[POV: Draven]
The second trial was over. Five remained. And Atlas was one of them. I stood alone in the training hall after everyone else had cleared out, the fading sun casting long shadows across the stone floor. My hands were behind my back, my eyes locked on the faint bloodstain near the edge of the maze exit.
One of the trainees had tripped a blade trap. Not bad enough to remove him from the trials, but enough to remind everyone—this wasn't a game. Still, it wasn't the injury that had me thinking. It was him.
Atlas had passed. Barely. First the race, where he came in second-to-last, then the maze, where he'd almost failed again. He scraped through by seconds. Seconds. For someone who moved with the quiet grace of a soldier, who struck like he'd been trained by assassins, something wasn't adding up.
He was hiding something. I knew it. And that wasn't just instinct—it was Sirius. My wolf had been pacing inside me for days, restless, alert, focused entirely on him.
I ran a hand down my face and exhaled slowly, trying to force the tension out of my shoulders.
Why hasn't he used his strength? Is it because he can't… or because he won't? The question burned through my mind like wildfire, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop picturing Atlas's face.
Those blue eyes that seemed to see straight through every wall I'd ever built. That silver-blonde hair catching the light like spun moonlight. The crescent-shaped birthmark on his cheek that I couldn't stop thinking about, couldn't stop wanting to touch again.
There was something about that mark—something that tugged at a memory I couldn't quite grasp.
I hadn't meant the threat at the pond. Not the way it came out. I'd warned him, challenged him—"Prove yourself or be cast out"—but the way he reacted told me exactly how he'd heard it.
He believed me. It sat heavy in my chest now, a weight I didn't ask for. The memory of him standing there, wide-eyed in the moonlight, the way his body froze when I spoke those words. I hadn't meant it that way, but he took it seriously. And something about that bothered me more than it should.
I could still see him clearly. The emerald tunic he'd borrowed fit him well, accentuating his lean frame in a way that made my blood run hot. His hair had been loose that night, shimmering like moonlight itself, and I'd wanted nothing more than to run my fingers through it.
Those eyes—blue, deep, irresistible—drawing me in until I couldn't think straight. His lips had parted slightly, soft and uncertain, and the thought of tasting them had nearly undone me completely.
"Enough," I growled inwardly, trying to shut down the craving that pulsed beneath my skin.
This wasn't right. These feelings, this hunger—they weren't me. It had to be my approaching rut making me lose control, my body aching with a need I couldn't explain. Sirius wasn't helping either. My wolf seemed obsessed, constantly pulling me toward Atlas, desperate for his closeness, his scent, his presence.
It was maddening. "Sirius," I muttered sharply, my fists clenched tight at my sides. "What the hell is happening to us?"
My wolf offered no answer, only a raw, heated pulse deep in my chest. He was louder lately. Hungrier. More demanding than he'd been in years. On edge in a way that set my teeth grinding. And the only thing that soothed him was Atlas.
The only thing that calmed the storm inside me was being near him, watching him, breathing the same air. Which meant one thing—I needed to get out of this space before I did something stupid. Something I couldn't take back. Something that would change everything.
I left the hall without a word, walking fast, boots echoing sharply against the stone. I barely nodded to the two guards who passed me on the way out. The air outside was cold, biting against my heated skin.
Good. I wanted it to be. I needed it. I needed clarity, needed something to cool the fire that seemed to burn hotter every time I thought of him.
I moved through the trees near the edge of the pack house, letting the shadows swallow me whole. The forest was quiet tonight. Too quiet. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath, as if the whole world was waiting for something to break. I slowed my pace, senses sharpening instinctively. The hair on the back of my neck prickled.
Something shifted in the darkness ahead—a presence, a disturbance in the still night air. There—a sound. Barely a whisper. A hitch in the silence. A breath dragged too sharply, too desperately. A whimper, maybe. Or a gasp of pain that someone was trying to muffle.
My head snapped toward the direction it came from. Then Sirius surged forward with a force that nearly knocked me off my feet.
"Now. Go. Now!" He didn't wait for permission. He shoved himself forward inside my mind like a battering ram, tearing at the leash I'd been holding for days with savage desperation. My pulse shot up. I didn't hesitate. I ran.
Deeper into the trees, feet silent against the ground, every instinct firing at once. The cold air stung my face. Branches clawed at my arms, leaving thin scratches I barely felt. But I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Something was pulling me forward with a force I couldn't resist.
And then I saw him. Atlas was on his knees in a small clearing, just off the ridge path where the moonlight broke through the canopy.
His thin sleep shirt clung to his skin, soaked through with sweat despite the cold night air. His silver-blonde hair was wild, tangled, sticking to his flushed cheeks in damp strands. His skin seemed to glow faintly in the moonlight, like he was lit from within by some inner fire that was consuming him alive.
But it was his eyes that stopped me dead in my tracks. Wide. Wild. Terrified beyond reason. He didn't see me at first. He was too far gone, lost in whatever nightmare had driven him out here alone in the middle of the night, whatever demon was clawing its way through him from the inside.
His right hand was buried in the earth, fingers clawing desperately at the dirt like he was trying to dig his way down into it, trying to anchor himself to something solid.
His left hand was at his throat, nails raking at the skin there like he was trying to rip something off—something invisible, something choking him from the inside out. I could see the red marks his own fingers were leaving, the thin lines of blood beginning to well up.
My heart clenched painfully at the sight. Whatever this was, whatever was happening to him, it was tearing him apart from the inside. And I couldn't just stand here and watch.
Sirius was howling inside my mind, a sound of anguish and fury and something else—something that felt terrifyingly like recognition. Like he knew exactly what was happening. Like he'd been waiting for this moment all along.