The sanctuary was quiet when I returned from training, the morning mist still clinging to the trees like a shroud. The younglings had dispersed, their energy spent, their bodies bruised but stronger. I’d pushed them hard—harder than usual—because I needed to. Needed to burn off the restless fire in my blood, the ache between my legs that never seemed to fade, the whisper of Kaelen’s voice in my dreams.
But now, as I stepped into my tent, the quiet pressed in.
Too quiet.
No birds. No wind. No distant hum of magic. Just silence—thick, heavy, wrong.
And then—
I felt it.
The bond.
Not a pulse. Not a hum.
A scream.
It tore through me like a blade, raw and unfiltered, a psychic wail that wasn’t mine. It was his. Kaelen. He was in pain. He was afraid. He was calling for me.
My breath caught.
“No,” I whispered, pressing a hand to my chest. “Not now. Not like this.”
But the bond didn’t care.
It flared—hot, electric, alive—and I knew. He was coming. He was hurt. And he was mine.
---
I didn’t hesitate.
Just grabbed my dagger, slung my pack over my shoulder, and ran.
Through the glade, past the fire pits, past the tents where hybrids slept, unaware. I didn’t wake them. Didn’t need them. This was between us. Always had been.
The Black Woods swallowed me whole—branches clawing at my clothes, roots twisting beneath my feet, the mist thickening, turning the world gray. My heart pounded, my breath came fast, but I didn’t slow. Didn’t stop. Just pushed forward, following the bond, following the pull, following the truth I could no longer deny.
He was in the forest.
And he was breaking.
---
I found him at the edge of a ravine, half-shifted, half-man, half-wolf, his body trembling, his claws dug into the earth. His golden eyes were wild, unfocused, his fangs bared, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The scent of fever and blood was thick in the air, his skin slick with sweat, his muscles twitching with the effort to hold back the shift.
Bond sickness.
It had taken him.
And it was winning.
“Kaelen,” I said, stepping forward, my voice low, steady.
He didn’t answer.
Just growled—a low, feral sound, more animal than man—and turned his head, his gaze locking onto mine. For a second, I saw him. The man beneath the beast. The Alpha who’d kissed me like I was sacred. The man who’d said he’d wait a hundred years for me.
And then—
He lunged.
Not at me.
But past me.
His body slammed into the ground, claws tearing at the dirt, his spine arching, his howl echoing through the trees—long, mournful, broken. The fever was stripping him of control. Stripping him of reason. And if I didn’t act fast, it would strip him of everything.
“Kaelen,” I said again, stepping closer. “Look at me.”
He didn’t.
Just thrashed, his claws raking the earth, his breath coming in heavy pants. His shirt was torn, his chest heaving, the mate-mark on his neck pulsing faintly—dark, swollen, infected. The bond was rotting from the inside out. And if it wasn’t stabilized, it would kill him.
And then—
He turned.
Slowly.
His golden eyes met mine—wild, desperate, pleading.
And in that moment, I knew.
He wasn’t attacking.
He was begging.
“I’m here,” I said, stepping forward. “I’ve got you.”
And I did.
Not gently. Not carefully. But with everything I had. I dropped to my knees beside him, my hands flying to his chest, my magic flaring at my fingertips. The moment I touched him, the bond screamed—a live wire sparking beneath my skin, feeding on proximity, on touch, on the unspoken truth we both refused to name.
But I didn’t pull away.
Just pressed my palms to his skin, let the fire rise, let the magic flow.
“You’re not dying on me,” I whispered, my voice rough. “Not after everything.”
And then—
I pushed.
Fire roared from my hands, arcing through his body, searing through the fever, the sickness, the rot. He screamed—raw, guttural, real—his back arching, his claws digging into the earth. I didn’t stop. Just kept going, my magic surging, my breath coming fast, my vision flickering between human and wolf.
And then—
The mark flared.
White-hot, blinding, divine.
It pulsed once—twice—three times—before settling into a steady glow, the infection receding, the fever breaking. His body went still. His breath slowed. His eyes—still golden, still wild—found mine.
And he whispered—
“Ruby.”
---
I didn’t answer.
Just kept my hands on his chest, my magic still flowing, my breath still ragged. The bond hummed beneath my skin—steady, quiet, but there. Stronger now. Cleaner. Healed.
And then—
He shifted.
Slowly.
His claws retracted. His fangs shortened. His fur receded. And then—
He was human again.
Naked. Sweating. Shaking. But alive.
“You came,” he said, voice rough, broken.
“Of course I did,” I snapped, pulling my hands back. “You were dying.”
“I was feral.” His chest rose and fell, his gaze locked onto mine. “I could’ve killed you.”
“You wouldn’t have.” I stood, wiping my hands on my trousers. “You were begging for help. Not attacking.”
He didn’t argue.
Just closed his eyes, his jaw tight, his breath uneven. And then—
He reached for me.
Not to pull me down.
Not to take.
But to hold.
His fingers brushed my wrist—warm, trembling, real—and I didn’t pull away.
“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he whispered. “Weak. Broken. Less.”
“You’re not less,” I said, voice softer than I meant it to be. “You’re not your father. You’re not a monster. You’re just… hurting.”
And then—
He did something I didn’t expect.
He laughed.
Low. Bitter. Real.
“You think that makes it better?” he asked, opening his eyes. “That I’m not a monster, just a man in pain? That somehow makes it easier for you to forgive me?”
“I’m not forgiving you,” I said, stepping back. “I’m saving your life. That’s it.”
“Liar.” He sat up slowly, wincing, his muscles still weak. “You came because you care. Because the bond dreams with you. Because you’ve seen me inside you, felt me claim you, heard me growl your name like a prayer.”
My face burned.
“They’re not real,” I said, voice weak.
“They’re not lies,” he countered. “And they’re not just desire. They’re need. And right now, your body is screaming for it.”
“Then why won’t you give it to me?” I snapped, hating how broken I sounded. “If you want me so much, why won’t you take me?”
He went still.
Then, slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing my cheek. “Because you don’t want it from me. Not like this.”
“I don’t know what I want.”
“Yes, you do.” His thumb traced my lower lip. “You want it on your terms. You want to choose me. Not be taken by the bond. Not be claimed because you’re weak.”
My eyes burned.
“And if I never choose you?”
“Then I’ll wait.” He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. “A hundred years. A thousand. I’ll wait until you’re ready.”
And then—
He kissed me.
Not desperate.
Not angry.
Soft. Slow. Sure.
His lips brushed mine, gentle, reverent, like he was afraid I’d break. I didn’t pull away. Didn’t fight. Just let him—let him claim me, let him hold me, let him choose me.
And when he pulled back, his forehead still resting against mine, his breath still warm against my lips, I whispered the truth I could no longer deny:
“You’re not him.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t gloat. Just held my gaze, his golden eyes softening. “No. I’m not.”
“But you’re still his son.”
“And I’ll carry that guilt for the rest of my life.” He pressed a kiss to my temple. “But I won’t repeat his sins. I won’t uphold his lies. I’ll tear this world down if I have to—just to prove I’m not him.”
My chest tightened.
And then—
I kissed him.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of heat.
But because I wanted to.
Because I needed to.
Because for the first time in my life—
I wasn’t fighting alone.
And the bond—
It burned.
---
He didn’t speak as I helped him to his feet.
Didn’t try to command. Didn’t try to control. Just leaned into me, his weight heavy, his body still weak. I didn’t mind. Just wrapped my arm around his waist, held him up, guided him through the forest.
And then—
He stopped.
“I can’t go back to the keep,” he said, voice low. “Not like this. Not without clothes. Not without dignity.”
“Then we’ll find shelter,” I said, scanning the trees. “There’s a cave up ahead. Used it during training.”
He didn’t argue.
Just let me lead him.
---
The cave was small—stone floor, dry moss, a trickle of water from the ceiling. I lit a fire with a flick of my fingers, the flames dancing across the walls, casting shadows that moved like ghosts. Then I stripped off my tunic, handed it to him.
“Here. Cover yourself.”
He took it, his fingers brushing mine, his gaze holding mine. “You’re not afraid of me.”
“I should be.” I turned away, feeding the fire. “You’re an Alpha. You’re feral. You’re—”
“Yours,” he said, stepping closer. “And I’ve been yours since the moment the contract branded us.”
My breath caught.
“You don’t get to say that,” I whispered. “Not after you let them banish me.”
“And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” He stepped into me, his body pressing into mine, his breath hot against my neck. “But right now, you need to let me rest. Let me heal. Let me be.”
And then—
He collapsed.
Not dramatically. Not with a cry. Just… fell. His knees buckled, his body going limp, his breath slowing. The fever had taken everything. And now, he was gone.
---
I didn’t panic.
Just lowered him to the moss, checked his pulse—steady, strong—and stripped off his boots, his trousers, his socks. Then I covered him with my cloak, tucked it around his shoulders, and sat beside him.
And watched.
His chest rose and fell. His breath came slow and even. His face—usually so hard, so controlled—was soft in sleep, his jaw relaxed, his fangs retracted. He looked younger. Vulnerable. Human.
And I hated how much I wanted to touch him.
But I did.
My fingers brushed his cheek—warm, smooth, real—and he didn’t stir. Just sighed, turning into my touch, his body seeking mine even in sleep.
And then—
I dreamed.
Not of fire. Not of vengeance.
Of him.
Naked. Sweating. Inside me. His hands on my hips, his golden eyes locked onto mine, his fangs bared, his breath ragged. The room was dim, lit only by flickering torchlight, the air thick with the scent of pine, smoke, and him. My name was a growl on his lips, a prayer, a curse. And every time he moved, every time he thrust into me, the bond screamed—a live wire sparking beneath my skin, feeding on proximity, on pleasure, on the unspoken truth we both refused to name.
“Ruby,” he groaned, his voice rough, dark, real. “Look at me.”
I did.
And the moment our eyes met, something inside me shattered.
Not with pain.
With pleasure.
White-hot, electric, unbearable. My back arching, my head thrown back, a cry tearing from my throat as the orgasm ripped through me, wave after wave of it, so intense it felt like death. And still, I didn’t stop. Still, I rode him, my hips grinding, my core clenching, my magic flaring at my fingertips, fire dancing across my skin.
And then—
I woke.
Gasping. Shaking. Soaked in sweat, my hand between my thighs, fingers slick, breath ragged. My heart pounded like a war drum, my skin burned, my magic surged beneath my skin, responding to something I couldn’t name. The bond pulsed beneath my ribs—steady, insistent, hungry—but he wasn’t here. The other side of the bed was cold, the furs untouched. He’d stayed in the war room, finalizing plans, preparing for the war he knew was coming.
And I was alone.
Alone with the memory of a dream that hadn’t happened.
Alone with the truth I couldn’t escape.
I wasn’t just afraid of losing myself.
I was afraid of wanting to.
---
But when I looked down—
He was there.
Still asleep. Still vulnerable. Still mine.
And I knew—
I wasn’t just his rescue.
I was his salvation.
And he was mine.
No matter how much I tried to deny it.