CHAPTER 3: Shadow in Trees

The freezing rain hit my skin like tiny, sharp needles. I stood frozen at the edge of the tree line, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. My wolf, already curled into a tight ball of misery from the severed mate bond, let out a soft, warning whine in the back of my mind.

A tall figure detached itself from the thick shadows of the pine trees.

He moved with a silent, predatory grace that made the hairs on my arms stand up. As he stepped into the pale wash of moonlight filtering through the storm clouds, the breath caught in my throat.

Cullen Hayden Arden.

The Alpha of the Arden Pack. Caomh’s greatest rival, and the most feared man on this side of the continent.

He was massive, with broad shoulders clad in a tailored black trench coat that repelled the rain. His hair was as dark as a starless night, plastered slightly to his forehead by the downpour. But it was his eyes that pinned me in place—piercing, silver-gray eyes that looked right through my bravado and saw the shattered pieces of my soul bleeding out onto the muddy ground.

"What are you doing on Silver Moon land, Arden?" I demanded. I hated how my voice trembled, betrayed by the cold and the searing pain ripping through my chest.

Cullen tilted his head, his hands shoved casually into the pockets of his coat. He didn't look like a man standing deep in enemy territory. He looked like a king inspecting a ruined courtyard.

"Watching a fool hand away his crown for a lie," Cullen said. His voice was smooth, a deep baritone that carried easily over the sound of the pouring rain. "It was quite the performance in the grand hall. I give Dreda points for the tears. Very convincing."

My stomach churned. The humiliation of the past hour crashed over me all over again. The pitying stares of my pack. Caomh’s cold indifference. The sting on my palm from where I had slapped his face.

"If you came to gloat, you are wasting your time," I snapped, wrapping my arms around my torso. The void in my chest where my mate bond used to be throbbed with a hollow, crushing ache. "I don't have anything left for you to take."

"I don't want anything from you, little wolf," Cullen replied calmly. "But you can't stand out here in the storm all night. Where are you going?"

"Away from here," I said, lifting my chin. "I'm going to my cabin to pack. Then I am crossing the border."

I didn't wait for his permission. I forced my heavy legs to move, marching past him on the muddy trail that led to the small, dilapidated wooden cabin I used as a healer's clinic. It sat right on the edge of the boundary line, isolated from the main pack house. I expected Cullen to leave. I expected him to slip back into the shadows and return to his massive, wealthy territory.

Instead, the heavy, rhythmic crunch of his boots on the wet gravel followed right behind me.

"Stop following me," I tossed over my shoulder, swiping a mixture of rain and tears from my freezing cheeks.

"Rogue territory is ten miles of open, unprotected forest," Cullen stated, completely ignoring my command. "It is freezing rain, dropping below zero tonight. You have no car, no pack scent to protect you, and you are currently going into physical shock from a rejected mate bond. You will be dead before sunrise."

"Then I'll die on my own terms!" I yelled, spinning around to face him.

My boot slipped in the thick mud. My knees buckled, the physical toll of the broken bond finally dragging me down. I braced for the hard impact of the rocky ground.

It never came.

A large, warm hand gripped my upper arm in a vice-like hold. Cullen pulled me upright with effortless strength. His scent washed over me—crisp winter air, crushed pine needles, and a dark, rich undertone of leather. It was a stark contrast to Caomh’s warm, suffocating cedar scent. Cullen’s aura didn't push me down into submission; it wrapped around me like a heavy, protective blanket.

For a single, pathetic second, I wanted to lean into his chest and let myself break.

I yanked my arm out of his grasp, stepping back so fast I nearly tripped again. "Don't touch me."

Cullen’s silver eyes flashed with a brief, unreadable emotion. He slowly lowered his hand, his expression returning to a mask of cold stone. "Stubbornness won't keep you warm, Meghann. Get your things."

I turned my back to him, my chest heaving with ragged breaths, and practically threw myself at the door of my cabin. I twisted the rusted brass knob and pushed inside.

The cabin was freezing. I hadn't lit the small wood stove in the corner since yesterday. The single bulb hanging from the ceiling flickered weakly when I hit the switch, casting long, harsh shadows across the worn floorboards. The smell of dried chamomile and lavender filled the small space, a cruel reminder of the life I had spent healing the very people who just watched me get thrown away.

I heard the heavy thud of Cullen’s boots on the porch. He didn't step inside. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest, his large frame taking up the entire entrance. He watched me with the quiet, intense focus of a predator observing its prey.

I ignored him. I pulled my faded canvas duffel bag from under the cot and threw it onto the mattress.

My hands shook violently as I opened my small dresser. I didn't have much. I grabbed three thick wool sweaters, a pair of worn denim jeans, and my heavy winter socks, shoving them roughly into the bag. I moved to the shelf above my desk, sweeping my jars of healing salves, bandages, and pain tinctures into the side pockets.

My vision blurred. A hot, angry tear slipped out and splashed onto the canvas material. I scrubbed my face fiercely, furious at my own weakness.

"You are packing like a woman planning a weekend trip, not an exile," Cullen remarked from the doorway. His voice was infuriatingly calm.

"I'm packing what I can carry," I shot back, moving to the small nightstand.