The dream was soft at first. Mira’s voice—low, urgent, pulling through shadows, not in pain, but calling. Then a second voice—rougher, controlled. A thread of gravel and storm.
Rhett. Their voices circled him, not speaking to him, but about him. Around him. Through him. He was in the middle. Always the middle. Jace opened his eyes. It was dark. The cabin creaked softly with age. Cold air pressed against the shuttered windows, and the dying embers of a long-dead fire whispered in the hearth. He was alone; No—not alone. Movement shifted across the room. He sat up slowly, his heart beating faster, not from fear, but knowing. The bond was awake. He could feel them. Mira’s emotions were jagged. Sharp. A mix of restraint and fury. Rhett’s were molten iron wrapped in stone. They weren’t yelling but they were absolutely arguing. Jace rose silently and stepped toward the doorway leading into the next room, moving like the scout he’d been trained to be. What he saw stopped him in his tracks. Mira stood near the boarded window, arms crossed over her chest, her silhouette outlined by moonlight slashing through broken boards. Rhett faced her, arms braced against the log beam behind him, shoulders tight, jaw rigid. His body wasn’t aggressive, but he was holding himself back with every inch of muscle he had. Neither had noticed Jace. He stayed in the shadowed doorway watching. Listening. “This isn’t working,” Mira said, her voice low but razor-sharp. “You’re acting like we can contain this. Like this bond will wait politely while you get comfortable.” Rhett’s reply was slower, tighter. “We don’t have the luxury of making mistakes. I have a pack to protect. A reputation. You think I can afford to look uncontrolled?” “You already are,” she snapped, stepping closer. “Every time you breathe around me, every time your eyes follow Jace like you don’t know why—” “I’m not—” Rhett began but she cut him off. “Yes, you are,” she hissed. “And the worst part? You still think this is something you can dominate into submission.” Rhett exhaled through his nose. Everything about him screamed controlled and dangerous. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he said, voice low. “To lead. To have every eye waiting for you to fall. If they see this, see us, they’ll think I’m weak.” Mira’s expression cracked. “No. They’ll see that you’re human. That you bleed, and ache, and want.” That word landed like a blow. Jace felt it, too, deep in his chest because she wasn’t just talking to Rhett. She was talking to both of them. The air in the cabin shifted. Rhett took a step forward. Mira didn’t move back. “I never wanted a mate,” he said, quieter now. “Let alone two.” Mira’s throat bobbed. “I didn’t either.” ‘But here we are,” he said. Silence pulsed between them. Mira’s voice cracked as she said, “Stop pretending you don’t feel it.” Rhett’s hands twitched at his sides. He looked at her like she was a cliff he wasn’t sure he’d survive jumping from. Then—he jumped. He crossed the final step between them and kissed her. It wasn’t soft. It was fire and defiance and surrender all at once, like the dam had cracked open and there was no holding anything back. Mira kissed him back with equal fury. Jace stood frozen in the doorway, something hot and hollow tightening in his chest. Not jealousy. Not regret. Recognition. This was how it began—what the bond wanted, what it needed. Rhett and Mira, fire to fire. Alpha to match. And somewhere in the quiet storm building around them He belonged, too. Even if they didn’t know it yet.
