The moon is rising.
I feel it before I see it — a slow, insistent pull in my bones, a tightening in my gut, a whisper of heat beneath my skin. The lunar cycle is beginning. My heat cycle. Three days of fire, of need, of instinct overriding reason. Most Alphas lock themselves away, chained, drugged, muzzled like animals. Not me. I’ve spent centuries mastering it. Suppressing it. I’ve walked through fire and not flinched. I’ve stood in the heart of a blood moon and not shifted.
But tonight —
Tonight, I can’t breathe.
It’s not just the moon. It’s her.
Birch.
Her name is a brand in my mind. Her scent — fire and rain, wild and untamed — clings to my skin like smoke. I scrubbed my hands raw after touching her. I burned the tunic I wore. I poured wolfsbane down my throat until my stomach burned. Nothing worked. She’s in me. In my blood. In my wolf.
And the bond — that cursed, impossible mate-mark — is alive.
It pulses between my shoulder blades, a low, constant throb, like a second heartbeat. I can feel her. Not her thoughts — thank the gods for that — but her presence. A thread, thin but unbreakable, stretching from my soul to hers. She’s in the east wing, two floors below, pacing. I can feel the rhythm of her steps through the bond. I can feel the spike of her anger when a guard passes her door. I can feel the flicker of fear when she touches the locket at her throat.
She’s afraid.
Good.
She should be.
I shouldn’t have dragged her into the shadows. I shouldn’t have touched her mark. I shouldn’t have let my fangs graze her throat.
But I did.
And now, every breath I take is a battle. Every heartbeat is a war. My wolf is howling, pacing behind my ribs, desperate to find her, to claim her, to bury itself inside her and never let go.
No.
I am Alpha. I am Duskbane. I do not lose control.
“Alpha.”
Soren’s voice cuts through the fog. I turn. He stands in the doorway, tall, steady, his dark eyes sharp with concern. My Beta. My brother. The only one I trust.
“You feel it,” I say. Not a question.
He nods. “The heat. It’s early. Too early.”
“She’s triggering it,” I growl, pacing. “The bond — it’s accelerating the cycle.”
He doesn’t flinch. “You could have it severed. The Council—”
“No.” The word is a snarl. Final. “The bond stays.”
He studies me. “You don’t want it gone.”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to.
He exhales. “Then you need to move. Get out of the Spire. The walls are too close. The scent of her — it’s everywhere.”
He’s right. The estate is too confined. Too many memories. Too much temptation. I need space. Air. Distance.
“Border patrol,” I say. “North woods. The Veil’s thin there. Rogues have been sighted.”
“You want to take her?” Soren asks, voice careful.
“The Council ordered it,” I remind him. “Co-leaders of the mission. To ‘stabilize the bond.’” I spit the words like poison.
He doesn’t argue. He knows as well as I do — the Council doesn’t care about bonds. They care about control. They want to watch us. To test us. To see if we’ll break.
“I’ll prepare the horses,” he says.
“No.” I grab my coat. “We ride wolf-form. Faster. Cleaner.”
He hesitates. “She’s not a shifter.”
“Then I’ll carry her.”
And before he can respond, I’m gone.
—
She’s waiting in the courtyard, wrapped in a dark cloak, her face unreadable. The moonlight catches the silver in her hair, the sharp line of her jaw. She looks like a warrior. A queen. A threat.
And she smells like mine.
I stop ten feet away. My wolf surges forward, claws scraping against my control. Her eyes narrow. She feels it too — the pull, the heat, the danger.
“You’re late,” she says.
“You’re still breathing,” I counter.
A flicker of surprise. Then a smirk. “Charming as ever.”
I don’t answer. I shift.
The change is swift, practiced. Bones crack, muscles twist, fur erupts across my skin. In seconds, I’m on all fours — a massive black wolf, larger than any natural beast, my eyes glowing gold in the dark. The world sharpens. Scents intensify. Sounds become crystal clear.
And her —
She’s overwhelming.
Her fear. Her defiance. Her arousal.
Yes. Arousal. I can smell it — a faint, sweet warmth beneath the iron of her resolve. She’s not immune. Good.
She takes a step back. “You expect me to ride… that?”
I lower my body, offering my back.
She hesitates. Then, with a quiet curse, she climbs on.
The second her hands touch my fur, the bond flares.
Heat. White-hot. Pouring through me. I growl, low and dangerous, but don’t move. Her legs press against my sides. Her breath ghosts over my neck. She’s close. Too close. I can feel the rapid beat of her heart against my spine.
“Let’s get this over with,” she mutters.
I move.
Fast. Silent. We tear through the forest, the wind screaming past us, the trees blurring into shadows. The cold air should help. It doesn’t. Her scent is everywhere. Her heat presses into me. The bond pulses, stronger with every mile.
And then —
It hits.
The full force of the heat cycle.
It’s like a firestorm erupting in my veins. My muscles tense. My vision sharpens to a knife’s edge. My wolf roars, no longer caged, no longer contained. I skid to a stop, snarling, my claws digging into the earth.
“What—?”
She doesn’t finish.
I shift.
Fast. Violent. My clothes tear as my body reclaims its human form. I’m on my feet in seconds, breathing hard, my skin slick with sweat, my cock already hard, aching, straining against the fabric of my pants.
She stares at me. Her eyes wide. Her breath caught.
“Kaelen—”
“Don’t.” My voice is raw. Gutural. Barely mine. “Don’t say my name like that.”
“Like what?” she challenges, but her voice wavers.
“Like you care.” I step forward. She steps back. “Like you don’t feel it.”
“I feel the bond,” she says. “I don’t feel you.”
Lie.
I can smell her arousal now — stronger, warmer. Her pulse hammers in her throat. Her nipples tighten beneath her cloak.
“You’re lying,” I say, stepping closer. “You’re wet for me. I can smell it.”
Her face flushes. “You’re delusional.”
“Am I?” I close the distance. In one move, I spin her, pinning her against the rough bark of an ancient oak. My body presses into hers, trapping her. My hands bracket her head, claws still half-formed, digging into the wood beside her.
She gasps.
“You think I don’t know what you are?” I growl, my breath hot on her neck. “A saboteur. A liar. A witch playing at being a diplomat.”
“And you?” she bites back. “A monster pretending to be a man.”
I laugh — a dark, broken sound. “I’ve never pretended.”
My hand slides down, slow, deliberate, until my thumb brushes the delicate skin of her collarbone. She shivers. Her breath hitches.
“You’re not safe with me,” I whisper.
“Then let me go.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because the bond won’t allow it.”
“Then break it.”
“I don’t want to.”
Her eyes search mine. “You’re afraid.”
“Of you?” I smirk. “No. I’m afraid of what I’ll do if I don’t let go.”
My thumb traces lower, skimming the edge of her cloak, the hollow of her throat. Her pulse jumps beneath my touch.
“You want me to stop,” I say.
“Yes.”
“Liar.”
My hand moves again — slower this time — until my fingers brush the first button of her cloak. I don’t undo it. I just touch. Tease.
She doesn’t pull away.
Her chest rises. Falls. Fast.
And then —
“Alpha.”
Soren’s voice.
Clear. Calm. Cutting through the haze.
I don’t move. Don’t turn.
“The patrol’s waiting,” he says.
Still, I don’t move.
My eyes stay locked on Birch’s throat. On the pulse beating beneath her skin. On the way her breath trembles when I press closer.
“Kaelen,” she whispers.
Not a command. Not a plea.
A warning.
I exhale. Slow. Controlled.
And step back.
She sags against the tree, her eyes wide, her lips parted.
I turn to Soren. He stands ten feet away, silent, unreadable. But I see it — the flicker in his gaze. The understanding.
“We move,” I say, voice rough.
He nods.
I shift again. The wolf takes over. The heat is still there — a fire in my blood — but I bury it. Control it. Cage it.
Birch climbs on without a word.
This time, when she touches me, I don’t flinch.
But I feel every second.
Every breath.
Every heartbeat.
And when we ride into the night, I know —
This isn’t just a mission.
This is a war.
And I’m already losing.