MOONBOUND

The whiskey in my glass had gone warm twenty minutes ago, and I still hadn't taken a single sip.

I just liked holding something. It gave my hands a reason to stay still.

"You're doing the thing again," Reya said, sliding onto the stool beside me. She smelled like woodsmoke and the lavender oil she rubbed into her wrists before every full moon, and under the bar's dim lights her eyes flicked gold, then brown, then gold again her wolf pacing just under her skin, restless the way it always got this close to a shift. "The staring-into-nothing thing. People are starting to ask if you're broken."

"I am broken," I said. "I thought that was public record by now."

"Cute. Drink your drink."

I didn't.

Three years. Three years since Kian Ashford had gone up against the Hallow Creek rogues and not come back, since I'd stood at the edge of the pack lands and screamed his name into the tree line until my throat gave out, since Alpha Vane had put a hand on my shoulder and said the words that ended my whole life without me dying in it: He's gone, Sable. I'm sorry.

Three years of being the girl the pack looked at sideways. The widow who wasn't a widow, because we'd never even had the ceremony. Just a mate-bond, snapped clean in half, and a body that ached in a way no doctor could name.

The bar door opened. Cold air rushed in, carrying the smell of pine and diesel and something underneath it that made every hair on my arms lift at once.

I didn't turn around. I didn't have to.

My wolf came up out of nowhere, slamming into my ribs like she was trying to claw her way out through my skin, and for one full second I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but feel — because that scent, that exact scent, cedar and gunmetal and something warm underneath like sun-heated stone, belonged to exactly one wolf on this entire earth.

"Sable." Reya's voice had gone tight and strange. "Sable, look at me."

I didn't look at her. I looked at the mirror behind the bar instead, at the reflection of the door, and my whole body went cold in a way that had nothing to do with temperature.

Kian Ashford was standing in the doorway of the Redoak Tavern, alive, breathing, three years older, with a scar cutting through his left eyebrow that hadn't been there before — and he was looking straight at me like no time had passed at all.

The glass slipped out of my hand and shattered on the floor.

Nobody moved to clean it up. Nobody moved at all. The whole bar had gone silent, that particular silence that only happens in a room full of wolves who've all scented the same impossible thing at once.

"That's not—" Reya started.

"It's him." My voice didn't sound like mine. It came out flat, stripped of everything, because my mate-bond — the one that had been a scarred-over, silent thing in my chest for three years, a wound I'd learned to live around the way you learn to live around a missing limb — had just roared back to life so hard I nearly slid off the stool.

He was dead. They told me he was dead. I had grieved him with my whole body, had clawed my own bed apart the first full moon after, had let Alpha Vane's mate hold me while I screamed into her shoulder because there was nothing left inside me that could stand up on its own.

And now he was walking toward me across a bar floor like he had every right to.

"Sable." Just my name. That was all he said, and it broke something loose in my chest that I'd spent three years welding shut.

I stood up so fast the stool clattered backward.

"Don't." My hand came up between us before I'd decided to move it. "Don't you dare say my name like that."

"I can explain—"

"You're dead." The word came out of me like a wound reopening. "I buried an empty casket for you, Kian. I wore black for a year. I let them tell me you died protecting this pack and I believed it, because why would anyone lie about something like that—"

"They didn't lie." His jaw tightened, and for the first time I saw it — the exhaustion sitting behind his eyes, something hollowed-out and haunted that hadn't been there before the rogues took him. "I did. Vane knew. I made him keep it quiet."

The room tilted.

"You made him—" I couldn't finish the sentence. Three years. Three years of grief that had rearranged every cell in my body, and the Alpha of my own pack had known this whole time that it was a lie he'd agreed to keep for another wolf's reasons.

"I had to disappear, Sable. If the rogues had known you were my mate, if they'd had any idea what you meant to me—"

"So you let me think you were dead instead."

"I let you live," he said, and there was real anger in it now, old and worn smooth like a stone he'd been carrying a long time. "You have no idea what they would have done to get to me through you."

I wanted to hit him. I wanted to put my hands on his chest and feel that he was real and then hit him anyway. My wolf wanted both things at once, wanted to close the distance and wanted to run, and the pull of the bond sat underneath all of it like a current I couldn't swim against no matter how hard my human mind fought it.

"Get out," I said instead, because it was the only sentence I trusted myself to say without my voice breaking clean in half. "Get out of this bar."

"Sable—"

"Get out."

He didn't move for one long, terrible second — long enough that I saw something in his face that looked almost like relief, like he'd expected worse, like grief he could survive but not being looked at the way I was looking at him now. Then he turned, and the door swung shut behind him, and the cold air went with it.

The whole bar exhaled.

"Okay," Reya said quietly, gripping my arm before my knees could decide to give out. "Okay. I've got you. Breathe."

I was still staring at the door when it opened again ten seconds later, and every wolf in the building rose halfway off their stools out of pure instinct — because the man walking through it wasn't Kian.

He was worse, in a different way. Taller. Broader through the shoulders, dark hair damp from the rain that had started outside, and a presence that filled the room the second he crossed the threshold, thick and heavy as a held breath, the kind of weight that only comes from an Alpha.

Not just any Alpha.

The Alpha. Vane's son. The one everyone had been whispering about for a month, the one due to take his father's place at the next full moon, the one nobody in Redoak Hollow had actually laid eyes on yet because he'd spent the last five years cutting his teeth running a territory two states north.

Rhys Vane stopped just inside the door, dark eyes sweeping the wrecked, silent bar, the shattered glass on the floor, my face — and stopped there.

Something crossed his expression, quick and involuntary, gone before I could name it.

"Somebody want to explain," he said, low and even, in a voice that carried without being raised at all, "why half this pack looks like they just saw a ghost?"

Nobody answered.

He looked at me again, longer this time, and I felt it land somewhere under my sternum, sharp and unfamiliar, nothing at all like the old ache of the bond I'd spent three years mourning.

Something new. Something that had no business waking up tonight, of all nights.

"Because they did," I said, before anyone else could. "They just saw one."

Rhys Vane's gaze didn't leave mine.

"Then you'd better tell me everything," he said, "starting with why it's still standing in my pack's territory."