Eli
I run until my lungs feel like they're on fire, until my legs shake with exhaustion. Every few minutes I stop, listening, but there's nothing. No sign of him at all.
Maybe he really has given up. Or maybe this is just another mind game, another way to show me how powerless I am.
I find myself in a small clearing, moonlight streaming down through a gap in the canopy. For the first time since this nightmare began, I feel like I can breathe.
I lean against a tree, trying to catch my breath and get my bearings.
If I can figure out which direction the border is, I might be able to make it across and-
A branch creaks overhead.
I look up just in time to see a shadow drop from the trees.
Ronan lands in front of me with predatory grace. His eyes gleam like liquid gold in the moonlight, and his smile is all sharp edges.
"Did you really think you could escape me in my own territory?" he asks, voice deceptively soft.
I back into a tree, the bark rough against my spine. "How long have you been shadowing me?"
“Shadowing?” His lips curl. “I never stopped. I only let you think you were alone. I was just... letting you tire yourself out."
The casual cruelty of it hits me like a slap. This whole time, while I've been running scared, convinced I might actually get away, he's been watching. Playing with me.
"You bastard."
"Such language." He takes a step closer, and I can smell him. Cedar and smoke and something wild that makes my wolf whimper. "Is that any way to speak to your Alpha?"
"You're not my Alpha."
His smile widens, showing teeth. "Aren't I?"
I try to sidestep him, but he's faster. His hand catches my wrist, spinning me around and slamming me back against the tree. The impact drives the air from my lungs.
"Let me go," I gasp, but my voice comes out weak, breathless.
"No." He steps closer, pinning me with his body. "I don't think I will."
His free hand comes up to trace the line of my throat, fingers ghosting over the spot where he bit me before. The mate bond flares to life, sending heat racing through my veins.
"You feel it, don't you?" he murmurs, leaning in until his breath fans across my skin. "The pull. The need. Your body knows who it belongs to, even if your mind hasn't accepted it yet."
"I don't belong to anyone," I snarl, but my voice shakes.
"Liar." His thumb presses against my pulse point, and I can't hide how fast my heart is racing. "Your body tells a different story."
I try to shove him away, but he catches both my wrists, pinning them above my head against the rough bark.
"Please," I whisper, and I hate how desperate I sound.
"Please what?" His eyes search mine, and there's something almost gentle in his expression. "Please let you go? Please stop making you feel things you don't want to feel?"
I can't answer. Can't admit that part of me, a part that's growing stronger every second, doesn't want him to stop.
"Or," he continues, voice dropping to a whisper, "Please don't stop?"
The mate bond pulses between us, hot and insistent, and I arch against him without meaning to. The movement brings our bodies flush together, and his sharp intake of breath tells me he feels it too.
"You're a monster," I breathe.
"Yes." His eyes are wild now, pupils blown wide. "And you're mine."
His head dips toward my throat, and I know what's coming. I should fight. Should struggle. Should do anything but tilt my head to give him better access.
But I do.
His teeth sink into the same spot as before, and this time the pain is sharper, deeper. More permanent.
I cry out, the sound echoing through the clearing, but it's not entirely from pain. The mate bond explodes between us, sending waves of heat and need crashing through my system.
My wolf howls inside me, a sound of surrender and claiming all at once.
When Ronan pulls back, his lips are stained with my blood, and his eyes burn like molten gold.
"You belong to me," he says, voice rough with satisfaction. "Anyone who forgets that won't live to regret it."
"You're-" My voice catches. "You're criminally insane."
His thumb strokes over the fresh bite mark, making me shudder. "And you're a monster's mate."
I'm trembling under his touch, torn between wanting to tear him apart and wanting to pull him closer. The bond is stronger now, more insistent, singing in my blood like a drug.
"Despise me all you want," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the wound that makes me gasp. "You'll still come when I call."
He steps back suddenly, leaving me slumped against the tree, legs shaking, the bite mark throbbing in time with my heartbeat.
The pack emerges from the shadows. They've been watching the whole time. Their eyes reflect the moonlight like stars, and they watch us with a mixture of awe and fear.
Ronan looks down at me like he's surveying conquered territory.
"Bring him," he commands, his voice carrying absolute authority. "He belongs to me now."
And as rough hands lift me from the ground, I realize with sick certainty that he's right.
Eli“Eli,” Mara says coolly. “You were going to help Brynna with the inventory so we know exactly what’s humming wrong.”“I was?” I blink. “I hate that for me.”“I love it for you,” she returns without smiling, which is how you know it’s not optional.“Allow me,” Kieran says, all eagerness, and reaches for a case that doesn’t belong to him.Jace is there before his fingers touch the wood. He doesn’t draw a blade. He doesn’t need to. He simply places his hand on the lid and looks at Kieran with the polite emptiness of a winter field after a fire.“That one belongs to Brynna,” he says.Kieran withdraws gracefully. “Of course.” He angles a glance at Hazel’s bow. “And the archer? Does Blackthorn train their sweetest marksman on the best targets?” It could be a legitimate question. It tastes like a line.Hazel doesn’t blink. “I train on whatever moves wrong,” she says. “And on what I think doesn’t need to.” Her eyes flick so briefly to Jace I almost miss it. Kieran laughs, genuinely ple
EliBlackthorn doesn’t do pageantry. We do black leather, old scars, and the kind of hospitality that involves counting knives before and after a visit.Silvercrest rolls in like a storybook that lost its mind.Carriages with lacquered sides gleam under the weak winter sun, each wheel rim banded in polished steel. Their guards wear matched mail, blue overcoats embroidered with silver swirls. Even their horses look moisturized. Our wolves don’t even pretend not to stare and I watch with undisguised interest.The first cart lurches to a halt. Two servants hop down and snap a traveling awning out into a pavilion like they’ve rehearsed it a thousand times. Boxes follow. The wood is waxed and stamped with sigils that prickle the air. Old magic hums, nibbling at my skin. Hazel sidles up on my left, bow unstrung but close, expression sharpened to a point.“Careful,” she murmurs, barely moving her mouth. “Some of those hum wrong.”“Some of those hum expensive,” I counter, and she snorts bec
HazelI knew the moment I stepped into the yard it would turn heads.Not because I’m Eli’s shadow, or because Ronan tolerates me, or because I’ve got a bow slung across my back like a second spine. No. it’s because today, I’m not here to train pups or correct sloppy stances.I’m here to step into the ring and join the elite warriors.The frost crunches loud under my boots as I cross to the center. The yard’s noise stutters, then hushes. Older wolves straighten, some narrow their eyes. A couple of the elders on the benches exchange looks sharp enough to cut.I plant my feet on the hard-packed dirt and say it plain as day. “I want in.”Mara’s the first to speak, arms folded, eyes unreadable. “In what?”“In warrior training.” My voice doesn’t crack, though my stomach knots. “Formally.”A ripple goes through the yard. I can hear disbelief, a laugh or two, angry muttering. I know exactly what they’re thinking. Delta. Doesn’t belong here. Quite frankly, they can go fuck themselves.I square
RonanHis shirt is half-open, his grin smug, and he dares to remind me, “It’s tomorrow.”As if I don’t remember every syllable I’ve ever promised him.I haul him into my lap before he can get cleverer. His laugh breaks against my mouth, swallowed down when I kiss him hard enough to bruise. He tries to talk, always, but my palm closes over his throat, thumb pressing just under his jaw, and the sound dies. His eyes flare, hungry.“If you make any loud noises,” I growl against his lips, “I’ll stop.”He nods, frantic, shifting to straddle me, already hard against my thigh. My wolf hums, pleased.He opens for me instinctively, hands catching at my shirt like it’s a ledge. I bite his lower lip until he breathes hard through his nose. When sound threatens, I lift my head and lay the rule down low.His eyes flare. I feel the way his wolf rises to that, sleek and hungry. He nods fast. Motivated is one word for it. Desperate is another. Both please me.I unbutton his shirt in a practiced rhyth
EliThe first time Hazel looks at Jace today, it could be accidental. The second time is suspicious. By the third, it’s clearly a habit she can’t shake.Jace is in his usual uniform. Navy button-up shirt, jeans, knives strapped to his hips, quiet exasperation carved into his face like a threat. He corrects Sorrel’s guard with two fingers and the elegance of a guillotine. Hazel’s gaze, traitor that it is, lingers half a heartbeat too long on the way his shoulder rolls under fabric.“Well then,” I murmur, grinning like a cat who got into an entire vat of cream. “If you stare any harder, Hazel, you’ll bore a hole right through him. Might save the other packs some money on arrowheads.”She doesn’t startle. Hazel doesn’t do prey reactions. She just cuts me a look sharp enough to shave with. “Shut up.”“I’ve hit a nerve,” I say, delighted. Hazel’s ears go rosy. I follow the line of her eyes back to Jace, who is, outrageously, continuing to just be Jace.I know he must have heard us. Thee m
EliI sprawl in the chair next to Ronan’s like a cat basking in the sun. Legs draped over one arm, my scarf slouched rakishly around my throat, the cut of the bandage hidden but implied, his mug of tea in my hand like it’s always been mine. Ronan stands in the doorway for two heartbeats, assessing the room, then me, then the room again as if measuring how much blood it would take to refinish the floor. His jaw goes tight in that way I like, the tendon jumping. My private metronome.“Good morning,” I say, sweet as sugar, and take a sip of his tea. It’s strong and dark, with a hint of honey. Rude to my taste buds and therefore very him. Ronan circles behind me. One palm lands on the high back of the chair near my head, his fingers brushing the tips of my hair. To the room, he’s composed. To me, the bond hums with “sit up straight, menace,” and also “stay exactly as you are, it pleases me.” “Requisitions,” Mara says, crisp. “Wire, resin, arrowheads. And we’re still short on salt.”“We