Se connecterI jolted awake, a cry tearing from my throat that came out as a canine yelp. Fire coursed through my veins, but not from my wounds. This came from inside, from the place where Alexander's rejection had left a raw, gaping hole. My body convulsed, paws scrabbling against the earth as I struggled to stand. This pain wasn't mine alone; Athena whimpered in our shared consciousness, her suffering tangled with my own until I couldn't tell where she ended and I began.
‘He's with her,’ Athena growled, her voice laced with a fury that matched the agony pulsing throughout me. 'Alexander's with Victoria.’
Images flashed unbidden through my mind—his hands on her skin, his lips against her neck, her smug smile as she claimed what should have been mine. I didn't want to see it, didn't want to feel it, but the broken bond betrayed me, forcing me to experience echoes of intimacy that felt like daggers in my heart.
‘He rejected me,’ I thought desperately, digging my claws into the soil as another wave of pain crashed through us. ‘Why can we still feel it? Why does it hurt like this?’
Athena's presence curled protectively around mine, a mental embrace that did little to soothe the physical torment. ‘The rejection breaks the claim, but not the connection,’ she explained, her words tight with restraint. ‘The bond itself will exist until either we take a mate or he does. These are... echoes. Fainter than a true bond, but still there.’
‘How long?’ I couldn't bear the thought of feeling this every time he touched her, every time they coupled, every time he chose her over me.
‘I don't know,’ Athena admitted. ‘Wolves aren't meant to reject true mates. It goes against everything we are.’
The pain began to recede, leaving me trembling and exhausted despite my brief rest. Dawn had begun to lighten the eastern sky, turning the black river to molten silver. We couldn't stay here—Silver Lake search parties would be following the river, and in daylight, a copper wolf would stand out like blood on snow.
‘We need to keep moving,’ I thought, forcing myself to stand on shaky legs. ‘North?’
‘North,’ Athena agreed. ‘Beyond Silver Lake territory. Maybe to the Greystone Pack lands, though they're more likely to return us to Silver Lake than offer sanctuary.’
I shook myself, water droplets flying from my fur as I tried to dispel both the lingering pain and the memory of Alexander with Victoria. My muscles protested as I began to trot along the riverbank, but the rhythm of movement soon loosened the stiffness. My back still throbbed where Julian's whip had cut, but the wounds had already begun to heal—werewolf regeneration working its magic now that my true nature had emerged.
We moved steadily northward, keeping the river on our right, occasionally stopping to drink or scent the air for pursuers. The forest grew denser as we traveled, the undergrowth thicker, as if fewer humans or werewolves passed this way. Small creatures scattered at our approach, squirrels leaping from branch to branch, birds taking flight with alarmed calls. I marveled at how clearly I could see them, how every movement registered in my enhanced vision.
‘What happens if they catch us?’ I asked as we forded a shallow stream that fed into the main river.
Athena's response was grim. ‘Marcus and Elena will welcome their daughter back now that she has a wolf. Alexander will continue to reject us publicly while feeling the bond privately. And Victoria will make our lives hell for daring to be her mate's true match.’
The thought of returning to that basement room, to Julian's whip and Victoria's cruelty, sent a surge of desperate energy through my limbs. I pushed harder, stretching into a full run again despite my exhaustion. I would rather die than go back to that half-life of servitude and shame.
We covered several miles in silence, the morning sun filtering through the canopy above, dappling my copper fur with shifting patterns of light and shadow. My tongue lolled from my mouth as I panted, the exertion warming me despite the cool morning air.
Suddenly, Athena stiffened in our shared mind, her attention snapping to full alertness. ‘Stop.’
I froze mid-stride, one paw lifted, ears pivoting forward. ‘What is it?’
'Smell that?’ She focused our senses, directing my attention to a faint odor carried on the breeze—unwashed bodies, stale smoke, and something else, something rotten and unclean.
‘Dirt,’ Athena growled, using the derogatory term wolves used for rogues—werewolves who had been cast out of their packs or had chosen to live outside pack law. ‘Rogues ahead.’
I retreated a few steps, uncertain. Rogues were dangerous—unpredictable at best, violent and lawless at worst. Without pack structure to keep their wolves in check, many eventually went feral, losing their humanity to the beast within.
‘We should go around,’ I suggested, already turning to seek another path.
Before Athena could respond, a whistling sound cut through the air. Sharp pain exploded in my flank. I yelped, twisting to see a dart embedded in my side, its feathered end quivering with the force of impact.
‘Wolfsbane!’ Athena's panic flooded our bond as I staggered, suddenly dizzy. ‘Run! RUN!’
I tried to flee, but my legs had turned to water beneath me. Another dart struck my shoulder. The forest tilted and spun around me as I collapsed onto my side, a whine escaping my throat. The wolfsbane burned through my veins like acid, paralyzing my muscles even as it forced a change I couldn't control.
‘No, no, no!’ Athena's voice grew distant as my grip on wolf form slipped away. ‘Fight it, Amelia! Stay wolf!’
But the wolfsbane was too strong. Pain racked my body as bones shifted and fur receded. My muzzle shortened, paws shrinking back to fingers and toes. The forest floor scraped against newly exposed skin as I writhed, helpless to stop the transformation.
When it ended, I lay naked and vulnerable on the cold ground, human once more. Athena's presence had retreated to a faint whisper in the back of my mind, too weak to communicate. The wolfsbane had driven her deep inside, leaving me alone and defenseless.
Footsteps approached, crunching on fallen leaves. I tried to move, to crawl away, but my limbs refused to obey. Through blurry vision, I saw them—four men surrounding me, their clothes ragged, their faces unshaven, their eyes gleaming with triumph and something darker that made my skin crawl.
"Look what we caught ourselves," one said, crouching beside me. His breath reeked of rotted meat as he leaned closer. "A pretty little wolf all on her own."
Another laughed, the sound harsh and grating. "Silver Lake, by the smell of her. They'll pay good money to get this one back."
"Or we keep her," said a third, his gaze traveling over my naked body with naked hunger. "Pack wolves make the best bitches once they're broken in right."
The fourth man knelt and roughly turned me onto my back. His fingers traced the welts left by Julian's whip, still visible despite partial healing. "Someone already started breaking this one," he observed with a grin that revealed blackened teeth. "Saves us some trouble."
Darkness crept in from the edges of my vision as consciousness began to slip away. In the distance, Athena howled with rage and despair, the sound fading as the wolfsbane pulled me deeper into darkness. My last thought before the black took me completely was that I'd had only hours of freedom before trading one prison for another.
The room held its breath.Sam Redwood sat across the metal table, wrists cuffed to the chair arms, his jaw arranged into studied neutrality. Beneath the interrogation room’s single lamp, he looked younger than twenty-three. He also looked like a man who had calculated every possible outcome and found none he could bear.I watched Amelia’s aura extend before she asked a word.There was never any announcement with Amelia, no gesture to mark the effort. The pressure simply gathered. Weeks ago, in Lukas Volkov’s office, she had not known she possessed an aura. Now she handled it as she did the mind-link: instinctively, with the unnerving control of someone who understood a weapon the moment it reached her hand. Sam’s jaw tightened. His shoulders lowered by a fraction, his body conceding what his mind would not.“Tell us, Sam,” she said. “How did the Voice start?”His chin lifted. He said nothing.I watched the set of his shoulders and the deliberate measure of his breathing. He was contai
Two weeks, and I still woke with my hand pressed flat over his heart.It was not deliberate, as it had been in the medical wing, when I counted each beat with the concentration of someone who had learned not to trust silence. Somewhere in the dark hours between sleeping and waking, instinct took over. Each morning, I returned to consciousness with the proof of him beneath my palm and the relief of a woman no longer pretending she was unafraid.His arm encircled me. His chest rose and fell with the slow rhythm of genuine sleep, not the controlled stillness of a man guarding a healing body. He had abandoned caution ten days ago. Elara had objected with the bluntness of a healer whose patience with self-determination had run out.I lay still and listened to him breathe.“Good morning,” he said, without opening his eyes.I lifted my head. “You were asleep.”“I was resting my eyes.” The corner of his mouth moved. “There’s a distinction.”“There isn’t,” I said, but I was already smiling, wh
What they do not tell you about technically dying is that coming back is rough. Elara had phrases for it: cardiac recuperation, haematological recalibration. The truth was simpler. My body had been ordered to restart a process it had stopped, and it resented the demand like damaged machinery forced back into service.Three days after leaving the medical wing, I still woke with the sense that something fundamental had shifted inside my chest. It was not pain. It was an absence with edges, as though my heart had been removed and returned to a space that no longer fitted it. Elara called it phantom sensation. I called it knowing I had been empty.Amelia’s head was on my chest, and had been for most of those three days.She had moved back into our bedroom with the quiet determination of someone who had made a decision and would not be dissuaded. The servants brought trays. Elara came twice a day to inspect the wound at my neck, which was healing with the unnerving s
The ceiling of the medical wing was pale stone.That was the first thing I could catalogue with any reliability: the room before myself inside it. Pale stone. Low lamplight instead of daylight. Amelia’s weight against my chest, warm and immediate and real in the way physical things are real after the kind of journey I had just made back.She was not asleep. I knew her breathing in every form, and this was the breathing of someone lying perfectly still because she was afraid movement might change something. Her hand rested over my heart with deliberate care. I could feel her counting the beats. She had probably been counting them since I opened my eyes.I was alive.The fact of it was still arranging itself into something I could hold. Not the abstract confirmation of a resumed heartbeat, but the exact weight of it: the scratch of the sheet against my arm, the medicinal smell of the wing, the cool air on my face above the warmth Amelia made where she lay aga
I left the forest because there was nothing left to do there.That was the only reason I allowed myself. Not because the bond in my chest had gone cold and quiet, leaving an absence so exact it felt shaped like him. Not because his name had been circling in the back of my mind since I watched Ares fall. I left because Sam Redwood was restrained and breathing, my warriors had the remaining rogues in hand, and there was nothing further that required me.I shifted before I had consciously decided to.Athena came up like a wave and I let her take it. I gave her the run, the forest, the blood-red light still falling through the canopy, because Athena ran towards things rather than away from them, and that was what I needed. Her paws found the ground and she drove us forward with the single-minded speed of a wolf who had one destination and would not be diverted.The forest gave way to the city road. The city road gave way to the outer wall. The palace torches appeared
The clearing had no shadows. That was the first thing I noticed, the absence of something so ordinary I had never thought to name it. Light filled the space around me, soft and sourceless, reaching every corner with the patience of something that had never been asked to explain itself. The grass beneath my bare feet was cool. Not cold. Just present, the way the ground becomes present when you pay attention to it for the first time. I was bare-chested. White trousers, thin, loose around my hips. No weapons. No wounds. That last detail took a moment to arrange itself properly. My hand moved to my flank, my shoulder, my neck, running through the inventory of damage the night had produced in the automatic way of a body trained to assess itself after a fight. Nothing. The skin was smooth beneath my palm. The ache that had been building in my joints since the third engagement in the western forest was gone. The deep exhaustion of a wolf who had run too long and bled to
I strode through the palace corridors, Amelia's unconscious form cradled against my chest, my fury a living thing barely contained beneath my skin. Each heartbeat pounded with the same rhythm as Ares's enraged mantra:‘Mine. Hurt. Kill. Protect.’Guards flattened themselves against walls as I passe
I descended the worn stone steps to the dungeon level, satisfied that Amelia would be occupied with Lily for at least the next few hours. Their drinks in the garden had become animated, with Lily's health improving enough that she matched my mate glass for glass. Good. This was not something Amel
I strode through the palace corridors, my footsteps echoing against marble as servants and guards flattened themselves against walls in my wake. The rage that had simmered since Amelia mentioned her public whipping threatened to boil over with each step. This Gamma Julian—this dog who had d
I stormed from the dungeon with Ares clawing at my insides, his presence pushing so hard against my skin that I could feel my claws extending and retracting with each pulse of rage. My mate was being threatened. Again. And she wanted to keep the threat alive, to study it like some curious artifac







