Night fell hard over Ashridge.
The pack’s village glowed with lantern light, windows spilling gold onto packed earth. Smoke curled from chimneys, carrying the scents of meat and bread and the musk of too many bodies in close quarters.
Lira watched from the infirmary’s small side window as wolves moved through the square—some in human form, some furred, all restless. The air vibrated with tension.
“How often do they patrol?” she asked Idris, who was wrapping clean bandages into tight rolls beside her.
“Every night,” he said. “Twice as heavy since Bram’s ambush. Corin’s not taking chances.”
“Corin doesn’t… go himself?” she asked carefully.
Idris snorted. “He would, and has, but the council would lose their minds if they saw their alpha getting torn up on routine runs. Bram usually leads. When he can stand.”
She glanced toward the curtained-off section. “And when he can’t?”
“Garron,” Idris said, making a face. “He’s capable. Just… more teeth than sense sometimes.”
“He doesn’t like me,” she said.
Idris laughed. “Garron doesn’t like *anyone* who isn’t pack. Give him time. He might upgrade you to tolerated nuisance.”
“Aspirations,” she murmured.
He nudged her shoulder. “You did good with Bram today.”
“I nearly knocked myself unconscious,” she said dryly.
“But you *reached* him,” he said. “We all felt it. The room went…” He gestured vaguely. “Tight. Like waiting for lightning.”
Her stomach twisted. “I’ve never done anything like that.”
“You’ve never been around a wolf like that,” Idris said. “He draws things out of people.”
“Like guilt and shame,” she said.
“And stubbornness,” Idris agreed. “And… other things.”
“Other things,” she repeated, wary.
“Desire,” he said bluntly. “Loyalty. Rage. He’s beta for a reason.”
She stared at the bandage she was folding. “Desire,” she repeated under her breath, hoping he wouldn’t hear.
He did.
“The scar doesn’t put you off?” he asked, curiosity bright. “Some of the girls say it makes him look dangerous.”
“He *is* dangerous,” she said. “Scar or not.”
“That’s half the appeal,” Idris said.
She gave him a look. “And the other half is…?”
“Those eyes,” Idris said. “And the way he throws himself between any threat and anyone smaller without thinking. Wolves like that? Hard to resist.”
“Good thing I’m wolf-less,” she muttered.
He sobered. “Does it… never?” he asked. “You know. Pull? With anyone?”
The question landed like a stone.
She set down the bandage. “No,” she said quietly. “It never pulls.”
“Not even a little?” he pressed, then winced. “Sorry. That’s nosy.”
“It’s all right,” she said. “You’re not the first to wonder.”
He watched her face. “Do you… miss it? The… wanting?”
She considered. “I… want,” she said slowly. “I’m not dead. My body remembers what it *could* feel, even if my wolf doesn’t answer. I just… never get that… swirl. That scent that makes everything else fade. The way other wolves talk about.”
He nodded slowly. “Mara says when it hits, it’s like getting hit by a tree and kissed by the moon at the same time.”
Lira huffed a laugh. “Very poetic.”
“She denies it if you ask her,” Idris said. “Her mate died before my time. But she still talks about him like he’s the reason she hasn’t set the council on fire yet.”
Lira looked toward the back of the infirmary. “She’s… kind.”
Idris choked. “Don’t let her hear you say that.”
“She is,” Lira insisted. “Under the shouting.”
He grinned. “You’re not wrong.”
A sharp howl cut through the night then, low and commanding. The hair on Lira’s arms rose.
Idris stiffened. “Patrol’s heading out.”
The sound vibrated through her bones—but not like it used to.
Once, the pack howl had been a call her body answered without thought. Her wolf would have leapt inside her, eager, pressing at her skin to join.
Now, the sound hit and… fizzled. Her human ears registered it. Her human mind understood it. Her body stayed still.
Her hand crept to her collar.
On the bed closest to the window, the child Tommi whimpered in his sleep, leg twitching. On the far side of the room, the old woman opened her eyes, gaze going distant.
“It’s all right,” Idris murmured to no one in particular. “Just patrol.”
*Just* patrol.
Her stomach cramped.
“Does Bram go?” she asked before she could stop herself.
“In his current state?” Idris snorted. “If he tries, Mara will sedate him and tie him down.”
“Would she?” Lira asked dubiously.
“Have you *met* her?” he said. “She once knocked Garron out with a sedative dart because he wouldn’t stop pacing. Said he was scaring the patients.”
Lira filed that away. “Useful trick.”
The howl echoed again. Somewhere in the village, other wolves answered—higher, lower, the chorus rising.
Lira’s shoulders hunched unconsciously.
“You all right?” Idris asked.
“I’m fine,” she said automatically.
He studied her. “You flinched.”
She forced her muscles to relax. “It’s… loud.”
He didn’t press. “You should get some sleep,” he said instead. “We take shifts. I’ll be on until midnight. Then Kess comes in.”
“I’d rather stay,” she said.
“Suit yourself,” he said. “Mara doesn’t like waking people unless she has to.”
Lira moved to one of the empty cots and sat, tucking her feet beneath her. The mantle bunched around her hips. She loosened the clasp, setting it aside. The air against her neck was cold.
Her fingers brushed the collar again.
“Does it bother you?” Idris asked quietly.
“Yes,” she said. “But it bothers *them* less, so.”
“Bram didn’t like it,” Idris said. “I saw his face when he looked at it.”
Heat climbed her neck. “He can have an opinion.”
“His opinion matters,” Idris said. “More than most.”
“You’re very loyal to him,” she observed.
“He pulls you in,” Idris said simply. “Even when you don’t mean to be pulled.”
She thought of the way his wolf had leaned into her touch. The way his eyes had gone dark.
Her stomach fluttered.
“Sleep,” Idris said again, gentler this time.
She lay back reluctantly, staring at the ceiling. The infirmary’s roof beams were old, carved with runes worn smooth by time. She traced them with her eyes until they blurred.
The pack’s howls faded as the patrol moved deeper into the night.
She drifted.
***
She woke to shouting.
Lira jerked upright, heart racing. The infirmary’s dimness had deepened—the fire was banked low, casting flickering shadows. Idris was at the far end, arguing with a tall, broad-shouldered man whose posture screamed alpha-adjacent.
Garron.
“I don’t care if she’s sleeping,” Garron hissed. “We need her.”
“Then ask her like she’s a healer, not a tool,” Idris snapped back. “You stomp in here in the middle of the night and start barking orders, you’ll wake everyone.”
“Wake them, then,” Garron said. “They might want to know when their beta loses his fucking mind.”
Ice washed through Lira’s veins.
She swung her legs off the bed, bare feet hitting cool wood. “What happened?” she asked, voice sharper than she intended.
Both men turned.
Garron’s eyes flicked over her—barefoot, hair mussed from sleep, mantle askew. “The Thornfell witch wakes,” he muttered.
“Lira,” Idris said, already moving toward her. “You don’t have to—”
“What happened?” she repeated, cutting him off.
“Bram,” Garron said. The name came out like a curse. “He heard the patrol howling. Tried to shift. Halfway through, something went… wrong.”
Her stomach dropped. “Wrong how?”
“He couldn’t finish,” Garron said, jaw tight. “Bones started. Skin started. Then—stopped. He’s stuck in between. Mara’s with him, but—”
Lira was already moving.
Her body knew the layout of the infirmary now. Three steps to the hearth. Two more to Mara’s curtained section. Her bare soles slapped the floor.
She pushed through the curtain without asking.
The air inside felt… wrong.
It was too hot, first of all. The small room sweltered, heat rolling off Bram’s body in waves. He lay twisted on the bed, blankets half-kicked away. His spine was arched, muscles straining.
His limbs were… changing.
His hands had elongated, fingers stretching, nails darkening into claws that weren’t quite done. His feet were half-human, half-wolf, bone pushing against skin. His jaw—
Her stomach lurched.
His jaw had started to elongate, teeth sharpening, lips pulled back in a snarl that exposed too-long canines. But it had *stopped* halfway. Leaving him with a face that was neither fully human nor fully wolf.
His eyes glowed.
Not the usual wolf-shift glow. This was harsher. Brighter. White-gold bleeding into the whites until there was almost no iris left.
His scent—
Gods.
It was a chaotic mess. Wolf and human, blood and adrenaline, overlaid with a sharp, acrid tang that made her throat burn.
Rogue ash.
Mara stood at the side of the bed, one hand pressed to Bram’s chest, the other hovering over his throat. Power rippled from her, old and honed.
“Stay *down,* you idiot,” she growled. “You’re ripping yourself apart.”
Bram snarled, words mangled by his half-formed jaw. “Gotta—go—” The rest dissolved into a sound that was more howl than speech.
“No, you don’t,” Mara snapped. “Pack’s got this. You don’t even know which way is up right now.”
His back bowed further, tendons standing out in his neck. His fingers gouged the mattress. The wound along his side had reopened; blood seeped through the bandage, dark and ominous.
“Fuck,” Mara hissed. “Idris!”
“Here!” he panted, darting through the curtain with a tray of instruments. He stopped short when he saw Lira. “I tried to—”
“No time,” Mara cut in. She looked at Lira, eyes bright in the dim. “Can you feel it?”
Lira’s heart hammered. “Feel what?”
“Whatever’s got him by the spine,” Mara snapped. “Look at him. This isn’t just a stuck shift. He’s… *caught*.”
Lira moved to the opposite side of the bed, the heat prickling her skin. Bram’s breathing was ragged, harsh. His eyes rolled to her, and for a moment, she saw wildness there. Not his. Something else.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for his wrist.
“Don’t touch—” Garron started from the doorway.
Too late.
Her skin met his skin.
The world tilted.
Magic slammed into her—harder, sharper than before. It roared up her arm, into her chest, into her *empty* space. It didn’t fill it. It *clawed* at it, searching.
Her vision went white.
Her knees buckled. She grabbed the bed rail with her free hand, nails biting into wood.
“Lira!” Idris shouted.
“Don’t you fucking touch her,” Garron snapped.
“Shut up, both of you,” Mara snarled. “Let her work!”
Work.
Right.
She dragged a breath into her lungs and forced herself to focus.
Beneath her hand, Bram’s pulse pounded, too fast, arrhythmic. His magic was a maelstrom—shattered wolf, human stubbornness, the old tether to Ashridge land—all of it tangled with a foreign thread.
Cold. Bitter. Familiar.
Surge magic.
Not as strong as the one that had taken her wolf. But of the same flavor.
It wrapped around Bram’s wolf like barbed wire, digging in every time he tried to move.
“No,” she whispered.
It pulsed, almost… curious. Like a snake tasting new air.
Her own emptiness had always repelled it. Surge magic fed on wolves, not on hollow shells. But through Bram, through his struggling wolf, it had a hold.
It turned toward her.
Like a scent-trail of pain, it followed her touch back, brushing against her emptiness.
Her stomach flipped.
“Lira,” Mara barked. “What—”
“Quiet,” Lira gasped. “Please. I need—” She swallowed. “I need silence.”
The world narrowed to Bram’s heat, his heartbeat, the roaring in her veins.
And that… *thing*.
It felt like a knot of raw magic, twisted and angry. Not sentient, exactly. Not with a mind of its own. But with a kind of *habit.* Like wildfire turned inward, following destructive paths it had carved before.
She thought of the crack in Thornfell’s standing stone. The surge that had ripped her wolf out. The way the land had screamed.
“Not again,” she whispered.
The magic flared, responding to resistance with more pressure. Bram’s back arched, a strangled howl tearing from his throat.
She tightened her grip on his wrist.
“Bram,” she said, forcing her voice to steady. “Listen to me.”
He snarled, eyes wild.
“Not you,” she muttered. “Him.”
She plunged.
This time, she went past his body’s hum, past the hollow where his wolf huddled. Straight into the knot of foreign magic strangling him.
It was like grabbing a live wire.
Pain seared up her arm. It felt like her bones were being scraped from the inside with hot knives. Her vision blurred.
*No,* she thought fiercely. *You don’t get him. You already took enough.*
The magic pulsed, angry. It surged up, slamming against her emptiness again.
It… stuck.
Her emptiness was too big. Too raw. It swallowed the surge like a black hole swallowing a star.
She screamed.
The sound ripped from her throat, high and sharp. Her knees hit the floor. Her grip on Bram’s wrist convulsed.
“Lira!” Idris lunged toward her.
“Stop!” Mara barked. “She’s *draining* it.”
Draining.
Yes.
That was what it felt like.
The surge magic poured into her, desperate for channels to run through. She had none. No wolf. No shift. Just that gaping absence.
It filled the space for a heartbeat.
Then—went out.
Snuffed.
Like throwing water on fire. Or fire on ice.
The knot around Bram’s wolf loosened.
She felt it.
His wolf, huddled and wounded, suddenly… *breathed.*
It lurched, startled. Fear spiked. Then, tentatively, it stretched.
The shift that had been stuck halfway… moved.
Bones snapped fully into place. Muscles realigned. Flesh rearranged.
On the bed, Bram’s body flowed.
His jaw elongated properly, teeth sharpening into full wolf form. His fingers finished turning to paws. His spine lengthened, ribs reshaping. The half-shifted horror became, in a few gasping heartbeats, a full, massive wolf, fur bursting along his skin in a rush.
He collapsed onto his side, panting.
Lira collapsed with him.
The world went gray at the edges. Her head spun. Her stomach clenched.
“Easy,” a voice said distantly. Mara? Idris? Hard to tell. Her ears rang.
Her hand was still locked around Bram’s foreleg—thick, furred now, the bone beneath solid.
His fur was coarse under her fingers. Hot. Damp with sweat.
His pulse steadied.
His wolf—
Gods.
She could *feel* it.
Not through some abstract magical sense. Through the press of his presence against hers.
He was… *big*.
Bigger even than his human body suggested. A strong, proud, stubborn creature, matted with fear and pain, but… there.
He pressed against her mind like a heavy weight against a too-thin door.
Not breaking through. Not yet.
But… *present.*
Her empty space ached in response.
Her own wolf—gone for three years—did not answer.
Of course it didn’t.
This was not that.
But for a heartbeat, the illusion was there. A wolf in her head. A presence. A *sound.*
She clutched at it, greedy.
Something in Bram’s wolf stilled.
*Wrong,* his wolf thought. Not in words. In sense. *Not mine. Not hers. Different. Broken.*
Her throat burned. “I know,” she whispered, though no sound came out.
The presence eased back, just a fraction.
But it didn’t… retreat fully. It stayed near the edges of her emptiness, like a wary animal considering a campfire.
On the bed, Bram’s body shuddered. His eyes fluttered open.
Golden wolf eyes, clear and bright for the first time since she’d met him.
They locked onto her.
His lips peeled back in a low, rumbling sound. Not a snarl. Not exactly.
More like… confusion.
“Bram?” Mara’s voice cut through the haze. “If you bite her, I’ll gut you.”
He blinked. Slowly, clumsily, his massive head turned toward Mara. Then back to Lira.
He huffed.
Hot breath washed over her face.
Her knees were still on the floor. She realized, distantly, that her body was shaking. Her fingers were numb where they gripped his fur.
Her collar felt hot against her skin. Too tight.
“She drained it,” Mara said, awe and fear tangled in her voice. “The surge. She… pulled it into herself and snuffed it.”
“That’s not possible,” Garron said hoarsely from the doorway.
“Apparently it is,” Idris said. “Look at her.”
Lira didn’t feel powerful. She felt… hollowed out. Scraped clean. Like the emptiness inside her had been scoured with steel wool.
Her stomach rolled.
She barely made it to the basin before she vomited.
Harsh retching filled the small room. Her throat burned. Her eyes watered.
Someone held her hair. Idris, likely. Someone else pressed a cool cloth to the back of her neck.
“Easy,” Mara murmured. “Get it out.”
When she was done, she slumped back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Idris offered her a rag. She took it, pressing it to her lips.
Her entire body thrummed with a strange, jittery energy. Like she’d drunk five cups of strong tea and then been thrown off a cliff.
“I’m… fine,” she croaked.
“Liar,” Mara said, not unkindly. “Idris, water.”
A cup pressed against her hands. She drank greedily, cool liquid soothing her raw throat.
When she could focus again, she turned back to the bed.
Bram lay curled on his side, a massive dark wolf against the rumpled sheets. His fur was damp. His flanks heaved, but less frantically than before.
His eyes were half-closed. But when she moved, his ears pricked.
“He’s… shifted,” she whispered, unnecessary as it was.
“Yes,” Mara said. “Because of you.”
Garron swore softly. “What did you do to him?”
“Saved his furry ass,” Mara snapped. “Unless you wanted to see what happens when a wolf gets stuck like that for more than a few minutes. Spoiler: it’s not pretty.”
Garron looked pale. “We’ve… we’ve seen. In the north.”
Lira’s skin crawled. She’d seen, too. Wolves twisted into permanent half-shifts, bodies rebelling every second they breathed.
Bram’s wolf huffed again. This time, it sounded almost… impatient.
Lira wiped her mouth again and pushed herself up, legs trembling.
She stepped back to the bed, meeting Bram’s gaze.
“Hi,” she whispered, feeling ridiculous.
His eyes tracked her.
She raised a hand slowly, palm out, giving him time to see. To scent. To react.
He didn’t growl. Didn’t flinch.
She laid her palm gently against his head.
Fur. Heat. Solid bone beneath.
Inside, his wolf pressed into the touch.
A low, shivery exhale slipped from her lips.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
She wasn’t sure who she was thanking. Him, for not attacking. The gods, for letting her drain the surge instead of letting it shred him. Fate, for… whatever this was.
He blinked.
“He’s… calmer,” Idris said softly. “You feel that?”
Everyone nodded.
Lira didn’t know how they felt it. Through scent, maybe. Through some pack sense she’d lost.
She felt it through touch.
His magic, which had been a hurricane moments ago, now flowed more steadily. The knot of surge was gone. His wolf, though still wounded, no longer cringed from every movement.
He… trusted her.
A little.
Dangerous.
She drew her hand back before she got addicted to the sensation.
Her knees wobbled. She grabbed the bedrail again.
“Sit.” That was Mara, sharp.
Lira sat.
“You just drank wild surge like it was soup,” Mara said. “I don’t know what that does to a body. I have *never* seen that done. You need to rest. And then you need to tell me exactly what you felt.”
Lira nodded numbly.
“It burned,” she said softly. “Like acid. It… wanted. Not me. Wolves. Shifters. It… tasted for them. When it hit me… there was nothing to grab. So it… died.”
“Because you have no wolf,” Garron said slowly.
She looked at him. His face was pale, eyes fixed on her collar.
“Yes,” she said. “Because I have no wolf.”
He swallowed. “You’re… useful.”
The words were simple. They hit like a hammer.
Useful.
She’d been that in Thornfell too. A patch. A plug in a dam.
Here, she could be something more dangerous. A weapon against whatever this surge was.
“Useful enough to tolerate my… wrongness?” she asked, the bitterness surprising even herself.
He flinched. “I didn’t—I just—”
“She didn’t ask for what happened to her,” Idris snapped. “None of us asked for this magic in our land. She’s not wrong. The land is.”
Silence fell. Heavy.
“Idris,” Mara said quietly. “Go cool down. You’re going to burn a hole in the floor with that righteous indignation.”
He huffed, but he went.
Garron lingered a moment longer, gaze flicking between Lira and Bram.
“He trusts you,” he said finally, grudging. “His wolf. I… felt it. Through the bond.”
Lira’s breath caught. “Through… the bond?”
“He’s my cousin,” Garron said. “Not by blood. By bond. We ran together as pups. Fought together. I know what he feels when he doesn’t want me to.” His jaw clenched. “You got closer to his wolf in a day than we have in weeks.”
“I’m… sorry?” she said, unsure.
He snorted. “Don’t be. Just… don’t hurt him.”
The words were quiet, deadly.
Her spine straightened. “I’m a healer,” she said. “Hurting is not—”
“You drain surge with your bare hands,” he said. “You poke at wolves’ souls. I don’t care how you label yourself. You are dangerous to him.” His eyes sharpened. “And to us.”
Her mouth went dry.
“Garron,” Mara warned.
He held up a hand. “I’m not threatening her. I’m… stating facts.” He met Lira’s gaze. “We need you. That’s obvious now. But I won’t pretend I’m comfortable with how fast he’s… attached.”
Attached.
Her pulse jumped. “He’s not—”
“You wouldn’t know,” Garron said. “You don’t have a wolf.” Regret flickered across his face immediately. “Fuck. That was—”
“True,” she cut in, more harshly than she meant. “It’s *true*.”
He swallowed. “Yeah. Still an ass way to say it.”
“Yes,” she said.
He huffed. “Mara threatened to tell my mother about the spider. You think I’m not aware of my asshole tendencies?”
Despite herself, a snort escaped her.
He blinked. “Was that… a laugh?”
“Don’t get used to it,” she muttered.
His mouth twitched. “You… did good,” he said awkwardly. “With him. I’ll… tell Corin.”
“Good,” Mara said. “Maybe then he’ll stop pacing a trench into the council hall.”
Garron nodded once to Lira, then slipped out.
Leaving her alone with Mara. And the wolf on the bed.
Mara sank onto a stool, rubbing her temples. “You’re full of surprises,” she said.
“I didn’t… plan that,” Lira said. “Any of it.”
“Magic doesn’t care about our plans,” Mara said. “But I’ve never seen it *obey* someone’s panic quite like that.”
A weak laugh escaped Lira. “Obey is… generous. It tried to rip me apart.”
“And you ripped it first,” Mara countered. Her gaze softened. “You all right?”
Lira considered.
Her arms ached. Her head pounded. Her stomach still churned faintly. The emptiness inside her… hummed. The way a burned patch of skin hummed after the flame was gone.
“I’ve been worse,” she said.
Mara snorted. “You Thornfell types. Always understating.” She leaned forward. “What did it feel like? The surge.”
Lira closed her eyes briefly, calling up the memory. “Like… wildfire,” she said slowly. “Hungry. Blind. It… latches onto wolves. Shifts. Anything that bends between forms. It rubs that seam raw until it splits.”
“That’s what happened to you,” Mara said quietly.
“Yes,” Lira said.
“And with him?”
“It… tried,” Lira said. “But he was already… torn. His wolf had pulled so far back there was little for it to grip. It still… wrapped around him. Stopped him. Hurt. But it didn’t… eat him.”
“And you… ate *it*,” Mara said.
Lira grimaced. “I wouldn’t say—”
“You *took* it,” Mara said. “Into that emptiness. And killed it there.”
“Yes,” Lira whispered. “It had nowhere to go. No wolf to run through. It burned itself out.”
Mara sat back. “Useful,” she muttered, echoing Garron.
Lira laughed, bitter. “Seems my emptiness has… worth, after all.”
Mara’s gaze sharpened. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Lira asked.
“Don’t talk about yourself like a tool,” Mara said. “Like a *thing.* You’re a person. With scars. With… strange talents. You push them too hard, they’ll shatter you. And Ashridge has enough broken wolves.”
Lira’s throat tightened. “Thornfell doesn’t care if I shatter.”
“Cael does,” Mara said. “In his way. He’s not sending you here to die.”
“He sent me because I’m expendable,” she said.
Mara snorted. “Everyone’s expendable to an alpha. Doesn’t mean they want to waste you.” She tipped her head at Bram. “You didn’t even flinch when that magic hit. You *stood.* He saw that in you. So did Corin. That’s why you’re here.”
Lira looked at Bram.
He was large even in wolf form, thick fur matted slightly where sweat had dried. His breathing had steadied to something like normal. His paws twitched occasionally, as if running in dreams.
Her fingers itched to touch him again.
Dangerous.
“Will he remember?” she asked softly. “When he shifts back?”
“Oh, yes,” Mara said dryly. “Bram remembers *everything.* That’s half his problem.”
“He… asked me to come back,” Lira said, before she could swallow the words.
Mara’s brows rose. “Did he now.”
“He… wants me to… reach for his wolf again,” Lira said. “To bring him out. Fully.”
Mara studied her. “You going to?”
“Yes,” Lira said, surprising herself with the certainty in her voice.
“Why?” Mara asked.
“Because he asked,” Lira said simply. “And because… I know what it is to… be half. To feel like you’re failing the piece of you that’s supposed to be wild.” She swallowed. “If I can help him… hold onto his… I want to.”
Mara’s gaze softened. “You’ll hurt yourself,” she said quietly.
“Maybe,” Lira said. “But I’ve been hurt before.”
“Doesn’t mean you should seek it,” Mara muttered.
“I’m not seeking it,” Lira said. “I’m… not avoiding it if it means someone else doesn’t have to live like I do.”
Mara sighed. “Martyrs. Everywhere.” She pushed to her feet, joints popping. “You’ll stay here tonight. On that cot.” She pointed. “I’ll sit with him. You *rest.* That’s an order, healer.”
Lira opened her mouth to argue. The room spun, just a little.
“Fine,” she muttered. “But only because I don’t think I can walk straight, and I don’t want to faceplant in front of your patients.”
“A sanitary concern I applaud,” Mara said. “Idris!”
He appeared, breathless. “Yes?”
“Get her a blanket. And some tea. The strong one. And send Kess in to sit with the front room. If Garron tries to drag Lira out of here again, I’ll knock him unconscious.”
Idris grinned. “Yes, Mara.”
Lira let herself be shepherded to the narrow cot in the corner. Someone tucked a blanket around her. Someone else pressed a mug into her hands. The tea was bitter, laced with something invigorating. It steadied her.
Her gaze drifted back to Bram.
He had shifted his head just enough that one golden eye could watch her.
Warmth bloomed in her chest. Unwanted. Unbidden. Impossible.
*Don’t,* she told herself sternly. *He’s your patient. Your… assignment. Your responsibility.*
Not her anything else.
But his wolf—
His wolf *knew* her. In some strange, broken way.
And her emptiness… knew him.
That was a recipe for disaster.
She sipped her tea.
“Sleep,” Mara ordered.
Her body obeyed before her mind could argue.
***
She dreamed of wolves.
She hadn’t dreamed of wolves in three years.
Not properly. Not like this.
In the dream, she stood in a clearing under a blood-red moon. The trees around her were twisted, leaves dripping ash. The old standing stone loomed, cracked and bleeding light.
She was human. Naked. Cold.
Her wolf—small, brown-furred, eyes bright with curiosity—stood at the edge of the clearing, ears pricked. She looked… *young.* Untouched by surge. By loss.
“Come back,” Lira called. Her voice echoed strangely. “Please. I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I—”
The wolf cocked her head. *You left me,* she seemed to say.
“No,” Lira whispered. “You left *me.*”
The wolf huffed. Turned away.
Something moved in the trees.
Huge. Dark. Heavy.
A second wolf stepped into the clearing.
Not hers.
This one was massive, fur a mix of black and deep brown. Scars traced his flank. His eyes were molten gold. His presence filled the clearing, making the blood moon seem smaller.
Bram.
No. Bram’s *wolf.*
He looked at her little wolf. Looked at Lira. Looked at the cracked stone.
Then—without a sound—he crossed the clearing and stood beside her.
Her little wolf bristled. *Not yours,* she thought. *Not mine.*
He huffed. Nudged her with his head. *Too late,* his presence rumbled. *She called. I came.*
Lira’s breath hitched.
The surge magic oozed from the stone, reaching for them. Red tendrils curled around her ankles, her wrists, seeking.
Her little wolf danced back. Away. Safe. Always safe.
Bram’s wolf stepped forward.
*No,* he growled, low and fierce. He planted himself between her and the stone. Between her and the surge.
The magic recoiled, hissing.
*You’ll burn,* Lira whispered. “Don’t—”
He glanced back at her. His eyes were soft. Sad.
*Already burned,* the sense came. *Still here.*
He opened his jaws and *bit* the surge.
It screamed.
The sound shattered the clearing. The blood moon splintered. The stone exploded.
Light and ash and pain flooded everything.
She woke with a gasp.
The infirmary’s dimness swam into focus. The smell of smoke and herbs and wolf grounded her.
Her heart raced. Sweat cooled on her skin.
Bram’s wolf lay on the bed across from her, head resting on his paws, eyes half-lidded.
He was staring at her.
Her breath caught.
Dream, she told herself. Just a dream. Her mind, processing.
Yet—
His ears flicked. A low sound rumbled in his chest. Not quite a growl. Not quite anything else.
Her emptiness hummed.
“Nightmare?” Mara’s voice came from a chair beside Bram’s bed. She looked rumpled, gray hair escaping its knot. “You made a noise.”
“Yes,” Lira croaked. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for dreaming,” Mara said. “If you stop, you’re dead.”
Encouraging.
“How long was I out?” Lira asked.
“An hour,” Mara said. “Maybe two. Hard to tell. Time blurs when you’re yelling at rogue magic.”
Lira winced. “Sorry.”
“Stop that,” Mara said. “You’re going to wear the word out.” She tipped her head toward Bram. “He hasn’t taken his eyes off you.”
Heat climbed Lira’s neck. “He’s a wolf,” she said. “They… watch.”
“They *stare,*” Mara said dryly. “Especially at things they don’t understand.”
Lira pulled the blanket tighter around herself. “He doesn’t… *understand* me.”
“No one does,” Mara said. “Least of all yourself. That doesn’t mean you’re not… important.”
She made a face. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Mara asked.
“Say things like that,” Lira muttered. “I’m a healer. Not a… whatever you’re implying.”
“Catalyst,” Mara said. “Lightning rod. Plug in the dam. Pick your metaphor. You’re in the middle of something whether you like it or not.”
Lira sighed. “Story of my life.”
Mara’s lips twitched. “You’ll fit in here just fine.”
“Doubtful,” Lira said.
Bram’s wolf shifted, adjusting his weight. His ears flicked at the sound of her voice.
“Does he… remember?” she asked quietly. “What happened?”
Mara shrugged. “It’s Bram. He remembers everything. When he shifts back, he’ll probably tell you the color of Idris’s socks.”
“Gray,” Idris called from the other side of the curtain.
“Shut up,” Mara called back.
Lira huffed a laugh.
She met Bram’s gaze again.
“You scared me,” she said softly. “Don’t do that again.”
He blinked.
*No promises,* a feeling rippled through the thin connection that still hovered at the edge of her emptiness.
She sighed.
“This is going to be… complicated,” she murmured.
Mara arched a brow. “You have no idea.”
Outside, a howl split the night.
This time, Lira didn’t flinch.
Bram’s ears pricked. His body tensed—then relaxed.
His wolf stayed where he was.
Beside her.
For now.
***
At dawn, the patrol returned.
None missing.
The air in the village shifted, tension easing just enough that people walked a little taller, shoulders unknotted by a fraction.
In the infirmary, Mara dozed in her chair, snoring softly. Idris had his head pillowed on a folded blanket at the far table. Garron had disappeared, likely to report to Corin.
Lira sat cross-legged on her cot, knees hugged to her chest, watching Bram’s slow, steady breathing.
He hadn’t shifted back yet.
She wondered if he was… afraid to. Of what he’d find. Of what he’d feel.
Of *her.*
The thought made her stomach twist.
She should leave. Give him space. Let him wake without her face being the first thing he saw.
She didn’t move.
Her fingers toyed with the edge of her collar.
Useful.
The word echoed.
She could drain surge. She could nudge wounded wolves. She could fuck things up royally if she wasn’t careful.
She snorted softly.
“Stop overthinking,” Mara’s voice rasped. “You’ll sprain something.”
Lira jumped. “You were asleep.”
“Appeared asleep,” Mara corrected, yawning. “Never actually.”
“That’s… unhealthy,” Lira said.
“Welcome to being a pack healer,” Mara said dryly. She stretched, joints cracking. “He’s not going to bite you when he shifts back. Much as he might want to.”
“I’m not… afraid of him,” Lira said.
“Maybe not of his teeth,” Mara said. “Afraid of something.”
Lira looked away. “Afraid of being… needed,” she said softly.
Mara’s brows rose. “That’s a new one.”
“People who need me… die,” Lira said. “Or lose pieces of themselves. I’m… bad luck.”
Mara snorted. “You saved his wolf from getting chewed on by magic. If that’s bad luck, I’d hate to see your good.”
“You don’t understand,” Lira began.
“I understand more than you think,” Mara said. “I lost a mate to silver. Before we figured out how to pull it from the blood properly. I’ve watched pups go blue with fever because I didn’t have the right herbs. I’ve stitched up warriors only to see them die in the next fight.” Her eyes were hard. “If I decided every death near me was my fault, I wouldn’t be standing.”
“I *caused* the surge,” Lira whispered. The words slipped out, bare and bleeding.
Mara’s head snapped toward her. “What?”
Lira swallowed. “Everyone thinks it was… random. Or the land. Or… something. But…” She stared at her hands. “I was at the standing stone. I was… angry. At the old alpha, at the council, at the way they ignored the cracks. I shouted. I… *pushed.* I reached for the land’s magic the way my mother taught me not to. And it… answered. Too much. Too fast. It—” Her voice broke. “It wasn’t just *on* me. It was… *through* me.”
Mara was silent for a long moment.
“You were a child with a match,” she said finally. “The forest was already dry. Someone else lit that fire. You just… held the spark.”
“I lit it,” Lira insisted. “If I’d listened, if I’d—”
“If the land hadn’t been stuffed full of old, twisted magic, your little temper tantrum would have fizzled,” Mara said sharply. “Don’t give yourself that much credit. Or that much blame.”
Tears burned behind Lira’s eyes. “You didn’t *see* what it did.”
“No,” Mara said. “But I see what’s happening here. Whatever’s creeping through these woods? It’s the same flavor as what chewed through yours. This isn’t on you, girl. You’re just… the first one we know who touched it and lived.”
“Lived,” Lira repeated, hollow. “Without my wolf.”
“Yes,” Mara said. “Which makes you the only one who can stick your hand in again without losing more.”
“Useful,” Lira said bitterly.
Mara grimaced. “Stop saying that like it’s a curse.”
“It is,” Lira said. “For me.”
“Boo hoo,” Mara said flatly. “You pity yourself in your own time. Right now, we have a beta whose wolf is dangling by a thread and a pack that’s one bad night away from tearing itself apart. You can help. So you will. And later, you can cry about it if you want. I’ll even lend you a handkerchief.”
Despite herself, a laugh hiccuped out of Lira. It turned shaky at the end, but it was something.
Bram’s ears twitched.
His body shifted.
Bones cracked, softer this time. Fur receded. Limbs shortened. The massive wolf shrank, reshaping into a human form.
He curled instinctively, drawing his knees toward his chest as his wolf receded enough to let skin sit right.
Lira’s heart thudded.
His back, broad and scarred, was to them at first. Then he rolled, groaning, onto his back.
His face was human again.
Still scarred. Still… devastating.
His eyes fluttered. Opened.
They were amber. Clear. Faintly disoriented.
They landed on Lira.
Something like recognition flashed there.
She held her breath.
“Morning,” Mara said, too casually. “Have a nice run, princess?”
Bram’s lips twitched. “Felt like I got hit by a tree,” he rasped. His gaze never left Lira’s. “Twice.”
“What do you remember?” Mara asked.
He blinked slowly. “Howls. Pain. Couldn’t… shift. Something… wrapped around me. Wrong.” His gaze sharpened. “Then… her.”
Lira swallowed. “Me.”
He nodded, once. “You… grabbed it.”
She shivered. “Yes.”
“Buried it,” he said. “In… empty.”
Her fingers tightened on the blanket. “Yes.”
He searched her face. “You… okay?”
The question startled her.
“I should be asking you that,” she said.
“I’m not the one who drank… whatever the fuck that was,” he said.
“Yes, you are,” she said. “I just… filtered it.”
He huffed. “How noble.”
“Don’t make fun,” she muttered.
“I’m not,” he said. His gaze dropped to her collar. “You… burned it. The way it burned you. You didn’t… enjoy that.”
“Would you?” she shot back.
He considered. “Probably,” he said. “If it was hurting someone else.”
She stared at him.
A hint of a smile tugged at his mouth. “Dark joke,” he said. “Too soon?”
“Yes,” she said.
He sobered. “You saved my life.”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “Probably.”
He closed his eyes for a heartbeat. Opened them again. “Thank you.”
The words were simple. They landed heavy.
“You’re welcome,” she said.
Silence pulsed, charged.
Mara cleared her throat pointedly. “As delightful as this mutual gratitude is, we have things to discuss.”
Bram’s gaze slid to her. “Always.”
“You felt it,” Mara said. “The… knot.”
“Yes,” he said. His hand went to his chest, over his heart. “Like… rot. Like… what hit them. The rogues. The ones twisted.”
“We’ve seen it before,” Mara said. “Less… obvious. This was… blatant.”
“It’s getting stronger,” he said.
“Or bolder,” Lira added softly.
He looked at her. “You know it.”
“Yes,” she said. “It’s… the same.”
“The same as Thornfell,” he said.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He exhaled harshly. “Fuck.”
“Eloquent,” Mara said.
He ignored her. “It came through me,” he said to Lira. “Crawled along that… seam. Between me and him.”
“Yes,” she said. “And when it reached for me… it found nothing to hold. So it died.”
“Your emptiness is a shield,” Mara said.
Lira flinched at the word *emptiness* but didn’t correct her.
“A shield that hurts,” she said. “I can’t… do that often. Or lightly.”
Bram’s gaze sharpened. “I won’t ask you to.”
She arched a brow. “You already did. You asked me to reach for your wolf. I did. This is the… consequence.”
He frowned. “I didn’t—”
“She’s right,” Mara said. “Everything’s entangled now. That knot finds him because he’s beta, because he’s tied to the land. She reaches for him, she tangles in it too. We can’t separate the threads cleanly.”
“Then we cut them,” he said.
All three of them stared at him.
“You cut your bond to the land and you’re no longer beta,” Mara said. “You’re barely pack. Is that what you want?”
He flinched. “No.”
“Then don’t talk nonsense,” she snapped.
He looked at Lira. “You… didn’t flinch,” he said. “When it hit.”
“I screamed,” she said.
“Not… inside,” he said. “You didn’t… run.”
“I can’t,” she said. “I have nowhere to run *to.* Inside.”
Something shifted in his eyes. Sympathy? Understanding? She wasn’t sure which she could stomach.
“I’ll… help,” he said slowly. “However I can. If you keep… doing whatever you did.”
“You say that like I have any idea what I’m doing,” she said.
He smiled, faintly. “Join the club.”
Mara groaned. “Gods help us. Two broken wolves—one without, one half—decide to cure ancient land magic with stubbornness and sarcasm. We’re all doomed.”
Lira snorted.
Bram’s smile widened, just a fraction.
Outside, the morning light brightened. The pack stirred. Life went on.
Inside the infirmary, in a small, overheated room that smelled like smoke and blood and new possibilities, a scarred beta and a wolf-less healer looked at each other.
Something in the air changed.
It wasn’t the roaring, fated-mate thunder the stories promised. No instant recognition, no lightning strike of desire that made the world fall away.
Just a slow, subtle shift.
Like two pieces of a puzzle that had been sitting apart on the table for years, nudged closer by accident, realizing their edges *fit.*
Not perfect. Not clean. Jagged where life had broken them.
But… fitting.
Lira’s emptiness hummed.
Bram’s wolf pressed, cautiously, against that space.
Neither of them knew what to call it.
Mara watched them, eyes narrowed. “Whatever this is,” she muttered, “it’s going to give me wrinkles.”
“You already have wrinkles,” Bram said absently, still watching Lira.
“More wrinkles,” Mara snapped.
Lira flushed, heat creeping up her throat.
Bram’s gaze dipped, just for a heartbeat, to the line of her neck where the collar sat.
His pupils dilated.
Her heart stumbled.
Dangerous.
“Rest,” she said abruptly, standing. “You need… rest. I need… air.”
She stepped back, almost tripping over the stool.
Bram’s hand shot out, catching her wrist.
Heat flared where his fingers wrapped around her skin.
“Don’t run,” he said quietly.
She froze.
“I’m not—” she began.
“You smell like it,” he said. “Like… a cornered thing.”
She swallowed. “I just… need to think.”
“Thinking’s overrated,” he muttered.
“Maybe for you,” she shot back, stung. “Some of us have to… plan.”
His grip tightened, just a fraction. “We’ll… figure it out,” he said, voice low. “Whatever this is. We’ll… figure it out.”
*We.*
The word hit harder than *useful* ever had.
Her throat worked. “You don’t even… like Thornfell,” she said weakly.
“I like you,” he said.
The words hung there.
He seemed as startled by them as she was.
“I mean,” he rushed, “I don’t… *hate* you. Which is… new. For someone from Thornfell.”
She stared at him. “Smooth,” she said.
He huffed. “I’m concussed.”
“You’re healed enough to be annoying,” Mara said. “Which tells me you’ll live. Good. I was worried.”
He let go of Lira’s wrist reluctantly.
The skin there tingled.
She stepped back, pulse racing.
“You should *both* rest,” Mara decreed. “Before you start making promises you can’t keep.”
Lira nodded, grateful for the out. “I’ll… check on the others,” she said. “See if any new patients came in with… wrongness.”
Mara’s gaze sharpened. “Good. Take Idris. He needs to learn from you.”
Idris groaned from the doorway. “I’m right here.”
“And you’ll be *here* in an hour too,” Mara said. “Now move.”
Lira slipped around the curtain, the infirmary’s cooler air a shock after the heat of Bram’s room.
She leaned against the wall for a moment, eyes closed, breathing.
His scent clung to her skin. Wolf and sweat and faint rogue ash, undercut now by something else. Something that smelled like… possibility.
Dangerous.
“Hey.” Idris’s hand landed gently on her shoulder. “You okay?”
“No,” she said honestly. “But I will be.”
He squeezed. “Come on, then, not-okay healer. Let’s go see what fresh hell the night brought us.”
She straightened. “Lead the way.”
As she followed him down the row of beds, deft hands already reaching for herbs and bandages, she felt the faintest brush in the hollow inside her.
Bram’s wolf.
Curious. Watchful.
She didn’t push it away.
She didn’t pull it closer either.
Not yet.
There would be time for that.
For now, there were wounds to heal, knots to untangle, packs to hold together with spit and will and shared pain.
For now, that was enough.
Outside, the wind shifted.
It carried with it the scent of blood and pine and old, hungry magic.
And beneath that, so faint she might have missed it if she hadn’t been so *empty*—
The promise of something wild, and dangerous, and new.
She set her jaw.
“Let’s work,” she said.
And somewhere, through scar tissue and old guilt, Bram Kade’s battered wolf raised its head.
And listened.