We chose a neutral clearing deep in the border woods because there was nowhere else left to breathe. Word of our bond had started slipping through packs like smoke under doors—elders whispering, scouts reporting, councils circling. Hollowmoor and Ashfang names were suddenly worth less than the rumors wrapped around them.
We agreed to meet in secret, no attendants, no witnesses, just trees and wind, because we needed to decide what to do before our families decided for us.
“You ready to stop flinching when I touch you?”
Her voice hit me before the blade did. I caught it midair, the dull metal cold against my palm. Raena stood at the far end of the clearing, arms crossed, one brow raised like she already knew the answer and just wanted to watch me squirm trying to give it.
I looked down at the blade. “Didn’t realize we were keeping score.”
“We’re not,” she said, stepping into the circle. “You lost already.”
I twirled the weapon once, more to stall than impress. “You gonna lecture or lunge?”
Her smirk widened. “Depends. You gonna sulk or spar?”
I hated how she always got under my skin before I even broke a sweat. She moved like wind, fast and unpredictable, but today she looked like she’d been waiting for this. For me. Her eyes locked onto mine like she was reading more than body language—like she was daring me to react.
We circled. The air buzzed, but not from the bond—at least, not only. This wasn’t about fate. It was about tension so thick you could cut it with a blade, and we both had one.
She struck first—of course. Her blade went for my ribs. I parried, spun, and she pivoted so close I felt her breath on my cheek.
“Still flinching?” she whispered.
“Not from you.”
“Liar.”
“I’ve been through worse.”
“You’re still afraid of me.”
“Maybe I should be.”
She feinted left. I dodged right. But her foot hooked mine and I stumbled back, catching myself just before I hit the ground. She pounced, blade to my throat—not hard enough to cut, but enough to taunt.
“That was too easy.”
I knocked her wrist aside and shoved her off. “You want me to fight or surrender?”
“I want you to stop pretending you don’t want this.”
My breath caught. Her words hit harder than any strike. I charged her—not to wound, but to release everything rotting under my skin.
We clashed. Steel against steel. Fingers grazing flesh. Breath coming faster. The spar turned into something else—sharp and intimate. Every dodge drew us closer. Every block lingered longer than it should’ve.
“You’re holding back,” she panted.
“I’m not trying to hurt you.”
“You think I can’t take it?”
“I know I can’t.”
Her eyes flared. “That’s not your decision.”
We locked blades. Her knee rose. I twisted her arm. She shoved my chest. I grabbed her waist. And suddenly, we weren’t fighting. We were breathing the same air. I could feel the heat of her skin, the wild beat of her heart. Her hand curled in my shirt. My forehead touched hers, barely. Our lips hovered—one breath from ruin.
She looked at me, eyes glassy. “Silas…”
I froze. I wanted her. Gods, I wanted her.
But I didn’t kiss her. I stepped back. Too fast, too sharp. Like the contact burned me. She blinked like I’d slapped her. Then schooled her face back into nothing.
“You always run when it matters,” she muttered.
I didn’t answer. I turned my back on her. Walked toward the trees, heart hammering like a war drum. I wasn’t running but escaping. There was a difference.
I stopped at the edge of the clearing. Something shifted in the air—not her, not the bond. Something colder. My head snapped toward the trees.
A figure. Half-shadow, half-scent. A rogue wolf, masked in bone and fur. Watching. Still.
I growled low, stepping forward. “Who’s there?”
The figure didn’t move. Just stood in silence, like it had all the time in the world. My wolf growled inside me, pacing. It was instinct—deep and primal.
“I said, who’s there?”
No answer. I charged toward it—blade ready, teeth gritted. But the figure was gone. No scent trail. No broken branches.
Just empty woods—until my boot struck something small and hard. I looked down. In the leaf litter lay a bead carved with a listening rune, still warm from use. When I picked it up, a faint echo leaked into the air—our voices, thin and warped: “This bond… messing with our heads.” Another whisper followed, not ours—a distant reply layered with Redpine cadence: “Confirmed.”
The bead went dead.
Heat drained from my face. Whoever had been here hadn’t just watched; they’d recorded. Our secret meeting was no longer a secret. Raena’s gaze found mine across the clearing, and I saw the same calculation hit her—the same fear dressed as fury.
If Redpine carried this to their councils—or if either of our packs did—Hollowmoor and Ashfang wouldn’t be trading rumors anymore. We’d be trading territory lines and war drums.
And this time, the first strike would be our fault.