Carolina Moon

After the Storm: Tess

The sun was a sharp, unforgiving blade cutting through the gap in the heavy curtains. I woke up slowly, my mind sifting through the layers of the previous day like a ledger full of bad debts. For a second, I expected to hear the high-pitched sound of frying servers or the crunch of heavy boots on granite, but there was only the steady, deep rhythm of K.C.’s breathing beside me.

The cabin was silent, but it was a heavy silence. It felt like the house itself was catching its breath. I shifted slightly, my muscles protesting with every move. My back ached from the hunched crawl through the sluice tunnels, and my head felt tight, a lingering phantom of the adrenaline.

I turned my head to look at K.C. In the morning light, he didn’t look like a beast who had nearly torn a man’s throat out. He just looked exhausted. There was a dark bruise forming along his ribs where Darian had struck him, and his knuckles were raw and split. He was so worn out, his Alpha energy stretched so thin, that it was taking time for him to heal.

I reached out, my fingers barely brushing the hair at his temple. He didn’t wake, but his brow furrowed in his sleep, his hand instinctively reaching out to find mine. He found my waist instead and pulled me close, even in his stupor — a silent subconscious check to make sure I was still there.

Eventually, I slipped out of bed, moving as quietly as possible. I pulled on one of his flannels — it smelled like cedar and safety — and padded out into the hallway. The guest rooms were silent. The enforcers were likely still dead to the world, their bodies repairing the damage the tether had done to their nervous systems.

In the kitchen, I started a pot of coffee, the familiar scent a small mercy. As I waited for it to brew, I looked out the window. The creek was a sparkling, peaceful blue. It was hard to believe that less than twenty-four hours ago, we were waist deep in stagnant water, fighting for our lives.

The floorboards groaned in the hallway, a heavy, slow tread, and a moment later, K.C. appeared in the doorway. He looked like he’d aged five years in one night. He was shirtless, his chest a map of purple bruises and lingering scratches, and his eyes were bloodshot.

He didn’t say anything at first. He just walked over and buried his face in the crook of my neck. His arms wrapped around my waist as if he were trying to anchor himself to the world. Heat radiated off of him. He felt like he was still running a fever from the physical strain of the half-shift.

“Coffee’s almost done,” I whispered, resting my head against his.

“I don’t want coffee,” he rasped. “I just want to stay right here.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me. His gaze softened, but then his hand went to the pocket of his pants. He pulled out the burner phone, the screen dark until he tapped it. He winced at the brightness, squinting as he opened the message from Leon.

His body went rigid. The warmth I’d been feeling from him evaporated, replaced by the familiar, cold tension of the Alpha.

“What is it?” I asked, though I already knew from the way his jaw set.

He turned the screen toward me:

Stroud’s plane never took off. Local PD found it empty on the tarmac. He’s gone off-grid, and we believe he took a specialized tactical unit with him. He isn’t running, K.C. He’s pivoting. The data Tess leaked is causing a firestorm in D.C., and he’s cornered. A cornered animal is dangerous. Keep her inside.

I read the message twice, the coffee in my stomach churning with a growing nausea. “He’s still here.”

“He’s not just here,” K.C. said, his voice dropping into that dangerous, low register. “He’s hunting. He’s lost the legal and the corporate battle. And the grid. The only thing he has left is the source of his problems.”

He looked at me, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch. “He thinks he can salvage the grid if he can get his hands on you… or he’ll just try to take you away from me.”

I looked out at the creek again, but this time it didn’t feel comforting. “He doesn’t know where we are,” I murmured, straining to keep my voice steady. “Leon said this place was a ghost. No digital footprint, no signals.”

K.C. didn’t look convinced. He set the phone on the walnut counter and leaned his weight into his hands, staring at the grain. “Stroud is a predator, Tess. All he has to do is follow the scent of the people I know. He has the resources to track Grady. All he has to do is slip, even for a second, and Stroud will have the thread.”

He turned toward the hallway. “I need to talk to Grant and Holden. We need to set up a manual watch, and not just rely on the sensors. I need to make contact with Marcus too.”

“K.C., you can barely stand,” I reminded him. “You haven’t healed yet.”

He stopped, and looked back at me. The amber in his eyes was muted, buried under layers of fatigue, but the resolve was absolute. “I’ll heal when you’re safe. Not a second before.”

I watched him go, his gait still stiff. I turned to my laptop. I wanted to know more about this firestorm, and I also wanted to know where Stroud would turn when he was on the run. What kind of financial backing he had for this kind of situation.

I cross-referenced the tactical units Stroud had used in the local private security firms. If he had a “specialized unit” with him, they weren’t ghosts. They would need fuel, supplies, and a base of operations.

I sipped my coffee, eyes locked on the screen when Grant trudged through the kitchen. We didn’t exchange words. He just gave a short, respectful nod as he headed out the back door carrying a compound bow. Silent. Untraceable. The sanctuary was becoming a fortress again.

When K.C. reappeared, he’d put on a dark tee shirt. His arms slid around me and he rested his cheek against the top of my head. We stayed there for a long time.

“Tess?” he murmured.

“Yeah?”

“When this is over — actually over — I’m taking you somewhere where the only thing we have to audit is how many fish are in the water.

I managed a small, tired smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”