We reach a territory boundary by afternoon. The trees here are older, their trunks massive and gnarled. The air smells different—pine and earth, but something else underneath. Pack scent. Strong and established.
"Where are we?" I ask.
"Nightshade territory." Kieran stops at an invisible boundary. "They're allies. Or were, to Bloodfang."
He tilts his head back and howls. The sound is specific, patterned—three long notes followed by two short. A signal.
Silence answers for several heartbeats. Then movement in the trees. Wolves emerge from shadows, at least a dozen, circling us slowly. Their teeth are bared. I freeze.
"Easy." Kieran's voice stays calm. He doesn't move, doesn't show fear. "We're here for sanctuary."
A massive gray wolf pushes through the circle, easily twice the size of the others. He approaches with deliberate steps, assessing us with intelligent amber eyes. Then he shifts.
The man who stands before us is in his forties, scarred and broad-shouldered. His face is weathered, marked by old claw marks across his jaw. Authority radiates from him like heat.
"Kieran." His voice is rough gravel. "Three months gone and now you return with Ironvale's Luna?"
I tense, but Kieran doesn't flinch. "She's Bloodfang. Last of the female line."
The Nightshade Alpha's expression shifts immediately. Surprise, then something sharper. Interest. He steps closer, his gaze moving to me with new intensity.
"Show me."
Kieran glances at me. I hesitate, then lift the edge of my torn gown, exposing the crescent scar on my ribs.
The Alpha moves closer, studying the mark. His scarred fingers trace the air above it without touching. "The chieftain's mark. I thought all of the bloodline was dead."
"So did I," Kieran says. "Until her."
The Alpha straightens, something shifting in his expression. "Your grandmother saved my mother during the border wars. Pulled her from burning wreckage when the eastern packs attacked our territory. My mother spoke of it until the day she died." He looks at me directly. "Nightshade owes your bloodline a debt. You have sanctuary here for as long as you need it."
He clasps Kieran's shoulder, the gesture both greeting and acceptance. "Welcome home, both of you."
The circle of wolves disperses, tension easing. The Alpha—he introduces himself as Darius—leads us through the forest to their settlement. It's larger than I expected, cabins built among the trees in careful arrangement. Wolves move through the space in both forms, children playing near a central fire pit.
"We have a cabin at the edge of camp," Darius says, gesturing to a small structure partially hidden by trees. "Food will be brought. Rest. We'll talk more tomorrow about what comes next."
"Thank you," Kieran says.
Darius nods and leaves us at the cabin door.
Inside, the space is simple but clean. One room with a bed, a small table, a fireplace already laid with wood. A basin of water sits on the table. Fresh clothes are folded on the bed—too large for me, probably meant for Kieran, but clean.
I stand in the center of the room, still processing everything. Nightshade. Sanctuary. The Alpha recognizing my bloodline, accepting me as something I still can't fully believe I am.
Kieran closes the door, giving us privacy. He stays by the entrance, leaning against the wall. Giving me space. But the mate bond pulls between us like a physical rope, stretching taut across the small room. I feel it in my chest. In my stomach. Lower.
"You should rest," he says.
"I'm not tired." I move to the basin, splash water on my face. My hands shake.
"Ardena."
"Don't." I grip the table. "I just need a moment."
He's quiet. Then he moves. Toward me.
I turn. He's three steps closer. "I need space."
"How much space?" Another step. "You've been running since Ironvale. At some point, you have to stop."
"I'm not running."
"You are." Another step. "You're terrified of what you feel."
"I don't know what I feel!" The words burst out. "You can't expect me to just accept this bond."
"I never said it was simple."
"But you expect me to feel it."
"Yes. Because I know you do."
I step back. He follows.
"Stop," I say.
"Why?" He's in front of me now. "Tell me you don't want this. Tell me you feel nothing."
"That's not fair."
"Nothing about this is fair." Another step. "But it's real. You know it is."
"Knowing and accepting are different things."
"Then accept it." He closes the distance in three strides. "Stop fighting what we both know is there."
I step back again. My back hits the wall. Nowhere left to go.
He stops inches away, his hands coming up to brace against the wall on either side of my head. Caging me in without touching. "Don't tell me you don't feel what I feel." His voice drops, raw and desperate. "Don't lie to me."
My breath catches. The mate bond flares at his nearness, sending heat through my entire body. His golden eyes search mine, desperate and raw.
"I feel it," I whisper. "That's the problem. I feel everything."
"Then stop fighting it." His hand moves from the wall to cup my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. The touch sends electricity through my skin.
"I can't." But I don't pull away. Can't pull away. "If I stop fighting, everything changes."
"Everything's already changed." His forehead drops to rest against mine. "You can't unfeel this."
The bond thrums between us, pulling tighter. My hands fist in his shirt without permission, holding him close even as my mind screams to push away.
"Tell me to stop," he breathes against my lips. "Tell me you don't want this."
I open my mouth. Close it. Can't form a lie because it would be a lie. I feel everything. The bond, the attraction, the desperate need to close the last inch between us.
"I can't tell you that."
His other hand comes up to frame my face. "Then what can you tell me?"
"That I'm scared. That this is too fast."
"I don't need you to be anything except honest. Do you want me to let go?"
The question hangs between us. One word and he'll release me. One word and I can have the space I keep claiming I need.
But the truth burns in my chest, undeniable.
"No."
The word is barely a whisper, but it might as well be a shout. His eyes darken. His grip tightens.
"Say it again," he demands.
"No." Stronger this time. "I don't want you to let go."
His control breaks.