Rage and Ruin

Logan's POV 

That flash of color. That fleeting shape retreating into the darkness while Elliot was adjusting my stance. 

It was Noah.

And I didn't realize it until I heard Oliver scream from the parking lot. 

My senses have been dulled ever since I lost Fenrir. My vision at night isn't as sharp, my reflexes slower, my strength not what it used to be. And my hearing? Practically human. So it's a real mystery how I even heard him in the first place but… that's just it…

I didn't hear him. I felt it.

Like a bolt of lightning ripping through my chest. Their panic. Their fear. The feeling cuts through the fog of my body's weakness.

My mate is in danger. 

My cub is in danger. 

I didn't think before I tossed my bat aside, pushed past Elliot and ran. I felt my feet pound against the dirt, then the concrete, and now my knuckles are kissing someone's jaw.

It's funny how that works. One minute, you're maybe-flirting with your teammate and playing baseball, the next you're punching the asshole who had the audacity to touch your ex.

Funny…

My fist slams into his jaw, and there's a sickening crack. His head jerks up, his body staggering backward, blood spurting from his mouth. 

"Motherfucker!" The man I've just punched howls, clutching his face. 

Blood leaks between his fingers, his teeth stained red. His nose is crooked, probably broken. 

I glance around, assessing the situation. Aside from the one I just punched, there are two others. One has Oliver, his tiny body squirming and kicking in the bastard's arms. Another is standing a few feet away from Noah, a knife in his hand. And Noah? He's on the floor. Pale. Unsteady. Gripping his upper arm where blood soaks through his sleeve. 

I flex my knuckles, rolling out the bloom of pain radiating through my hand. Not broken. Not yet. 

We'll get there. 

Because I'm not done. 

My eyes snap to the bastard holding my son. My anger turns into rage. 

"Hand him over," I growl, my voice low, lethal. 

Oliver is still fighting, still screaming, his little legs kicking, his arms flailing. But the rogue's grip is firm. The third man—standing between me and them with a small knife in his hands—watches me, muscles tensed like he's deciding whether to run or fight. 

The man holding Oliver hesitates. "Who the fuck are you?" 

The answer is right there. Right at the tip of my tongue. 

His father.

But before I can say it, the third rogue's eyes go wide. His jaw drops. "Shit—isn't that Logan Whitaker?" 

Panic flickers across their leader's bloodied face. His head snaps up, eyes wild. "Doesn't fucking matter! Get him!" 

The rogue holding Oliver tries to step back. The other lunges. 

I move first. 

In one sharp motion, I catch his wrist, twist his arm behind his back, and yank. The joint gives a sickening pop, and the rogue screams, his grip on Oliver slips.

Like he wasn't on the ground only a few seconds ago, Noah is there. He catches Oliver before he falls to the ground again, sinking to his knees, clutching our son tightly against his chest. 

"Papa!" Oliver sobs, tiny fists gripping Noah's shirt. 

Noah's whole body shakes. He looks weak, barely holding himself upright. 

Fuck. 

I twist harder, feeling the rogue's arm snap beneath my grip, then shove him away. 

The knife wielder is already on me. 

I duck under his wild swing, my muscles burning with the effort. He's fast. Faster than me. The realization makes my teeth clench, my frustration building alongside my rage. 

"Noah," I call, dodging another blow. "Are you okay?" 

His voice is a whisper. "I'm fine." 

Liar. 

I punch the second rogue away before turning to look at him. He's hunched over, his breaths coming in quick, pained gasps. His face is pale, sweat dotting his forehead. 

"You're clearly not." I can't fight if I'm worried about him. He and Oliver are my priorities and if anything happens to them I—

"Silver," he mutters.

I freeze. 

My stomach drops.

It must be that damn knife. Silver is lethal to werewolves with just the right dose. It's a small knife but he must be in so much pain. 

I don't hesitate. I turn, moving toward him, but Noah's shaky hand comes up, palm outward, stopping me. 

"I'll be fine," he says through gritted teeth. "I've got a detox pen in my car." His breath shudders. "Just…" 

His voice trails off. His grip tightens around Oliver. 

I know what he's asking. 

Take them down. End this. 

I turn back to the rogues. My rage is volcanic. A slow, simmering boil that erupts all at once. 

"You picked the wrong night to make me mad," I growl. 

The leader spits blood onto the pavement. "You're dead." 

His two men begin shifting into snarling, rust coloured wolves. 

Shit. 

Two idiots falling off their feet, I can take. But now two wolves without Fenrir. This is going to be a problem. 

One of the wolves rushes for me, I jump out of the way and slam down on his head but the other was waiting for me to drop my guard. Claws rake across my back. Burning pain explodes across my skin. 

I roar, spinning around to grab the wolf by the scruff of his fur. It's a three motion takedown. Grab, carry, slam into pavement. 

A sharp snap. A whimper. More blood.

One down. 

Teeth sink into my injured shoulder and, once again, agony flares. My vision goes white with pain. Still, there's no way in hell I'm letting it end like this.

I choke on a scream as I feel his teeth dig deeper into the skin of the same shoulder that put me out of commission for months. Forcing my pain down, I shove my fingers into his jaw and start to pull the jaw apart.

I wrench it open, pulling until it's off me. Until I've broken the jaw.

A strangled cry leaves his throat before he collapses. 

"You fucking idiots!"

The enraged scream reminds me that I still have one ugly bastard to take care of. 

His angry snarl looks even angrier with the hole in his cheek, purple lines run across his skin like a toxic infection. 

He curses. "It was two against one! How could-? Ugh. Fine! I'll do it myself!"

He starts shifting, his body warping, his snout elongating— 

Like hell I'm gonna let that happen.

I'm in front of him in one clean lunge. My hand clamps over his muzzle, forcing his mouth shut. Holding him by the muzzle, I slam him into the lamppost behind him. 

The metal shudders with the impact. 

The rogue groans, slumping slightly, but I don't stop. 

I keep slamming. 

Again. 

And again. 

All my anger. All my rage. 

The injury. The humiliation. Losing my wolf. Seeing Noah again. 

Seeing my son being taken from me. 

Noah.

Noah.

Noah.

I don't want to think of the past few months as a tally of losses but that's what it feels like. I lost the love of my life and the son I never knew I had. I lost my arm. I lost something that night in the club. The universe has been fucking with me so casually that it's forgotten something very important.

Logan Whittaker does not like losing.

'YOU DARED TO TOUCH MY MATE! MY CUB!'

The man gurgles a mouthful of blood as I freeze.

That voice. 

It's not my own. 

"Logan!" 

Noah's voice cuts through the haze of bloodlust. 

I turn, my hand still gripping the rogue's face. 

Noah is looking at me. His eyes wide. 

I wonder what he sees; a wounded man covered in both his blood and that of others? A vengeful angel raining violence down on the wicked? A penitent unworthy of his love but praying for it anyways?

Does he know I did this for him? Because I still love him? Is that why he looks so afraid?

"Stop," he says, shakily. "You'll kill him." 

One incident, one mistake, and my career, fortune, all I've built, will go up in smoke. 

Two years ago, this thought would've terrified me. Right now, I can't care less.

"Good," I growl. 

Noah's breath hitches. His eyes flick down—to Oliver. 

He sniffles into Noah's shirt, his whole body trembling.

Fuck.

I feel like a monster but I can't bring myself to regret what I've done. For them, I would raze down a kingdom.

My anger is a furnace, still I am weak for him. So, when those big, brown eyes meet mine again and his soft, desperate voice pleads, "I just want to go home." 

I let go. 

The rogue's body slumps to the ground. 

Without a second thought, I cross the distance between us and scoop Noah into my arms. 

He lets out a weak protest, shifting Oliver against his chest, but he doesn't fight me. 

I hold them both close, ignoring the pain in my shoulder, ignoring everything except the warmth of their bodies against mine. 

"You're safe now," I murmur. "I've got you. And I'm never letting go again."