Stormwake’s rhythm crept under my skin faster than I expected.
Mornings began with runs along narrow mountain paths, the pack moving in a flowing line of fur and breath and pounding paws. The thin air burned my lungs at first, but Ashra reveled in the challenge, weaving my wolf-body along ledges and over rocks with growing confidence.
Afternoons were for training.
Tiernan and Rian had their own methods—less formal than Kellan’s drills, more improvisational.
“Fighting on flat ground is a luxury,” Rian said one day, tossing me a weighted chain. “You have to know how to use terrain. Slopes. Loose stone. Cliffs.”
“I hate cliffs,” I muttered.
“Good,” he said. “You’ll respect them.”
They had me practice running up steep inclines in wolf form, then shifting mid-sprint to human to grab a ledge, then back again.
It was exhausting.
And exhilarating.
I learned how to fall properly on scree without shredding myself.
How to direct a lightning pulse *into* a rock face to collapse it in a controlled way, rather than letting it arc randomly.
How to use a gust of wind—not my element, but something Ashra could nudge—to throw an opponent off balance on an ice patch.
At night, we sat in the hall or by smaller hearths, swapping stories.
Brenna made quick friends with Stormwake’s omegas, trading recipes and gossip at alarming speed.
Eren soaked up every bit of training lore Kellan’s counterpart—Gamma Halen, a wiry woman with a wicked scar over one eye—would share.
Maris told me tales of Tiernan as a pup—how he’d tried to climb the highest rock at age six and fallen into a snowdrift so deep it took three wolves to dig him out; how he’d argued with an elder stormcaller at twelve about ritual wording and ended up accidentally shocking himself.
“He’s always been like this,” she said with fond exasperation. “Heart first. Head second. Stubborn always.”
“He saved me,” I said quietly one night, just her and me and a pot of tea.
“Twice,” I added. “In the hall. At the ravine.”
She nodded slowly. “That doesn’t surprise me,” she said. “He’s his mother’s son that way.”
I snorted. “You’d have run into the hall too?”
“I did,” she said simply. “Different hall. Different fire. Before he was born.” Her eyes went distant. “We lost wolves then too. To a stoneflare my mate misjudged. I dragged two pups out by their scruffs. I’ve never stopped smelling char on his fur since.”
Pain flickered across her features.
I shifted uneasily. “Do you…hate him?” I asked. “For that?”
She looked at me sharply.
“No,” she said. “I hate what was done to him. To us. I hate the way the Goddess’s threads twisted around his choices. I hate what *happened*. But him?” Her jaw tightened. “He was a fool. A hurt one. He’s paid for it. Every day. Sitting down in the stones. Listening to echoes. That’s not a life. That’s a penance.”
Ashra rumbled. *Old wounds. Deep.*
“I don’t…want that,” I said hoarsely. “For me. Or for Tiernan. Or for…whoever comes after us.”
Maris’s gaze softened. “Then don’t repeat our mistakes,” she said. “Don’t let old gods or old alphas or old hurts decide for you. Don’t run from your wolf. Or your mate. Or your pack. Stand. Look them in the eye. Say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ loud enough the mountain hears.”
“That’s…scary,” I admitted.
“Yes,” she said. “So is standing in front of a ravine. You did that. This is the same. Just with more talking and less crumbling rock.”
I sipped my tea, letting her words seep.
Stormwake began to feel less like a foreign place and more like…another home.
Not a replacement for Redwood.
An addition.
A second heartbeat.
At the same time, threads pulled me back.
Letters from Elyra, carried by fast couriers, updating us on Redwood’s adjustments.
“We’ve started a formal program for pups with unusual surges,” she wrote. “Not just elements. Any…difference. I would appreciate your input when you return.”
A scrawled note from Nana: *They tried to stick me in a rocking chair and call me retired. I called them idiots. Miss your face. Don’t fall off any mountains.*
Brenna’s gossip bundles: who was kissing whom in the laundry, which warrior had gotten drunk and serenaded the hogs, how Lyra had been spotted helping Sima with pup lessons and not snapping towels once.
“Lyra,” I said aloud one evening, reading that last bit.
“That the Beta’s daughter?” Maris asked, glancing up from her whittling.
“Yes,” I said. “She used to…make my life awful.”
“And now?” she asked.
“And now she’s…less awful,” I said slowly. “Still sharp. Just…aimed differently.”
“People can change,” Maris said. “When the ground under them does. You changed yours.”
“Accidentally,” I muttered.
“Accidental storms are still storms,” she said. “They still blow old dust out of corners.”
Ashra hummed agreement.
One night, Tiernan and I climbed to a high ledge above the packhouse.
The sky was clear.
Stars pricked the dark, dozens more visible here than in Redwood’s more sheltered valley.
Below, the pack moved like a series of small, warm lights—windows glowing, fires flickering.
We sat with our backs against the rock, knees drawn up, shoulders almost touching.
Almost.
He tossed a pebble over the edge.
We listened to it clatter down the slope, then fall silent.
“Your birthday’s in a month,” he said quietly.
My stomach tightened. “Yes,” I said.
“Eighteen,” he went on. “Adult. Free. Able to make whatever terrible choices you want.”
I snorted. “I’ve been making terrible choices since I was eight,” I said. “This just makes them legal.”
He chuckled.
Silence dropped, cooling in the night air.
“I don’t want you to feel…cornered,” he said finally. “By me. By the packs. By the bond.”
“I don’t,” I said. Then, more honestly, “Not in the way I used to. Not like when Rhys shoved me into the omegas. Or when Ashra-the-god whispered in my dreams.”
He exhaled. “Good,” he said.
“I *am* scared,” I added. “Of choosing wrong. Of hurting the wrong people. Of regret.”
“Regret is inevitable,” he said. “We’re wolves with long lives and too much pride. We’ll all screw up. The question is who you want standing next to you when you do.”
“Brenna,” I said immediately.
He laughed. “Obviously,” he said. “Besides Brenna.”
I stared out at the stars.
“The old Ashra said I’d have to choose between storms and packs,” I said quietly. “Between…old ways and new. Between…freedom and chains. I don’t…accept that.”
“Good,” he said. “Because it’s bullshit.”
I blinked. “You…think so?”
“Yes,” he said. “False choices are how gods and alphas control wolves. ‘It’s me or them.’ ‘It’s freedom or safety.’ ‘It’s power or love.’” He snorted. “Why not both?”
“Because both is…complicated,” I said.
“Yes,” he agreed. “But worth it.”
He shifted, turning to face me more fully.
“In a month,” he said slowly, “you can choose to stay in Redwood. Fully. Officially. As their elemental. Their…weapon. But also their teacher. Their protector. Their…thorn.”
His lips quirked at the last word.
“Or,” he went on, “you can come to Stormwake. Fully. Officially. As my Luna. Our stormcaller. Our bridge. Our…Kaia.”
Heat flared under my skin.
“Or,” he added, expression earnest, “you can choose something in between. A foot in both. A new path. One that scares all the old wolves and makes the Goddess raise an eyebrow.”
I stared.
“You’d…be okay with that?” I whispered.
“With what?” he asked.
“Sharing,” I said. “Me. My…time. My…storm. Between packs.”
His jaw clenched.
The possessive flash across his face was brief but real.
“Yes,” he said after a moment. “Because you’re not a prize to be won. You’re…you. And you deserve to build a life where you don’t have to cut off pieces to fit someone else’s story of what a mate or an elemental or a Luna should be.”
My heart pounded.
“You say things like that,” I said, voice shaky, “and it makes it very hard not to…fall.”
He swallowed. “Then maybe…fall,” he said softly. “Just…a little. See if I catch you.”
Dangerous.
Tempting.
I looked at him.
At the man who had walked into a burning hall.
Who had stood at the edge of a ravine.
Who had brought me to his mountain and laid his life at my feet.
I leaned.
Very slightly.
Our shoulders touched.
His breath hitched.
His hand, resting between us, curled.
I turned my head.
Our faces were close.
Too close.
“Kaia,” he whispered. “If I kiss you now, I may not be able to stop at one. And you still have choices to make. I don’t want to muddy them with…this.”
“Honest,” I said, slightly breathless. “Annoyingly so.”
He smiled, strained.
“I *want* to,” he said. “Goddess, I want to. But I promised you I’d wait. That I’d let you set the pace.”
Heat pooled low in my belly.
Ashra purred. *He is good. We like good. We also like kissing. Dilemma.*
I exhaled slowly.
My hand moved of its own accord, landing lightly on his.
His fingers twitched.
“Then…” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper, “consider this…data gathering for future decisions.”
Before he could parse that, I leaned the rest of the way in and pressed my mouth to his.
---
The first kiss was…not perfect.
My nose bumped his.
His hand jerked.
Our teeth clicked.
We both laughed, breath mingling.
Then his fingers slid between mine, his other hand cupping my jaw.
He deepened the kiss.
Oh.
The world narrowed to the press of his lips—firm, warm, a little shaky. To the way his thumb stroked my cheek. To the faint, surprised sound he made in the back of his throat when I opened for him, letting him in.
Heat flared through me.
Not elemental.
Not ravine-deep.
Different.
Softer.
Sharper.
Electric.
The bond between us pulsed, bright.
Ashra hummed in delight, curling into the sensation like a cat in sunlight.
his scent—storm and smoke and something uniquely *his*—flooded my senses.
I fisted my free hand in his shirt, pulling him closer.
He went willingly, shifting so our chests brushed, our knees bumped.
His wolf surged under his skin, a low, rough rumble vibrating against my palms.
Kissing him felt like standing at the edge of a cliff and realizing you could fly.
Terrifying.
And…right.
After what felt like both an eternity and a heartbeat, we broke apart, breaths ragged.
He rested his forehead against mine, eyes closed.
“Goddess,” he rasped. “You’re trying to kill me.”
“You said…fall,” I panted. “Consider me…tripping enthusiastically.”
He laughed, hoarse.
“I don’t regret that,” he said. “At all. But for the record, if you decide in a month that you don’t want this—don’t want *me*—I will not hold this kiss against you. I will not guilt you. I will not say, ‘But you kissed me on the mountain.’”
My chest ached.
“You keep giving me exits,” I said.
“Yes,” he said simply. “Because I want you to choose the door you *want*, not the one you feel pressured into.”
I leaned back enough to look at him.
His pupils were blown.
His cheeks were flushed.
His hair was a mess.
He’d never looked more handsome.
Or more…mine.
“I’m not promising anything,” I said.
“I know,” he said softly.
“But I’m…leaning,” I added.
He smiled, slow and bright.
“That’s all I need,” he said.
We sat there until the stars slid a little further across the sky, shoulders pressed, hands tangled, hearts hammering.
Ashra sighed contentedly.
*We are doomed,* she said.
*Probably,* I agreed.
And—for the first time—we both meant it in a good way.
---