“Stay behind me,” I growled, already shifting forward, my body slipping into a defensive stance before I could stop it.
Raena narrowed her eyes, stepping up beside me instead. “Don’t you dare say that to me.”
We didn’t have time to argue. The rogue wolves were already charging—six of them, foam at their jaws, eyes wild with something feral and starved. No markings. No pack scent. Just bloodlust. Their paws hammered the forest floor until the earth itself seemed to flinch.
I snarled and launched forward, claws bared. Raena was beside me before I even reached the first one.
We moved like we’d done this for years, as if our bodies had memorized each other’s rhythm. I slashed left; she ducked under my swing and took out the legs of the one coming for my blind spot. One tried to flank her; I leapt over and took it down with a vicious snap of my jaws. The smell of iron burst in the air, hot and metallic.
“Watch your right!” she shouted.
“I’ve got it,” I panted, spinning and catching another wolf mid-lunge.
Claws tore through fur; blood splattered the moss. We didn’t falter until one of them—larger than the rest—went for her throat.
“No!” I roared and threw myself between them.
The teeth meant for her sank deep into my side. Pain shot through me like fire. I tasted copper, and my vision went white at the edges. The world tunneled to heat and heartbeat.
“Silas!” Raena’s scream was primal.
I staggered back, my body already failing me, but I saw her eyes flash—saw something inside her snap.
She didn’t hesitate. She shifted mid-run, black fur bursting through skin, her form massive and glorious under the rising sun. And then she was on them.
Raena fought like a storm. She ripped through the remaining rogues with brutal, unrelenting precision—no wasted movement, no mercy. Her fangs gleamed red by the time the last one hit the ground. She stood there, chest heaving, fur slick with blood, eyes glowing gold. Her wolf didn’t even look at me at first; it looked toward the trees, daring anyone else to try. The forest answered with silence.
Then she shifted back, breath ragged, trembling from rage and adrenaline. I was slumped against a tree, pressing my hand to the wound, blinking through the haze. My fingers came away wet and dark.
“Stubborn idiot,” she muttered, and crossed to me fast, dropping to her knees. “Let me see it,” she said, voice too calm.
“I’m fine,” I muttered.
“You’re bleeding out.”
“Still fine.”
She gave me a look that could cut steel and pressed her hands to my side. Her magic bloomed beneath her skin, warm and fierce. Heat threaded through the torn muscle, knitting pain to purpose.
I hissed. “That stings.”
“Good. You deserve worse.”
“Not exactly bedside manner, Duskborn.”
“You’re lucky I don’t knock you out.”
We sat there in silence, her hands steady as they sealed the torn flesh. I didn’t flinch—I deserved the pain. The bond hummed low, a bass note under our breathing.
“I told you to stay behind me,” I whispered after a beat.
“And I told you never to say that again,” she shot back. “You don’t get to make choices for me. Not in battle. Not in life.”
“I wasn’t thinking.”
“Yes, you were. You were thinking I’m breakable. That’s your problem.”
“You think I did it because I think you’re weak?” My voice rose, sharp and bitter. “I did it because I couldn’t watch you fall. Because I couldn’t breathe at the thought of losing you.”
Her eyes softened, but her tone didn’t. “Then say that. Don’t hide it behind instinct and orders.”
I shut my mouth, jaw clenched tight—because she was right, and because I didn’t know how to be that open without bleeding all over her.
“You didn’t have to take that hit,” she murmured after a moment.
“Yes, I did.”
Her jaw tensed. “You scared me.”
“I know.”
We stared at each other, blood between us, the bond humming low and steady now. The fight had stripped everything bare, and there was nothing left to hide behind. Wind ruffled the treetops, carrying away the last of the rogues’ scent.
“You shouldn’t have protected me like that,” she whispered.
“You protect me every day just by being you,” I said. “Let me do the same.”
Her eyes shone—not with tears, but with something fiercer. Something reverent. Something like faith.
“You make this hard, Silas.”
“Why?”
“Because every time I try to keep my distance, you tear it down without even knowing it.”
My voice was rough. “Then stop trying.”
She leaned in slowly, hand rising to cup my jaw. Then her forehead pressed against mine, warm and steady. The ache in my side dulled to a throb; the rest of me burned clean.
“Maybe the bond wasn’t a mistake,” she whispered.
My breath hitched, and I let my eyes fall closed. I felt everything she was—raw, bold, unbreakable—and it filled every hollow space inside me.
“Then maybe,” I said, voice barely audible, “I’ll stop running.”