4.

Rayna POV

The voice echoes just beyond the stone shelter.

“She’s here.”

My heart lurches.

I go completely still, every muscle in my body locking down with instinctive fear. The silence that follows is louder than the words. It presses on me, thick and waiting, like the woods are holding their breath too.

My wolf stirs, sluggish and sore in the back of my mind.

"Can you shift?" I ask, reaching for her through the bond that usually connects us like breath and heartbeat.

She doesn’t answer. Instead, I feel… a flicker. Weak. Like a flame buried under wet ash.

"Please", I whisper, clawing at the bond. "We need to move. We need to-"

A sharp pulse of pain answers. She tries. But it’s like something is broken.

The rejection.

The tearing of the mate bond must’ve frayed something deeper than I realized - not just in my soul, but in hers too.

My chest tightens as panic rises. If I can’t shift, I can’t fight. And I can’t run fast enough like this.

I force myself to move, biting back a cry as I scramble to my feet. My eyes scan the dark hollow frantically, desperate for anything - anything - that could be a weapon.

My fingers close around something cold and rough near the back wall.

A rusted shovel. The metal blade is chipped and flaking, and the wooden handle is cracked near the base, but it’s better than nothing.

I grip it tighter, trying not to let it shake in my hands.

Outside, I hear movement. A crunch of dirt. A drag of something sharp across stone.

The remains of the wooden door creak - just once. A hand touches it. Fingertips, maybe. Testing. But no one steps through.

The silence stretches thin. And then I hear a low growl. Definitly not human. Now the second one growl. Followed by a harsh, ragged snarl and the unmistakable crack of bone shifting.

Shifters. Fighting.

My breath catches. I press myself back into the far wall, shovel raised like a blade, heart hammering loud enough to feel in my teeth.

Outside the shelter, the woods erupt.

Fangs snapping. Heavy impacts. A cry of pain - followed by a scream cut short.

I hear a wet sound. Blood spraying. Then another snap. A crunch. Something - or someone - goes down hard.

The growling stops. Silence falls again. But it’s not the safe kind. It’s the kind that makes the hair on my neck rise.

Something is still out there. Breathing. Waiting.

The silence presses tighter. My hands ache from how hard I’m gripping the shovel.

Then footsteps. Slow. Steady. Heavy. Coming closer. Whoever it is doesn’t rush. Doesn’t sneak. Just walks up to the shelter like he already owns the shadows.

A figure fills the doorway.

Tall. Broad. All muscle and menace. His skin catches the moonlight in pale flashes beneath his torn clothes - blood-streaked, bruised, still shifting back from the fight.

I don’t breathe. He steps inside. I raise the shovel, jaw tight, eyes locked on his. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. Just stands there. Watching me.

His black hair is damp, curling slightly where blood and sweat haven’t dried yet. His chest rises and falls with slow, quiet breaths. His arms hang loose at his sides - not aggressive, not exactly relaxed either.

Predator still deciding if I’m prey. His eyes meet mine.

Green.

Unnatural. Bright. Wild. A shiver runs down my spine.

He looks like a man carved from a prophecy - beautiful in a way that’s almost cruel. The kind of face you’d see in a vision before the world ended.

My pulse hammers, but I keep my face still. No fear. No weakness. Even if I feel like I might fall apart at any second.

“I don’t bite,” he says finally, voice low and rough.

“Good,” I answer, keeping the shovel raised. “Because I do.”

That earns me the faintest tilt of his mouth - not quite a smile. Just the suggestion of one. He takes a step forward. I tense.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says. “If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have woken up.”

“Not the most comforting reassurance,” I mutter, but my grip on the shovel loosens just a little.

His eyes flick over me - not in a hungry way, but in a soldier’s way. Checking for injury. Weakness. Threat.

“Rayna,” he says, surprising me.

My name on his lips hits harder than it should. He tilts his head. Looking at me. Just looking. And I feel naked when he does that. 

“You shimmer,” he murmurs, eyes narrowing slightly. “Did you know that?”

My throat dries.

“What?”

He steps closer again, slow enough I could run. Fast enough I know I wouldn’t get far.

“You shine, little omega,” he says, voice softer now. “That’s how they found you.”

He glances toward the door.

“The ones I killed.”