Chapter 2

Warmth was the first thing I noticed.

Not numbness. Not pain. Not cold,   damp earth or matted leaves.

Warmth.

It wrapped around me like heavy wool, pressing against my skin, seeping into every one of my bones. My body felt weightless and impossibly heavy at the same time.

Then the pain returned.

Duller now. Blunted. But entirely still there. The more my mind cleared the fog, the more I realized just how bad a shape my body was in. Deep, dark bruises littered my pale, scarred, freckled skin from my shoulders to my ankles. Scratches and a couple of gashes sprinkled my feet, as I had lost my shoes at some point during my escape. My head throbbed dully in the back, probably from hitting it on the ground when I fell.

I inhaled sharply—and instead of wet earth and blood, I smelled herbs. Crushed leaves. Something bitter and medicinal layered over wood smoke.

I wasn't in the forest anymore. And looking around, it was clear this wasn't Kansas either. Sorry, Toto.

My eyes snapped open.

The ceiling above me was wooden, beams exposed and worn smooth with age. Light filtered in through gauzy curtains, pale and early-morning soft. The air was thick with unfamiliar scents—wolves. Many of them.

Territory.

I tried to sit up. A mistake. Pain lanced through my ribs, and I hissed, falling back against pillows that smelled faintly of lavender and antiseptic.

"Don't," a voice said gently.

Not his.

I turned my head, ignoring the twinge of pain it caused.

A girl—no, a young woman—sat beside the bed. Long, dark hair braided loosely over one shoulder. Storm-grey eyes studied me with open curiosity instead of fear. She didn't look Alpha, but she didn't look weak either.

"You're safe," she added.

Safe.

The word felt so foreign, I almost scoffed.

"Where am I?" My voice came out rough, scraped raw.

"Healer's cottage," she said. "On D'Am—" She paused, correcting herself smoothly. "On our territory."

Our?

I tensed immediately.

She noticed.

Everyone here noticed everything.

"You were found," she continued carefully. "Badly injured."

Found.

By him.

My throat tightened.

"I didn't ask to be brought here," I muttered.

"No," she agreed calmly. "You didn't, but you would've died if he hadn't."

Something about the way she said it made me study her more closely.

"You're related to him," I said.

It wasn't a question.

A flicker of amusement crossed her face. "Everyone says we have the same eyes."

Gray.

Storm-colored.

Dangerous.

"I'm Fiorella," she said. "But most people call me Fio."

Her scent was lighter than the others in the room. Still wolf—but steadier. Warmer. Less sharp. It smelled of vanilla and cotton, not earthy like the wolves I was used to.

"You shouldn't try to shift yet," she added. "The healers tried to get your wolf to come out earlier, thinking it might help you heal faster, but it nearly reopened the wound."

My pulse stuttered, but I didn't speak yet, watching her with bated breath.

"You were unconscious," she explained gently. "But you reacted when Aaron came in."

Heat crawled up my spine before I could stop it. Aaron? So that was my savior's name.

"He was here?" I asked, hating how quickly the question left me.

Fio's eyes sharpened slightly.

"Yes."

Just that.

No elaboration.

Before I could press further, the door creaked open. Another scent entered the room. Stronger. Colder. Controlled. My muscles tensed automatically.

She stepped inside as if she belonged to power—tall, composed, auburn hair swept back in a way that looked effortless but wasn't. Her posture was perfect. Her expression was unreadable.

Assessing.

"Isabella." Fiorella greeted the female coolly. 

I didn't know why, but her name sent a nauseating shiver down my spine.

Her gaze dragged over me once, precise and surgical.

"So," she said softly, "this is him."

Not cruel.

Not kind.

Measuring.

Fiorella shifted slightly in her chair—not defensive, but aware.

"You should be resting," Isabella continued, eyes returning to mine. "Recovery requires cooperation."

"I didn't agree to stay," I replied.

A faint smile curved her lips. It never touched her eyes.

"No," she said smoothly. "But you will."

The air shifted. Not dominance like Aaron's, but something subtler.

Political.

Calculated.

She stepped closer to the bed, close enough that I could feel the control radiating off her—not brute force, but influence.

"You've caused quite a stir," she said lightly. "Our Alpha rarely carries anyone through the forest."

The statement sounded casual.

It wasn't.

"That wasn't my choice," I snapped.

"Of course not."

Her gaze lingered a beat too long.

"Be careful," she added quietly. "This pack does not tolerate weakness for long."

Warning. Or maybe promise.

Then she turned and left as gracefully as she entered.

I blinked once. Twice. A chuckle sounded to my right, and I turned my gaze back to Fio.

"She's a sweetheart." Sarcasm dripped through her voice.

A smile crept onto my face before I even realized it. As Fio sobered, a new presence appeared behind the door, and the faint scent of pine, bourbon, and smoke hit my nose right before the door opened without a single knock.

It didn't slam. It didn't need to. It opened slowly, deliberately—and the air shifted.

Not warmer, but heavier.

My pulse stumbled before I could stop it. Fiorella straightened automatically. And Isabella—who had only just reached the doorway—paused. He stepped inside, a pair of worn sneakers in his left hand. My sneakers that I had lost in the forest...

He didn't fill the room with noise. He filled it with presence. Broad shoulders. Dark shirt pulled tight across muscle. Controlled expression carved into something unreadable. But his eyes—they went straight to me. Not to his sister. Not to Isabella.

To me.

A slow, assessing sweep. Checking for injury. For weakness. For movement.

Something tightened in his jaw.

"He woke," Fiorella said gently, eying her older brother.

"I can see that," Aaron replied curtly. "Thanks for informing me."

His voice was calm. Even-toned, but with a hint of sarcasm towards the end. Fiorella almost looked guilty. For some reason, I couldn't help but feel there was something underneath it all. A low vibration. Contained energy. My body reacted before I could stop it—shoulders tensing, breath shortening, heat crawling slowly up along my spine like anticipation I refused to name.

I pushed myself up slightly against the pillows.

"I didn't ask to be brought here," I said again, to Aaron this time.

His gaze sharpened.

"You weren't in a position to ask."

Not cruel.

Not apologetic.

A fact.

"You crossed into my territory bleeding," he continued evenly. "Hunters were still tracking your scent."

My throat tightened as he stepped closer. Not rushed, measured. Each step deliberate, as if giving me the chance to protest.

I didn't.

He stopped beside the bed. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him again. Close enough that my wolf—silent for so long—stirred faintly.

"You're alive," he said quietly.

The words shouldn't have felt intimate.

They did.

"I would've survived," I muttered.

His eyes darkened. "Not another hour."

Silence.

Isabella watched from the doorway. Not speaking. Observing. Aaron's hand lifted slightly, hovering near my shoulder the way it did in the forest. He didn't touch. But the restraint was visible. His fingers curled once.

Then still.

"You'll stay until you're healed," he said, definitively.

Not a suggestion. A decree.

I stiffened. "I don't belong here."

Something flashed in his eyes. Possession. Gone in an instant.

"You're already here," he replied. "That's enough."

The room felt too small. Too charged.

Fiorella rose slowly. "He needs rest."

Aaron didn't look at her. His gaze never left mine.

"Yes," he agreed.

But he didn't move. And for one suspended second, the world narrowed to the space between us. His scent thickened. Mine reacted. My pulse stammered, and deep inside my chest, quiet but undeniable—

Arrow.

His eyes flickered. Like he heard it too. Then, finally, he stepped back.

The pressure in the room lessened slightly.

"Get stronger," he said.

It sounded like a command. It sounded like a promise. It sounded like something else entirely. Then he turned and walked out. Isabella followed him, but not before glancing back at me. Calculating. The door closed. Silence settled. My heart was still racing. I shakily released a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

And I didn't know which part unsettled me more—

The hunters who nearly killed me.

Or the Alpha who decided I wouldn't die.