“You still flinch when I get too close,” Raena murmured, crawling into the bed beside me. Her bare shoulder brushed mine, warm from the bath and slick with oil. Her voice wasn’t mocking—just observant, razor-sharp as always.
I smirked, not opening my eyes. “Only because you bite harder than I do.”
She chuckled, low and quiet, settling onto her side. The blankets shifted with a soft sigh. Her weight pressed into the mattress beside me—grounding, dangerous, wonderfully real.
I stared at the ceiling, counting the slow rise and fall of our breathing until the room felt like a heartbeat. The silence between us was different now—not tense, simply honest. I let it stretch a moment longer before I spoke.
“I used to flinch from everything,” I said. “Affection. Trust. Even safety. Like it was all a trap, something waiting to snap its teeth the second I relaxed.”
Raena didn’t interrupt. She never did when I bled in words.
“I kept thinking I had to kill the fire inside me to survive. That love was a leash, not a home. That being seen meant being weak. Being loved meant being unmade.”
Her breath slowed beside me, steady as the tide. “That’s how they raise us,” she said quietly.
“To fear vulnerability like it’s rot. But it’s not. It’s proof you’re still alive.”
I turned my head slightly, catching the glow in her eyes. “You knew that before I did.”
She didn’t deny it. “I had to.”
I hesitated, feeling the ache loosen under my ribs. “I thought I’d lose myself if I gave in. That you’d burn through me and I’d just be ash.”
Her voice sharpened, bright as flint. “Do I look like I want a pile of ash?”
“No,” I said. “You want a wolf.”
Raena shifted, resting her head in her palm, eyes gleaming in the firelight. “One who can stand the heat. Not get reduced by it.”
I swallowed, throat tight and grateful. “I thought love meant losing control. But with you… it means I finally understand it. Control without submission.”
Her brow lifted slightly, testing and tender. “You still afraid of me?”
“I think I always will be,” I admitted. “Not because you’re cruel. But because you see me. You demand more. You don’t let me lie. And I… I want to rise to that. Every damn time.”
Her silence pressed against my ribs like a welcome weight—an anchor rather than a shackle.
“You never softened,” I added. “Not even when it would’ve made things easier.”
“I don’t do easy,” she said. “And I didn’t want you to think this was a dream you’d wake up from. I’m not here to lull you. I’m here to stand with you. Teeth and all.”
I reached for her hand beneath the blanket. She met me halfway, her fingers curling with mine—rough, scarred, honest. The bond hummed low, a steady warmth that had begun to carry a second, softer note I could almost feel against my palm.
“I don’t want softness,” I said. “I want something real. I want the edge. The challenge. I want your fire.”
Her voice dropped. “Then stop flinching when I get close.”
“I’m trying,” I said. “But every time you look at me like that, I feel like I’m on trial.”
“You are,” she said, smiling. “Every night. Every breath. That’s the price of being chosen. Of staying chosen.”
I huffed a laugh—shaky, unguarded, real. “Guess I’ll keep showing up to court.”
She turned her face toward me, her nose nearly brushing mine. “Good. Because I don’t plan on going easy on you.”
I stared at her—at the scar beneath her collarbone, the defiance in her posture, the raw light in her eyes. I didn’t want her to soften. I wanted to meet her exactly where she was. Her free hand slid lower, resting lightly over her abdomen through the blanket, and the bond answered with that same new echo, faint as a distant drum.
“We’re not what the packs expected,” I said. “Not what the Elders warned about.”
Raena nodded. “Let them stay scared.”
“They will,” I said. “Because we’re not finished yet.”
She didn’t pull her hand from mine. Instead, she leaned into me—slowly, deliberately—until her head found my shoulder. Her breath hitched once—almost a sigh, almost a promise—and the smallest, most impossible future unfurled between us with quiet certainty.
“I don’t know what comes next,” I said. “I don’t think we get peace. Not the clean kind.”
She curled closer, lips brushing my jaw. “We don’t need clean,” she whispered. “We need real.”
Our legs tangled beneath the blanket. The fire crackled low. The window stood open, and the wind smelled like storms and blood and something beginning. I slid my palm over hers where it rested at her belly, and the warmth there felt like a vow we had already made.
We lay there—calm, fierce, whole, loved. And then she grinned against my shoulder, voice low and wicked in my ear.
“Good. Now let’s set everything else on fire.”