A night in the trees

Alec:

The perimeter was secure. Sentries were placed with precision, wind direction checked twice, scent lines confirmed along the ridge. The fire was low and controlled, shadows flickering just enough to illuminate faces without announcing our presence to the forest. Everything was exactly as it should be.

Except Violet.

I didn’t feel her.

Not clearly.

Her shield brushed mine when I reached for her—soft, luminous, closed. Not hostile. Just sealed. I turned slowly, scanning the camp with deliberate calm. She wasn’t near the fire. Wasn’t sitting with Asher. Hadn’t claimed space within the inner ring of warriors where she would have been easiest to guard.

My pulse shifted once. Then again.

“Russ,” I said evenly, not allowing the edge beneath the word to surface. “Have you seen her?”

He shook his head. “Thought she was with you.”

Of course he did. The pack had begun to assume that wherever I stood, she would be near. I didn’t know when that pattern had formed, but I felt its absence now like a missing limb.

I reached through the link again.

“Violet.” Nothing. Her shield met me, but faintly this time—dimmed in a way that didn’t feel defensive. It felt distant. The forest seemed louder suddenly, wind threading through pine needles in restless whispers. Neal was out there. The thought tightened in my chest with sudden, brutal clarity.

I moved without announcing it, stepping beyond the perimeter and into the tree line. My senses stretched wide, scanning for broken branches, disturbed soil, the metallic scent of blood that would shatter this night. I pushed harder against her shield, testing its edges.

Still nothing.

My gaze lifted higher.

That was when I saw it—a faint shape suspended between two thick branches, barely visible in the dark. I stilled, narrowing my focus. Fabric. Tensioned lines. A hammock.

Relief hit so sharply it almost angered me.

She lay suspended well above the ground, curled on her side, one arm tucked beneath her head while the other rested loosely along her body. Her pack hung secured to a higher branch within reach. Even in sleep, she had chosen elevation, distance, a vantage point that allowed awareness without vulnerability. The hammock swayed faintly in the breeze, silvered by moonlight.

Her shields weren’t locked tight in fear. They were softened in sleep.

I stepped closer to the trunk and rested my palm against the bark, looking up at her. She seemed smaller like this—not fragile, not weak, but unguarded in a way she never was when awake. One boot hung half-removed from her foot as if exhaustion had taken her mid-motion. The sight did something strange and unwelcome to my chest.

She had stepped outside the inner ring without informing me. She had made herself harder to protect.

And yet I couldn’t deny the quiet respect I felt. She hadn’t hidden out of recklessness. She had chosen height and shadow with intention.

If she preferred the air, then I would take the ground.

I lowered myself at the base of the tree, back settling against the trunk directly beneath her. From here, I could feel even the smallest shift in the wood if she moved too suddenly. The sentries would assume I had chosen the outer perimeter intentionally. They would not question it.

I closed my eyes.

Sleep did not come.

Instead, memory surfaced uninvited. The weight of her on my back. The way her thighs had tightened instinctively against my sides as I ran. The press of her chest against my neck when she leaned forward to anchor herself. My pulse thickened at the recollection, heat simmering low and persistent. My lycan stirred beneath my skin—not in aggression, but in restless want.

If she had pressed closer…

If I had slowed less…

I dragged a hand over my face and exhaled slowly into the night. Control separated an Alpha from a beast. Discipline was not optional. It was survival.

Above me, the hammock creaked softly.

My eyes opened instantly.

She shifted in her sleep, her arm slipping over the edge until her fingers dangled loosely in the air. Without thinking, I rose slightly and caught her hand before it could drop farther. Her skin was warm against mine, softer than I expected, and even in sleep her fingers curled faintly around my own.

The contact was small. Innocent.

It hit harder than any challenge she’d thrown at me.

Through the softened haze of the link, I felt her stir faintly—not waking, but aware on some instinctive level. Her shield flickered in recognition and brushed gently against my mind. I tightened my hold just enough to steady her, my thumb tracing once across her knuckles before I forced myself to still.

“You insist on climbing out of my reach,” I murmured quietly into the dark.

The forest answered only with wind.

“Fine,” I added, voice low. “I’ll just move closer.”

She breathed evenly above me, unaware—or pretending to be—while I remained awake for hours, her hand loosely wrapped in mine, replaying the feeling of her riding me through the forest and wondering how long my discipline would survive this hunt.

Violet:

I woke before the sun, not because of noise or danger, but because something warm wrapped around my hand. For a suspended second, I didn’t move. The hammock swayed gently in the early morning breeze, pine needles whispering above me. The forest was still wrapped in that fragile gray hour before dawn, when the world seemed to hold its breath. My fingers were curled around something solid, large, warm. I lifted my head slowly and looked down. Alec. He was seated against the base of the tree directly beneath me, back braced to the trunk, head tilted slightly forward in sleep. One hand was wrapped around mine where it hung over the edge of the hammock. He had camped under me. The realization settled low and heavy in my chest. Not a coincidence. Not an accident. He was guarding me.

Instinctively, my shields fluttered, brushing against his mind just enough to see if he was deeply asleep. He was. But even unconscious, his presence felt massive, a controlled power sitting just beneath the surface. His other hand rested loose over his thigh, close enough to reach for a weapon in a heartbeat. He hadn’t trusted the perimeter. He hadn’t trusted the sentries. He had trusted himself. All for me.

I swallowed and carefully withdrew my hand, inch by inch, so the shift in temperature wouldn’t wake him. His fingers tightened reflexively once before loosening, and my pulse stumbled. I moved slowly after that, rolling to my knees inside the hammock and reaching for my pack. I had chosen height for a reason. I dressed there in the trees—quiet, efficient, balanced on the balls of my feet while tugging on fresh clothes: dark pants, a fitted long-sleeve, boots laced tight. My jacket slid over my shoulders last. The forest lightened by degrees as I secured my hammock with practiced ease, folding it tight and fastening it to the outside of my bag, careful not to shake the branches too much.

Then I began lowering myself. I dropped lightly at first, gripping the trunk and stepping down the angled bark. My boot caught on something solid and warm, and I pitched forward. Strong hands caught me mid-fall, the impact knocking the breath from both of us. Alec’s eyes snapped open as I landed half on top of him, one palm braced against his chest, the other gripping his shoulder for balance. For a suspended heartbeat, we just stared at each other. Sleep roughened him—his hair slightly disordered, jaw shadowed darker than the night before—and his grip tightened automatically at my waist, steadying me against him.

“You’re in my tree,” I whispered.

A faint, slow blink. “You were in my perimeter,” he murmured. My hand was still flat against his chest, and his heart was already beating faster. Mine answered. I pushed to stand, but his hand didn’t move—not immediately. It lingered at my waist, fingers curved just enough to remind me he could keep me there if he chose to.

“You camped under me,” I said quietly.

“Yes.” No apology. No explanation. Just a fact.

“Why?”

His gaze shifted slightly—not away, but deeper.

“You know why.”

The forest suddenly felt too small.

“You don’t trust me to protect myself?” I asked.

His thumb flexed almost imperceptibly at my side. “I don’t trust Neal not to try to kill you.” That did something dangerous to the air between us.

“You held my hand,” I added. His expression changed—barely—but I saw it.

“You reached for me in your sleep,” he said.

“I don’t sleep reach.”

“You did.”

Heat crept up my spine. We were still too close, my thigh pressing between his knees, his hand still at my waist, his other arm braced behind him against the tree. Through the link, I felt it—the slow, deliberate tightening of his control. Not dominance. Restraint.

“If you’re going to climb down on top of me at dawn,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep, “you should at least warn me first.”

“I almost tripped,” I whispered.

His mouth curved slightly. “You did.” My fingers shifted unconsciously against his chest. Bad idea. His breath changed.

“You’re doing it again,” he said quietly.

“Doing what?”

“Testing how much I’m willing to let you get away with.” My pulse jumped.

“Maybe I’m just clumsy,” I said.

His hand tightened slightly at my waist—not enough to hurt, but enough to anchor me.

“You are not clumsy.” The way he said it sent heat straight through me. For one suspended heartbeat, neither of us moved. The sun broke through the trees. Voices stirred in the distance as the pack began waking, and reality returned like a blade sliding between us. I stepped back first. He let me, but his eyes didn’t soften.

“We move in ten,” he said, standing smoothly to full height. The shift from almost-intimate to Alpha was seamless. “Stay close.”

“Afraid I’ll climb another tree?” I asked.

That faint rumble of amusement lingered between us long after we rejoined the pack. Within minutes, the clearing was alive with shifting forms and quiet commands. Scent lines were redistributed. Neal’s last known trail was marked again. Alec’s presence expanded through the link, directing, steadying, commanding. And beneath it all ran a thread—thin, hot—directly between him and me. When he shifted into his lycan, those golden eyes found mine before he turned toward the forest.

“Stay within my range,” his voice brushed my mind.

“Try to keep up,” I answered.

The hunt began. But this time, when we moved into the trees, I knew something had changed. Neal wasn’t the only thing being tracked. And if I wasn’t careful, I might be the one caught.