2. Shadowfang & Silver Eyes

The Shadowfang camp wasn’t pretty.

It clung to the mountains like a scar, all sharp edges and black stone. The trees out here didn’t grow straight—they twisted toward the sky like they hated it. Wind cut through the peaks, high and constant, like something was always screaming.

Ronan stood at the edge of the overlook, arms folded, staring toward the horizon like he could burn a hole straight through it.

“She in your head again?” Darrow asked, stepping up behind him.

Ronan didn’t answer right away. Didn’t have to. His Beta had known him too long.

“I keep tellin’ you,” Darrow went on, voice low. “You don’t dream about the same damn wolf night after night unless fate’s got somethin’ nasty planned.”

Ronan exhaled hard through his nose. “Dreams are weakness.”

“Yeah?” Darrow snorted. “And yours are unusually specific for a guy who don’t believe in ‘em.”

She wasn’t just a wolf.

She was... fire and snow, lightning and silence. Her eyes, silver. Her scent, like frost right before the storm breaks. Every time she came to him, it was like drowning in heat and freezing at the same time. And always—always—she slipped away before he could speak.

It had started about a month ago. The dreams. The ache. At first, he figured it was stress—pressure from leading a pack constantly two inches from bloodshed. But lately?

He woke up with her scent still in his throat.

Wild. Clean. Sharp.

Mate.

He hadn’t said it out loud. He wouldn’t.

That word was dangerous. It cracked you open, made you soft. His father had mated once—and died bleeding in the snow, gutted by a Frostclaw wolf during a summit meant for peace.

Ronan was seventeen when that happened. That was the day he became Alpha.

And the day he stopped trusting anything with a name like destiny.

“Summit’s in two nights,” Darrow said, pulling out a scroll and handing it over. “Frostclaw’s comin’. They’re sending their Gammas. Maybe even their Alpha, if the bastard’s brave enough.”

Ronan unrolled the parchment, eyes flicking over names, schedules, border coordinates. Standard crap.

Still, his pulse ticked faster.

“She’s gonna be there,” he said under his breath.

Darrow raised a brow. “Who?”

He didn’t reply. Just turned and walked toward the inner sanctum, where their pack seal flickered in silver-blue fire across the stone wall.

He didn’t care what fate wanted.

He was going to find her.

That night, Ronan couldn’t sleep. Of course he couldn’t.

He stood alone at the edge of Shadowfang land, where the trees thinned and the mountains dipped into the old pass. A ward shimmered across the air, ancient and barely holding.

Then he felt it.

Not saw—felt. A tug in his chest. The air grew heavier, electric. Pine and frost rushed into his lungs.

And she was there.

Just across the barrier. Hooded. Slim. Still.

Even with trees between them, he knew her.

Not a dream. Not a story.

Her.

His wolf pushed up inside him, desperate, aching.

Mate.

The word tore through him like a blade made of heat.

Her eyes lifted. Silver. Familiar.

For one second, they just stared.

And then—she was gone.

Just like that.

Ronan didn’t move. Couldn’t. The forest felt too quiet now, like it was holding its breath.

In Frostclaw, Kaela woke choking on air.

Her skin was clammy. Her hands shook. Her wolf was pacing in circles inside her chest.

That wasn’t a dream.

That was real.

She’d seen him. Not a blur or a whisper. Him.

Golden eyes. Cut jaw. The kind of presence that didn’t just fill a room—it claimed it.

Not soft. Not kind.

Power, barely contained.

And he didn’t attack. Didn’t speak. He just looked.

As if he’d been waiting for her too.

Her wolf whimpered and pressed against her ribs.

He’s the one.

Kaela curled in on herself, hands over her face. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

Mate bonds were fairy tales. Simple. Gentle. This was... a storm.

Gravity.

She was already falling.

Next morning, she avoided everyone.

Skipped training. Didn’t open the door when her father knocked. Even the Beta’s daughter couldn’t get anything out of her—and that girl could sniff gossip like a bloodhound.

Kaela found herself hunched over a sketchpad.

She didn’t mean to draw him. But there he was.

First the eyes. Gold. Intense. A little feral.

Then a brow with a scar. A hard jaw. Big hands—scarred and rough.

She got to his lips and her pencil snapped.

Too soft. Too dangerous.

She shoved the page away like it burned.

She didn’t want this.

Didn’t need a mate, especially not him. Not now, when she had to hide what she was, when the summit was days away, when her future was finally almost in reach.

But none of that mattered.

The bond didn’t care.

It just was.

Ronan splashed water over his face back at his quarters, his breath sharp and uneven.

Not a dream.

She was real. The white wolf.

Flesh. Blood. Moonlight.

A myth to most. But now, a tether wrapped tight around his soul.

He didn’t want it.

Didn’t want her.

He wanted control.

And now? He had none.

Darrow showed up in the doorway. “Alpha?”

“What.”

“You look like hell.”

“I feel worse.”

“You can still back outta the summit.”

Ronan turned slow, gaze cold. “If I run, they win. So does fate.”

He grabbed his sword, strapped it to his side, and walked straight into the freezing night.

He had a summit to attend.

And a mate to claim.