Everyone is still asleep when I disentangle myself from Tate and make my way down the stairs. Tate had barely moved throughout the night, his body too tired to move around in his sleep like he usually does. He had not even fought me for the covers and that is how I know how truly exhausted he must be.

Light streams in from the windows in the kitchen, casting a warm orangey glow around the room and heating the wooden floors. Trying to be as quiet as possible, I walk slowly over to the cupboard to grab a glass before opening the pantry door in order to get to our water filter. The room temperature water soothes my sleep sore throat, and just when I am about to fill up the glass again, a loud groan grabs my attention.

Peeking out of the pantry, I look into the living room. Another loud groan cuts through the air, and I hurry over to the source of the noise. The werewolf from before is moving around on the couch, eyes firmly closed as he struggles to sit up.

"Hey, hey," I say, walking over to him with my arms outstretched in a placating manner. "You shouldn't be moving too much, you could reinjure yourself, and that wouldn't be good for either of us."

His eyes fly open at the sound of my voice, and when I am only a couple of feet away, I am able to see that they are an interesting mix of brown and green, creating a shade of hazel I have never seen before. Something inside of me is pushing me to move closer to him, but I hold myself back, scrunching my brows in confusion. He is mirroring the look, his eyes roaming from my face all the way down to my toes and back up again.

"Who are you?" he croaks, wincing in pain as his broken ribs move from the talking. His arm becomes shaky from holding his broken body up, and eventually, he lies back down on the couch, eyes never leaving my face.

"The more important question is who are you, but I have a feeling I am not going to like that answer." I take a seat on the recliner that Liam usually claims, grabbing the blanket draped over the back to wrap around my body. Even though it is warm during the day, it is always cold in the mornings. "I'm Taylor, by the way."

"Taylor," he says quietly to himself, eyes looking around the room but landing periodically on me. I raise a brow, waiting for him to ask whatever question I can tell is on his mind. I don't have to wait long. "Where am I? What is this place? Who were those people from last night?"

"Not even going to give me enough time to properly wake up before shooting off questions, are you?" I ask, giving him a reassuring smile when his eyes widen at my words.

"Uh, sorry," he mumbles, turning his gaze from me to look at the ceiling.

"I'm just playing with you," I say, but he doesn't look away from the ceiling. With a sigh, I sit back in the recliner, wrapping the blanket a little tighter around myself when the cold air tries to creep in. "Some of our pack members found you while they were out searching for something. They brought you back here, to our pack house, where you're safe, so stop being so tense. The more relaxed you are and the more sleep you get, the faster you will heal."

"They found me with that beast," he says, body slightly less rigid than before. "It was going to kill me, but then the curly haired one came."

"The one with the dark or the blond curls?" I ask, curious as to who decided to save this stranger.

"Dark."

Ah, so it was Tate. That does not surprise me in the least.

The alpha's gaze finally moves from where it was fixed on the ceiling, instead focusing on the large window to the right of the fireplace. His fists are tight, and it looks as if he is grinding his teeth. It is then that I realize how much pain he must be in.

Quickly, I stand up and walk into the kitchen. It takes me a couple of minutes of rummaging through the first aid kit to find the ibuprofen, and when I finally do, I fill up a glass with water and walk back over to the couch.

"Here, take these," I say once I help him to sit up against the arm of the couch. Placing the pills against his lips, I watch as he opens his mouth and holds them on his tongue before handing him the glass of water. "That should help with some of the pain and inflammation."

"Thanks," he says quietly, handing back the now empty glass. "I'm Zalo."

"I don't think I have ever heard that name before," a voice says from the doorway connecting the kitchen and the living room. Looking up, I see Tate standing there, his curls in disarray from sleep.

"Hey, lovely," I say, standing up from the couch to walk over to Tate. "How are you feeling?" Wrapping my arms around his waist, I nuzzle against his neck, breathing in his familiar and comfortable scent. He wraps his arm around my waist, the injured one hanging by his side, before placing a kiss next to my ear.

"Still feel like I can sleep for another day and my wrist isn't feeling too good," he says, voice scratchy from sleep. Pulling myself away from him, I grab the bottle of ibuprofen and another glass of water. He takes them from me with a smile and a "Thanks, lovely," before sitting down on the recliner I had vacated.

Grabbing the blanket off the end of the couch, I place it over Zalo's body, noticing how he is shivering a little from the crisp morning air. He does not smile this time, though. His eyes just flicker in between me and Tate, his face becoming tighter with every passing minute.

The wolf inside of me is pushing me to comfort him, but I shove the feeling away, instead walking over to Tate and sitting on his lap. Tate does not seem to notice anything strange. His arm winds around my waist, pulling me tighter against his body before wrapping the blanket I had been using before around us.

"So, Zalo," Tate says, "how did that claiste manage to capture you?

Zalo huffs out a breath before shaking his head in confusion. "A claiste? That's what those things are called?"

"It's what we've been calling them," I say, trying to wiggle further into Tate's arms, His fingers rub along my side, soothing my tense body. My heart beat starts to slow down and my breathing starts to come a little easier. Tate looks at me in confusion, but I just shake my head. For some reason, my body is reacting weirdly to this new werewolf, and everything in me is feeling odd, my wolf fighting for control so much I fear it will send me into a panic attack. Something that I haven't experienced the whole time while living in this house.

"Okay then." Zalo's voice snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts, drawing my eyes over to him. "Well, I w-" a loud cry cuts him off, causing a smile to come to my face. That loud cry could only belong to the littlest member of our pack.

"Looks like Matty decided that it was time for everyone to wake up," I say, looking in the direction of the stairs as little feet stumble down them.

"Who's Matty?" the alpha asks, wincing at the next loud cry.

"That would be the baby. He's our alphas' and their mate's pup," Tate says, smiling once he sees his brother.

"Tate!" Elliot yells as he jumps from the last step. He charges towards his brother, blonde curls bouncing with every step. Somehow, he manages to make his way over to us without tripping over himself, which is a true accomplishment for an excited three-year-old.

"Hey, peanut. Miss me?" Tate's smile is huge as he helps Elliot to clamber up onto the recliner with us. Honestly, there is not too much room, but we somehow manage to get settled and comfortable with another body under the blanket.

"You were go' fo' so lon', Tate. I didn' think you were ever comin' back," he says, his bottom lip wobbling and brown eyes filling with tears.

"Elliot, I would never leave you. I always say that I'm coming back, and I always will." Tate reaches up his non-injured hand, wiping away some of Elliot's tears that manage to fall. The little boy nods his head before nuzzling into his brother's throat, breathing in his familiar scent.

Rubbing his back, I feel Elliot relax completely, seeming to melt against his older brother. "He really did miss you, Tate. It took all of my reassurances that you were coming back to get him to fall asleep last night."

"Well, you both know I would never leave you. I love you too much," Tate says, pressing a kiss to the top of Elliot's head before turning to give me one on the lips. A small cry of pain causes me to break the kiss, looking over at Zalo in confusion. He turns away, though, not meeting my gaze as he rests back into the couch, eyes once again fixating on that same place on the ceiling.

"Are you all right?" Tate asks, looking over at the alpha with concern in his eyes. Zalo is tense, his fist clenched and chin jutting out as he refuses to look over at us. The footsteps walking along the floor above us are the only things keeping me from further questioning the injured werewolf. Something weird is happening, and I am not sure that I like it.

"Oh good, you're all up. I was worried about Matty's loud cries waking the whole house, but it looks like you beat him to it," Liam says from the bottom of the stairs. Ethan is holding Matty while Liam and Erik each carry a sleepy little girl. They all make their way into the living room, Ethan and Liam sitting on the loveseat, while Erik sits on the stone bench that wraps around the fireplace.

"Not all of us," Tate says, looking around the room. "It looks like Micah, Allie, and Jesse are still sleeping."

"Not to mention Alexis. She won't be moving from that bed for a while," I say. Liam's mouth ticks down at the corners, obviously displeased about something.

"God, I hope she will be okay. She looked so bad last night when you guys brought her back," he says, rubbing Olive's back as she tiredly blinks her eyes.

"We'll just have to see. If we were in a hospital, I would say there would be a hundred percent chance of her surviving, maybe even with minimal scars. Now, well, I would say her chances are cut in half."

"Damn," Erik mumbles, the others nodding in agreement.

"What about him?" Ethan says, a hard edge to his voice as he nods his head at Zalo. "We risked our lives for him, and we don't even know who he is."

"His name is Zalo," I find myself saying before I can stop myself. Everyone looks over at me, shock and a little bit of confusion on their faces. "He told me and Tate earlier, before you guys came down," I hurry to tell them.

"Okay..." Liam says, drawing the word out. He has an eyebrow raised, and by the way he is looking at me, I know that he will want to talk to me later about what is going on. Honestly, I would like to figure that out, too.

"So, Zalo," Erik says, looking over at the injured alpha. "How the hell did that beast manage to capture you?"

Zalo stays quiet for a full minute, multiple emotions flickering across his face before he manages to slip on a mask of indifference. "I was on the mating run for the full moon about a week ago when it caught me. You know how it is on those things. It's not exactly like I was paying attention to other beasts in the forests, I was just trying to follow the scent that I had caught."

"Did you find your mate?" Liam interrupts. Zalo clenches his jaw, shaking his head.

"No, I couldn't find them before I was tackled by the, um, what did you call it again?"

"Claiste," Tate supplies, worried eyed on Zalo while he speaks.

"Yeah, I couldn't find them before the, um, claiste tackled me to ground, breaking a few of my ribs. Before I could even react, it was stepping on my leg, breaking it, before dragging me back to where you found me. I was dragged for days, only staying conscious for moments at a time before passing out again."

Erik turns his gaze to Ethan's, a hard glint in them. "Now that we have some of his story, you can tell us what happened with you guys. We didn't bother you last night, but we can't wait any longer. We have to know what we are up against."

Ethan glares his brother down, stony face in place and not bothering to talk. Liam reaches his hand over, rubbing Ethan's shoulder in a soothing manner. "Ethan," he says, voice soft. "You can tell us what happened, love."

Ethan doesn't respond, instead turning his gaze to look out the window. Erik opens his mouth to say something else, but Liam shots him a steely look, causing the alpha to snap his mouth closed.

"It was my fault," Tate says, and looking away from Ethan, I see that his blue eyes are full of guilt. "I thought we could grab him before the beast came back, but there were more than I anticipated. Ethan and Alexis tried to stop me, but I didn't listen."

"I'm sure it isn't entirely your fault, lovely," I say, quietly enough that only he can hear, before raising my voice to a normal volume. "Tell us the full story, and we can go from there."

Tate nods his head, telling us about how they followed the beast and watched it from where they were hiding in the trees. He continues with how he jumped down, despite Ethan's and Alexis' protests, going down to where Zalo was being held. He chokes on his words when he talks about how Alexis got hurt and how Ethan and him had to carry the two injured werewolves back. When he gets to the part about the infected attacking them he starts rubbing his stubbled cheek along Elliot's curls, as if trying to calm himself down.

The room rings in silence once he finishes telling us the story of what happened, and I rub my hand up and down Tate's chest, before resting it above his heart. "Maybe you shouldn't have jumped down without telling the others first, but it isn't your fault that the claiste or the infected attacked you. You were able to rescue Zalo from a gruesome death, and if you hadn't stumbled across the infected, they probably would have made their way here anyways." Tate doesn't say anything, not bothering to look at me. Putting my hand over his heart, I place a kiss on his shoulder. "You did what you thought was best, lovely. Don't feel guilty about something that isn't your fault."

"You saved my life, and I can't thank you enough for that," Zalo says, sounding like that was painful for him to say. "If you hadn't have come down from that tree, I probably would be dead."

"You did the right thing, Tat-" Liam is cut off by a broken sound coming from outside. Quickly, I stand up from Tate's lap, rushing over to the window that looks over the back yard. There, standing at the edge of our property, are at least five infected werewolves, howling and pacing along our perimeter because they cannot get onto our land. The human infected, though, are not affected by pack boundaries, and more than twenty are clambering out of the woods, their moans cutting through the crisp morning air.

"Shit."