Chapter 34: Too Much, Too Fast

The campfire grounds were alive with movement and sound, a chaotic symphony of laughter, howls, and the crackling fire that stretched across the clearing like liquid gold. Shadows danced against ancient trees, their gnarled branches arching protectively over the pack’s sacred space. Tonight, it felt less like a place of rules and more like a sanctuary for freedom.

Nuri stood at the edge of the crowd, the soft hum of voices wrapping around her like a warm cloak—and yet, a thousand eyes flicked to her as she stepped forward. She was no longer the outsider, the half-breed who dared to try. She was one of them. A wolf.

The thought made her chest tighten with a mixture of pride and disbelief.

She’d seen this place from a distance, always glowing in the dark like a hearth she could never approach. Only the purest bloodlines were allowed here, where rites were whispered and fates decided beneath the moon. The campfire had been forbidden territory—sacred and untouchable to someone like her. A hybrid. A shadow caught between worlds.

Now, the fire cast light on her face too.

The air smelled of smoke and earth, mingled with the tang of sweat and fur. Wolves moved easily here—stretching, talking, laughing, the tension of the day melting away beneath the stars.

Nuri’s gaze swept the circle. Old friends whispered in corners, their eyes glittering in the firelight. Young wolves tumbled in mock fights, their joy loud and unrestrained. And at the center, Kalmin stood tall, a solid presence that drew her like a magnet.

He caught her eye and gave a small, almost shy nod.

She felt the weight of every gaze, the unspoken question hanging in the air: How would she hold herself now? Could she belong without faltering?

Taking a breath, Nuri stepped deeper into the circle, the heat of the fire warming her skin. The sound of voices wrapped around her, a chorus both foreign and familiar. She caught snippets—jokes about the day’s trials, challenges overcome, legends told and retold.

For the first time, she let herself relax into the rhythm of the pack’s heartbeat.

Around her, the wolves drank and celebrated, voices rising in song and howl. The pain in her shoulder throbbed faintly, a reminder of the battle behind her, but it was nothing compared to the wild surge of something new: belonging.

Kalmin came closer, his presence steadying. “You’re home,” he said quietly, then turned his head toward the group of betas near the outdoor bar—a rough-cut wooden slab set up between two tree stumps, ringed with mismatched bottles and handmade mugs. Soft lanterns hung from branches overhead, casting warm light on the gathering crowd.

He cast one more fleeting glance at Nuri and opened his mouth to speak—then stopped himself. Instead, he gave her a halfhearted nod and walked away.

Nuri let the words settle inside her like a flame kindling to life. Home.

For the first time in a long time, the hybrid felt whole.

The buzz of the party hummed around her as Nuri felt the familiar sting in her shoulder flare again. She winced, instinctively touching the jagged tear beneath her sleeve.

Before she could speak, a gentle hand rested on her arm.

“You look like you’ve been through hell and back,” the pack doctor said with a warm smile, his eyes twinkling beneath a mop of dark curls. “Let me take a look.”

Nuri glanced up at him—tall, kind-faced, with a quiet confidence that instantly put her at ease. “I don’t bite,” she joked, letting him pull up her sleeve. She knew the reason he was so hesitant was because of who she was mated to, but she wished he didn’t have to be.

He chuckled softly, exposing the deep gash. “You definitely don’t need to be biting anyone. Let me clean this up before it gets worse.” He dropped his medical bag onto a nearby log and pulled out a small tin of ointment and gauze.

As he worked, the sharp sting of antiseptic mixed with his easygoing chatter. He cracked jokes about the purebreds’ obsession with toughness, how they acted like wounds were badges of honor.

Nuri laughed—genuinely, freely—and the sound caught Kalmin’s attention across the fire.

Kalmin didn’t move. He watched from across the flames, hands loose at his sides, face unreadable. But she saw it—the flicker in his eyes, the slow inhale he didn’t realize he took when she smiled at someone else.

His jaw tightened just a fraction, the firelight throwing sharp shadows across his features. He said nothing. He didn’t have the right to say anything. Not now. Not after what he’d done.

The doctor finished bandaging the wound with practiced care and stepped back, flashing Nuri a grin. “There. Good as new.”

“Thanks,” she said, smiling up at him.

“You’re welcome. Now, how about a drink to celebrate surviving the ordeal?”

Nuri glanced toward the bar, where Kalmin stood watching, the muscles in his neck taut.

The doctor caught the glance and smirked. “It’s okay, I have my own.” He pulled a flask from his bag and gave it a little shake.

Nuri shook her head with a grin. “I think I’ll take that offer.”

She moved closer to the fire, the doctor settling beside her with a flask of something strong and dark. He offered her his arm—not in flirtation, but in solidarity—and she took it without hesitation.

They raised their drinks, the warmth spreading through her as the music and laughter swirled around them.

Kalmin’s gaze followed her every move, unblinking.

She didn’t look away. ‘Let him watch.’

Nuri tilted her head back and took another sip from the flask. The alcohol burned pleasantly down her throat, washing away the last trace of nerves. She could still feel Kalmin watching her from the shadows, but she didn't give him the satisfaction of a second glance.

Let him stew.

The doctor—Matteo, she finally caught his name—told her a story about a shift gone wrong in training, complete with bad accents and dramatic gestures. She laughed again, more easily this time, and when he gently bumped her shoulder with his in mock offense, she didn’t pull away.

“You should smile more,” he said, voice low.

Nuri blinked.

He wasn’t flirting—not really. Just stating a fact. But her chest pulled tight all the same. Some part of her wished that he were, but she also knew that he’d be dead soon if he were dumb enough.

She was acutely aware of Kalmin’s presence—how still he’d become. A statue carved from stone and fire. The only movement he made was downing his drink, which he did a few too many times. She could practically taste the heat of his glare from across the flames.

The wolves around the fire were getting louder now, emboldened by drink and the safety of darkness. A pair started wrestling on the ground, shifting halfway through to yipping pups, much to the delight of their watching friends. Music hummed in the air—something tribal and rhythmic, carried by voices and drums that echoed through the trees.

Kalmin finally moved.

He crossed the fire slowly, a drink in hand, every step deliberate. His eyes didn’t leave her. And when he reached her side, he didn’t speak. Just stood there, his presence crackling like lightning in the space between them.

Matteo cleared his throat, a little awkward now.

Kalmin raised his glass slightly in Matteo’s direction. “Appreciate you taking care of her.”

The doctor gave a polite nod. “Just doing my job.”

Kalmin’s jaw flexed. “Mm.”

Nuri took the flask from Matteo’s hand again, not because she needed another drink—but because she wanted Kalmin to see her take it.

Wanted him to see her choose it.

Kalmin’s gaze flicked to her lips as she drank. His own glass stayed full.

It wasn’t fair, the way he looked at her. Like she was still his to claim. Like everything between them hadn’t fractured by his own actions. By those betas he’d just walked away from.

But maybe it wasn’t fair the way she liked it, either.

“You going to stare all night?” she said, the alcohol sharpening her tongue.

Kalmin didn’t blink. “I didn’t think I needed to speak when you’re saying plenty without words.”

Her heart jumped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ve never seen you smile like that for me.”

Matteo glanced between them. “Right. I think I’ll... check on someone’s dislocated ankle or something.” He slipped away with a quiet nod.

The space he left behind buzzed with tension.

“I smiled for you,” she whispered, her voice raw. “Until you destroyed me.”

Kalmin stepped closer, close enough that she could smell the cedar and smoke on his skin. “Not like that.”

Nuri tried to stand to walk away, but found she was unsteady on her feet. The drink hit harder than she expected. Or maybe it wasn’t the alcohol.

“Why are you even here?” she muttered. “Shouldn’t you be off brooding somewhere?”

“I tried that,” he said. “Didn’t work. You were too loud.”

She barked a laugh. “Loud? I barely said three words.”

“You didn’t have to,” Kalmin said, voice low, heated. “You light up the whole damn place.”

A long silence stretched between them.

Then he held out his drink.

Nuri hesitated. Then took it and tipped it back.

He grinned. “Careful. That stuff’s strong.”

She coughed. “No shit.”

Kalmin reached out, steadying her with a hand on her waist. His fingers burned through the fabric.

She should’ve pulled away. She didn’t.

They stood like that, suspended between impulse and restraint, while the fire roared and the party raged on behind them. His hand stayed on her waist, not demanding, just there. Steady. Warm.

Nuri hated how much she wanted to lean into it. “Let go,” she said, barely above a whisper.

But he didn’t. Not yet. “I was wrong,” Kalmin said.

She looked up at him sharply.

“I thought I was protecting you. From him. From me. I didn’t realize I was cutting you in half.”

“Don’t do this,” she snapped, breath catching. “Not when I finally feel like I can breathe again.”

Kalmin swallowed hard. “Then why are you still looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m the one thing you still want and hate in the same breath.”

Nuri’s throat tightened. “Because I do. I hate you with every fiber of my being. The same being who, unfortunately, doesn’t want anything more than it wants you.”

“Nuri-” Kalmin started to respond, but Nuri stopped him as she put a hand on his chest and pushed him away, holding his empty cup out to him.

“Shut up, Kalmin.” She waited for him to take the cup before turning on her heel and striding away—if you could call her uneven steps striding. The yard spun just slightly, but she didn’t slow down.

She knew it was a bad idea to keep drinking. The more she drank, the more Tempest slid away into the depths of her mind, like fog dissolving under the sun. It wasn’t smart to dull the only part of her that still had any sense of self-preservation. But she didn’t care about being smart anymore.

Kalmin didn’t follow.

But she could feel his eyes. Watching her cross the yard. Tracking the sway of her hips, the way her steps faltered, the line of her shoulders as she forced herself upright like she still had something to prove.

The bar was nothing more than a folding table draped in a wrinkled cloth and littered with sticky bottles, solo cups, and forgotten limes. She didn’t bother reading labels. Just grabbed the nearest thing and poured. Something sharp. Something sweet. Something strong.

It burned going down. Good. Maybe it’d burn him out of her too.

‘Nuri, stop.’ The whisper skimmed the edges of her mind, faint and fragile, barely more than a ripple.

She ignored it. Poured again. Took a swig straight from the bottle.

Someone brushed up against her, laughing, pressing in too close with alcohol-heavy breath and a slurred compliment. She smiled, teeth bared like a wolf. It didn’t reach her eyes. Another bottle appeared in her hand—someone’s flask, someone’s pity, someone’s game. She didn’t care who. She drank it.

When she finally turned again, Kalmin was across the yard near the fire, a half-empty bottle of whiskey tipped to his lips. His throat moved as he swallowed—deep, desperate gulps—and something in her chest twisted.

He looked like a man trying to outrun ghosts.

She knew that feeling too well.

The heat of the bonfire was matched only by the heat behind her eyes. Smoke and music swirled around her, laughter cracking like sparks in the night. Everything felt distant, weightless, unreal. Like she was drifting somewhere outside her own body.

‘Nuri…’ Tempest’s voice was barely a breath now, slipping into silence.

She hated that. Hated that it felt like freedom.

Another drink. Another fuzzy edge. Her hands were tingling. Her lips were numb. And then she saw him again.

Kalmin had moved. He stood at a smaller bonfire across the street now, talking to one of the purebred girls she’d tested with. Nuri watched as the girl laughed at something he said—too loud, too familiar. Kalmin smiled down at her.

That smile. It should’ve meant nothing. Instead, something hot and dark surged up inside her—jealousy, sharp and irrational. She wanted to throw something. Maybe herself into the fire. Maybe the girl.

And just like that, she understood.

Just a flicker, but it was enough. A moment of clarity, unasked for, unwelcome. She understood why Kalmin had done what he did. Not because it was right—but because it was human.

The realization punched her in the gut.

Nuri staggered back a step, heart pounding, nausea curling low in her stomach. She wanted to scream. At him. At herself. At whatever part of her—no matter how small—could even begin to rationalize his betrayal.

She didn’t know what to do with that realization. Couldn’t even begin to process it. So, she did the only thing she could think of in the moment. She drank.

One shot. Then another. Then something that tasted like cough syrup and battery acid. She didn’t flinch. Just tossed it back and let it burn through the knot in her chest.

Three drinks in, and her hands felt like they didn’t belong to her anymore. Her skin buzzed. Her mouth was dry. She blinked around at the haze of bodies, smoke, and pulsing lights.

Then she looked for him again.

She hated that—how often she felt the pull to find Kalmin. Like she couldn’t stay in one place, couldn’t keep herself afloat, unless she could see him. As if knowing where he was the only thing keeping her tethered to the party. Or maybe just to herself.

This time, she found him perched on a porch two houses down from the last place she’d seen him. A new whiskey bottle in hand. Same storm behind his eyes.

He was surrounded by a mess of empty bottles and a few strays who didn’t seem to care they weren’t in their own home. Nuri didn’t recognize the house, didn’t recognize the couch he lounged on like it belonged to him. But somehow, he looked like it did.

Like he belonged everywhere.

The thought made something ugly twist in her gut.

She poured herself one more drink—because why not?—and started toward him. The yard tilted sideways under her feet, and the cold night air slapped her flushed skin, but she kept moving.

She didn’t know why. Not really. Just that she was sick of standing in the same spot while he got to disappear and reappear wherever he pleased, like none of this touched him. Like he hadn’t torn her open and left her to bleed.

Kalmin looked up when he heard the soft scuff of her boots on the pavement. His brows dipped. His jaw tightened.

Then he swore under his breath.

Nuri could see the guilt in his eyes even from here. The regret. She could also see the way he scanned her body like he was checking for damage. The way he flinched at the stagger in her step.

He shouldn’t have let her drink so much. He knew that. But she’d just done something unthinkable—something brave, something impossible—and damn it, she deserved to forget. To celebrate. To fall apart for a night.

Still, it didn’t feel right watching her unravel like this.

He wasn’t anywhere near sober himself, but some part of him—the part that always kicked in where she was concerned—knew he had to keep her from doing something she’d regret.

Like drinking herself unconscious.

Or crawling into someone else’s lap just to spite him.

Kalmin set his bottle down as Nuri stumbled up the porch steps, her eyes locked on him like he was a lifeline she both hated and needed. She wobbled at the top, and he reached out on instinct, catching her elbow to steady her.

“You’re drunk,” he murmured.

She jerked her arm away, but not with conviction. “So are you.”

He didn’t argue. He just shifted to the side, making room for her on the couch. She dropped down beside him like her legs gave out, the half-full plastic cup in her hand sloshing amber liquid across her fingers. She didn’t wipe it off.

They sat in silence for a moment, the party stretching around them like a blur—distant music, distant firelight, distant people. Everything out there felt fake. Too loud. Too bright. In here, on this sagging couch with him, was the only place she could feel anything that wasn’t numb.

Nuri took another drink. “I hate that you always look like you belong everywhere,” she said, her voice low and bitter.

Kalmin tilted his head toward her, watching her with bloodshot eyes. “I don’t.”

“Well, you act like you do,” she snapped. “Even here. You just slide into someone else’s house and make it yours. You can’t even let me have this.”

“This?” he echoed.

“This party. This moment. This night, where I’m supposed to feel like I did something right for once.” Her voice cracked. “You always take up too much space in my head, Kalmin. I can’t breathe when you’re near me, and I can’t think when you’re gone.”

Her breath hitched as she blinked hard, trying to swallow the sting behind her eyes. She leaned forward, pressing her elbows to her knees and hanging her head. “I hate you. I mean it. I really fucking hate you.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

She turned to him. Her eyes were glassy, her mouth trembling with something too fragile to name. “Then why do I still want you?”

Kalmin didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because his own answer was just as damning.

She shifted closer, knees brushing his thigh. Her cup hit the ground with a dull thud as she reached for him, fingers grazing the side of his face.

He froze.

“Nuri—”

“Shut up,” she whispered.

Nuri kissed him like she wanted to burn them both down.

There was no finesse to it, no sweetness—just heat and teeth and desperation. She clung to his jacket like he’d vanish if she let go, fingers twisting the fabric as she pressed herself into him. Kalmin’s hand gripped her waist, hard enough to bruise, pulling her flush against him before he could think better of it.

Her mouth tasted like whiskey and recklessness. Her body fit against his like it belonged there. And for one unbearable second, Kalmin let himself drown in it—let himself pretend this wasn’t a mistake, that this wasn’t her trying to drink him out of her system only to chase him down anyway.

He kissed her back. Gods, he kissed her back.

Her hands slid beneath his jacket, up the planes of his chest, and he made a sound—raw and involuntary—deep in his throat. She climbed into his lap without asking, her knees bracketing his thighs, and it felt like a match struck inside his chest.

He cupped the back of her neck and deepened the kiss, jaw tight with restraint he could feel cracking at the seams. She rolled her hips against him, and he groaned, his head falling back against the couch as he tried to breathe through it.

“Nuri,” he rasped. “You need to stop.”

She didn’t. She leaned in and kissed down the side of his throat, lips hot against his skin. Her hands trembled as they dragged along his sides, pulling at his shirt like she wanted it gone.

“You don’t get to tell me what I need,” she whispered against his jaw. “You lost that right.”

He let her for another breath, two, heart pounding so hard it made him lightheaded. Her mouth returned to his, slower this time. More deliberate. She kissed him like she meant it.

And that was what undid him. Because he knew—if he didn’t stop this now, he wouldn’t stop it at all.

Kalmin gripped her hips and lifted her off him, setting her down beside him with far more care than he felt.

She blinked, dazed, lips kiss-bruised and parted. “What—”

“No,” he said, voice hoarse, rough. “I want to. Fuck, Nuri, I want you. But not like this. Not because you’re drunk and pissed off and trying to hurt me.”

Her mouth tightened. “So, what, I’m not good enough when I’m like this?”

He turned to her, eyes dark. “You’re always too good. Even now. That’s the fucking problem.”

She scoffed and tried to get up, but her balance swayed, and he caught her again.

“Let me go,” she hissed.

“Not until you stop trying to fall apart in someone else’s lap.”

Her eyes met his, and for one fragile moment, they were just two people drowning in everything they couldn’t say.

Then she tore her arm from his grasp and stood on her own, unsteady but upright.

“You don’t get to save me tonight,” she said. “You already broke me. That’s enough.”

She walked off into the dark, the night swallowing her whole.

Kalmin sat back, dragged his hands over his face, and cursed the way her touch still lingered on his skin like a brand.