Mira dreamed of roots.
They curled under her skin, black and slick, threading through her muscles. They wrapped around her bones, crept toward her heart.
She cut at them with a knife that was also Rafe’s hand, also Wren’s voice, also her own stubbornness.
Each time she sliced, they screamed. Each time she burned them, more appeared, sprouting from cracks in the floor, from the walls, from the mouths of wolves she knew.
Kellen walked toward her through the tangle, bare feet bloody. His chest was whole. His eyes were bright.
“Too late,” he said. “You can’t cut what’s already–”
The roots burst from his throat.
She woke with a gasp.
The room was dim, shadows long. Her bitten arm throbbed, but the crawling sensation was gone. Her fingers tingled, prickly pins and needles as blood returned past the tourniquet.
Soft weight pressed against her hand.
She turned her head.
Rafe slept in the chair beside the table.
His head had fallen back, mouth slightly open, dark stubble shadowing his jaw. One arm lay along the table, his fingers still loosely wrapped around hers. His injured side was angled protectively toward her, as if he’d sit up in pain before he’d let anything reach her.
An odd warmth bloomed in her chest.
Her wolf stirred, stretching, sniffing.
Ours, it said sleepily. Stupid. Good.
She stared at him.
He looked younger in sleep. Less like an enforcer, more like the boy he must have been once, before Joren and war had carved him into something sharp.
The urge to reach out and trace the faint scar along his brow—just to see where it began and ended—was ridiculous.
She did it anyway.
Her fingers brushed lightly along the uneven line of flesh.
He startled, eyes flying open, hand going to the knife at his belt before memory crashed back and he froze.
“Mira,” he said, breath catching. “Fuck. Don’t do that.”
“What, wake you?” she asked. “Or touch your face?”
“Both,” he muttered. “I thought–”
“Someone was trying to kill you?” she supplied.
“Again,” he said. “Habit.”
She dropped her hand. “How long was I out?”
He rubbed a hand over his face, winced when his side twinged. “Hours. Sun set. Came up again. We’re somewhere in the ‘too long’ range.”
“You didn’t sleep?” she asked.
He gave her a look. “I did. Eventually. Chair’s not comfortable.”
“You could have taken the bed,” she said.
“I’m not putting your patients out of their spots,” he said. “And if I lay down, getting up would have been… interesting.”
Her gaze flicked to his bandages. “How bad?”
“Annoying,” he said. “Hurts when I breathe too deep. Or laugh. Or move. So I’ve stopped doing those.”
“You laughed,” she pointed out.
“Couldn’t help it,” he said. “You were mocking my accent in your sleep.”
Heat crept up her neck. “I what?”
“You said, and I quote, ‘stop saying “thee” like you’re a graveside priest,’” he said, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Which is particularly funny because I’ve never said ‘thee’ in my life.”
She groaned, covering her eyes with her free hand. “Kill me now.”
“No,” he said automatically. “We just saved you. Would be a waste.”
She peered at him between her fingers. “You’re very… determined… about my continued existence.”
He shrugged slightly. “Bond.”
She made a face. “Stop blaming the bond for things that are clearly your own poor choices.”
He huffed. “Stubborn.”
“Hypocrite,” she shot back.
His smile faded slightly as he really looked at her.
Color had returned to her cheeks. Her eyes were clearer. The angry red around the wound had dulled to a less frightening pink. She looked… less like she might shatter.
Relief loosened something in his chest he hadn’t noticed had been clenched.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Like I drank a whole jar of bad moonshine and then fought a bear,” she said. “But the crawling’s gone. That’s… something.”
He exhaled slowly. “Good.”
Her fingers twitched in his. She glanced down, then back at him.
“You didn’t let go,” she said.
“You didn’t either,” he replied.
She considered that.
“Might as well make use of it,” she muttered, then swung her legs, carefully, off the side of the table.
“Whoa,” Rafe said, half-lurching up. “What are you doing?”
“Standing,” she said. “Possibly. Eventually.”
“You lost a lot of blood,” he protested. “You just ripped a curse out of your arm. Sit.”
She fixed him with a glare. “Who’s the healer here?”
“The one whose arm is currently trying to detach from her body,” he said. “Lie down.”
“Help me up or I swear I’ll throw something heavy at you,” she snarled.
He hesitated. Then sighed, defeated.
“Stubborn idiot,” he muttered, moving to her side. “Fine. But if you faint, I’m dropping you.”
“Liar,” she said.
He slid an arm around her waist, careful of her wounded arm. Heat flared where his palm pressed against the small of her back. Her body, traitorous thing, leaned into it.
Her toes touched the floor.
It felt… strange.
As if earth had shifted under her, become both more and less solid.
She wobbled.
His grip tightened.
“Easy,” he said.
“Don’t,” she bit out. “I hate that word.”
“Easy?” he asked.
“Yes,” she snarled. “Nothing about this is easy.”
He couldn’t argue.
They took a step.
Her knees threatened to buckle. He bore more of her weight without thinking.
“I said help, not carry,” she gritted. Her breath came short.
“You weigh nothing,” he said. “Shut up and let me.” He frowned. “Have you eaten?”
“Not recently,” she admitted. “Wren’s stew before the rogue. Then… curse removal apparently burns a lot of energy.”
He made a face. “You make everything sound casual. ‘Just ripped some evil out of my veins before breakfast.’”
“You wrestled a possessed wolf with half your insides stitched,” she shot back. “Don’t act superior.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I’m terrified. Of you. Of this. Of what happens next.”
That quiet admission slipped between them like a knife, cutting through the brittle banter.
She looked up at him.
He met her gaze.
Their faces were very close.
If she tipped her head a fraction, she could brush her mouth against his jaw.
His pupils widened. His breath hitched.
Her heart hammered.
No, some rational sliver of her said. Not like this. Not now. Not when everything hurts.
She stepped away instead.
Or tried to.
Her knees chose that moment to wobble.
He cursed, catching her before she hit the floor.
Their bodies crashed together, her uninjured arm flinging up around his neck by instinct. His hand clamped over her hip, fingers digging in.
Pain shot from her bitten arm. White flared at the edges of her vision.
His scent flooded her nose.
Pine. Smoke. Blood. Him.
The bond roared.
For a heartbeat, the world shrank to the pounding of his heart against her chest, the rush of his breath against her ear, the solidity of his body under her hands.
His mouth was very close.
“Mira,” he said hoarsely. “We should… sit you down.”
“Yes,” she said. “We… should.”
Neither of them moved.
He swallowed. “You’re… trembling.”
“Shut up,” she snapped automatically. It came out breathless.
His fingers flexed on her hip.
“You smell… like before the storm,” he said, dazed. “Like when the air is too full and you know lightning’s going to hit somewhere, you just don’t know where.”
Her throat worked. “You sound like an elder spinning tales.”
“Sorry,” he muttered. “I—”
“Don’t be,” she whispered.
She saw it then—the exact moment he decided to move.
His eyes dipped to her mouth. His hand slid, infinitesimally, up her side. His lips parted.
Her wolf surged.
Yes, it said.
Her body leaned—
The door slammed open.
“Mira! The council runner’s here, and Wren says if you don’t—oh.”
Yara froze in the doorway, hand flung out like she was about to grab the handle back. Her gaze took in Mira half-collapsed against Rafe, his hand on her hip, their faces inches apart.
“This is becoming a habit,” she muttered.
Mira sprang back like she’d been scalded.
Pain flared up her arm. She hissed.
Rafe winced, one hand flying to his side.
Yara sighed, long-suffering. “I leave you two alone for half a day and the tension in here could be used to string bows.”
“Shut up,” Mira snapped, face burning.
“Good morning to you too,” Yara said. “Wren sent me to drag you to the hall, curse or no curse. The council witness arrived early. Old, cranky, and already complaining about our beds being too soft.”
“Witness?” Rafe asked sharply.
“From the capital,” Yara said. “Big neutral seal, lots of fancy words. Here to poke you and make sure we’re not chewing on your ankles while you sleep.”
He scowled. “They’d be better off checking Joren’s conscience.”
“Tried,” Yara said. “Got lost, never returned.”
Despite the flush still heating her face, Mira’s lips twitched.
“Help me find my boots,” she muttered. “Apparently, I have to limp in front of an elder and prove I’m not hexed.”
“You should be in bed,” Rafe said.
“So should you,” she shot back.
“Come on,” Yara said, exasperated. “If you both faint in the hall, it’ll make Wren’s job easier. She can say ‘see, look at my poor wounded wolves, Joren’s an ass.’”
Mira exhaled sharply. “Fine.”
Rafe reached for her instinctively. She glared at his hand.
“I can walk,” she said. “Sort of. With Yara. You stay.”
His jaw clenched. “You want me to be lying in your bed while some elder prods my side and decides if I live or die?”
“Yes,” she said. “Because if you come hobbling into the hall, Joren’s runner will piss himself with joy and sprint back to tell his alpha how weak you look.”
He grimaced. “You’re not wrong.”
“Sometimes I hate that,” she muttered. “That we’re right about each other more than we want to be.”
“Shared curse,” he said.
“Shared brain,” Yara muttered. “Terrifying.”
Mira shot him one last look.
“Don’t move,” she ordered. “If you so much as think about doing something heroic while I’m gone, I’ll–”
“Snip something important,” he finished. “You’ve mentioned.”
She nodded sharply. “Good. You’re learning.”
He watched her limp toward Yara, biting back the urge to go anyway. His wolf paced, hating letting her leave his sight.
She made it to the door.
Paused.
Looked back.
“Rafe,” she said.
He lifted his chin. “Yeah?”
“If the elder tries anything… weird… with you,” she said. “Tell him I said to shove his incense up his ass.”
He huffed a laugh. “I’ll pass on your advice.”
She nodded, then was gone, Yara’s steadying arm around her waist.
The cabin felt colder without her.
The bond hummed, stretched but unbroken.
Rafe pushed himself to sit more upright, ignoring the throb in his side, and stared at the ward-marks on the floor.
The symbols he’d drawn with salt and blood stared back, dark and faintly tacky.
He’d called on old things today. Tied his magic—such as it was—to Ashridge’s.
He wondered if somewhere, deep under the earth, something had stirred.
And if it had… what it wanted.
* * *
The council witness was every inch the elder Yara had promised.
He stood at the edge of the hall, cloak heavy with stitched sigils, staff carved with more symbols than most wolves could name. His hair was iron grey, braided back from a face lined like old leather. His eyes, though, were sharp as a hawk’s, a clear wolf-gold that missed nothing.
“Mira of Ashridge,” he said as she hobbled in, voice carrying. “Heard of you.”
“Hope it was good,” she muttered.
“Depends on who was talking,” he said. “Last time I sat with the packs’ council, half swore you were a gift from the Mother and half said you were an upstart girl who needed a elder’s hand on her shoulder.”
“Funny how that works,” she said. “Everyone thinks they know how to use a healer.”
He smiled faintly. “And you are?” He nodded toward Wren.
“Wren, alpha of Ashridge,” Wren said, stepping forward. “This is Mira, my healer. You’ll be assessing my hospitality, I assume.”
“And Ironclaw’s accusations,” he said. “I am Elder Corin, here on behalf of the council. I was told there is an Ironclaw enforcer under your roof.”
“There is,” Wren said. “He was brought bleeding across our border. My healer tended him. Joren now wants him back sooner than is wise. You’re here to determine whether our refusal is… reasonable.”
Corin’s lips quirked. “That’s one way of putting it.”
He turned his glittering gaze on Mira.
“And you, girl?” he asked. “What do you think?”
She blinked. “About what?”
“About sending him back,” he said. “If the choice were yours alone.”
“It isn’t,” she said.
“If it were,” he pressed.
She met his gaze steadily.
“I’d keep him until I was certain he wouldn’t die on the road,” she said. “Then I’d let him choose. Stay or go. I obey my oath either way.”
A murmur went around the hall.
Corin’s eyes crinkled. “Honest. Risky. Good.”
“Joren won’t like that answer,” Wren said tightly.
“Joren rarely likes truth that isn’t his own,” Corin said. “Come. Show me the patient.”
Mira led the way.
Her arm ached. Her legs threatened to fold with every other step. Pride held her upright.
Yara hovered an inch behind, ready to catch.
As they neared the healer’s house, the scent hit Corin first.
Ashridge. Ironclaw. Blood. Herbs. And under it all, something else.
He stopped so abruptly Mira almost ran into him.
“You smell it?” she asked.
“Bond,” he said simply. “Strong. New. Troublesome.”
Her stomach dipped.
“I didn’t ask for it,” she said.
“Few do,” he murmured.
He pushed the door open.
Rafe sat up on the table, back straight, eyes hard. He’d stripped his bandages down to show the wound cleanly, linen folded neatly in his lap. Respect, Mira realized abruptly. Deference to the elder’s inspection.
Corin took him in with one long, measuring look.
“Rafe of Ironclaw,” he said. “I remember you.”
Rafe’s brows rose. “You do?”
“You bloodied my nephew’s nose at last year’s moot,” Corin said dryly. “He deserved it. You did it with style.”
Rafe’s mouth twitched. “He tried to grope a serving girl.”
“Exactly,” Corin said. “I’m pleased to see your fists are not only for war.”
“I prefer other uses,” Rafe muttered, then flushed. “Not– I mean–”
Mira smothered a snort. Yara failed and choked.
Corin’s eyes glinted. “The bond has not dulled your tongue, I see.”
Rafe’s jaw tightened. “You smell it too.”
Corin nodded once. “Hard to miss. Smells like rain on hot stone. Rare. Dangerous. Useful, if handled well.”
“Everyone keeps saying ‘dangerous’ and ‘useful’ like they’re excited,” Mira muttered. “I’m not.”
Corin smiled faintly. “No, you wouldn’t be. You’re the one at its heart.” He moved closer, staff thudding lightly on the floor. “Let me see.”
He examined Rafe’s wound with hands that were surprisingly gentle, fingers cool and precise. He traced the puckered line of the stitches, pressed lightly around the edges. Rafe kept his face impassive, though his jaw clenched when Corin hit a tender spot.
“Clean,” Corin murmured. “Healing well. You work fast, healer.”
Mira grunted. “I had… incentive.”
Corin’s eyes flicked to her bitten arm.
“Ah,” he said. “So I hear. Let me see yours.”
She hesitated.
He gave her a look that said don’t be foolish without saying the words.
She unwrapped the bandage clumsily with one hand. Yara stepped in, helping, fingers deft.
The cut she’d made above the bite was angry and deep, the edges swollen. But the skin held no black threads. The flesh, though inflamed, throbbed in a normal, healthy, upset way.
Mira exhaled.
Corin’s brows rose.
“You cut the curse out,” he said quietly. “And burned it.”
“Yes,” she said. “With his help.” She jerked her chin toward Rafe. “And Wren’s.”
Corin’s gaze went to the ward-marks on the floor, then to the hearth, where a faint residue of darkness still clung to the stones.
“You called old wards,” he said to Rafe. “Northern ones. You had no formal training.”
Rafe shrugged one shoulder. “My mother taught me songs. Symbols. I listened.”
“Good,” Corin said. “We’ve forgotten too many of those in favor of pretty rituals that do little but placate consciences.”
Wren, standing just inside the door with Kai at her shoulder, shifted.
“Can you tell what that… thing… was?” she asked.
Corin tapped his staff thoughtfully.
“Not precisely,” he said. “But I can guess. Old magic. Something that fed on rage and fear. It found a wolf already broken and climbed inside. The bite carried a… piece of it. A seed. It tried to plant itself in your healer and use her as a doorway.”
Mira’s stomach flipped. “Lovely.”
“You cut it before it took full root,” Corin went on. “The bond and the wards helped. That’s… interesting.”
“Interesting like… ‘good’ interesting?” Yara asked. “Or ‘we’re all fucked’ interesting?”
Corin’s mouth quirked. “Both.”
Mira groaned.
“Your verdict?” Wren cut in. “On Rafe. On us. On Joren’s demand.”
Corin considered, gaze moving between Mira and Rafe.
“You have done what your oath required,” he said. “And more. The Ironclaw enforcer lives despite an arrow that would have killed most. You sheltered him. You defended him from a curse that could have used his wounded state to slip deeper. You did not use his injury to harm him further.”
He turned to Rafe.
“You are not fit for travel to the north border on foot,” he said bluntly. “Not yet. Another few days, perhaps. A week would be better. Your healer is right. To send you now would be to risk your life needlessly.”
Rafe inclined his head. “I figured.”
“Joren will not like that,” Wren said.
“Joren can eat my staff,” Corin replied. “I speak for the council here. Not for his pride.”
Mira snorted softly.
Corin’s eyes softened as he looked at her again.
“As for the bond,” he said. “It complicates things. But it is not, in itself, against law. The council will not force you together or apart. They’re too afraid of meddling with fate outright.”
“Good,” she muttered.
“But they will watch you,” he added. “Both. Closely.”
Rafe’s brows knit. “For what.”
“For whether you tear each other apart,” Corin said simply. “Or knit something new.”
Mira’s pulse thudded.
“No pressure,” she said weakly.
“Plenty of pressure,” he countered. “You two are not the first wolves bound across pack lines. You may be the first whose bond forms in the middle of a truce as fragile as spun sugar.”
Rafe swallowed. “We didn’t ask for it.”
“No,” Corin said. “But you have it. The question now is what you do with it.”
Silence hummed.
Rafe’s fingers twitched against the table edge.
Mira’s bitten arm throbbed a dull reminder of what they’d already survived together.
“We don’t know yet,” she said quietly.
“I’d be more worried if you thought you did,” Corin said. He tapped his staff once, sharp. “For now: you both stay. Here. Under Ashridge’s roof. Under Wren’s eye. Joren will be… informed. If he wishes to stomp and snarl, he can do it in front of the council, not at your door.”
Wren exhaled, shoulders slumping in something like relief. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Corin said. “This is the beginning, not the end. The thing that bit your healer will not be the last of its kind. Something old is restless. Bonds like yours draw attention.”
Mira’s skin crawled. “From what.”
“From whatever’s out there,” he said. “Watching. Waiting. The same whatever that slid into that rogue. The same that tried to crawl through your veins.”
“Great,” she muttered. “We’re beacons.”
“Yes,” he said simply. “So be bright. Better that than dark.”
He turned to go, then paused at the door.
“And Mira,” he said.
She looked up warily. “Yes?”
“Next time you cut a curse out of your own arm,” he said, “maybe ask someone else to hold the knife.”
She snorted. “Know any other idiots willing to do it?”
He smiled wryly. “You seem to have found one.”
Her gaze slid, unbidden, to Rafe.
Heat crept up her neck.
“Unfortunately,” she muttered.
Corin chuckled softly and stepped out into the daylight.
Wren followed, already calling orders to Kai, to Yara, to unseen wolves outside.
The cabin door clicked shut.
Silence washed in.
Rafe exhaled slowly.
“Well,” he said. “That went… better than I feared.”
Mira stared at her arm. At the angry, raw wound. At the faint black smudge that had stained the bandage Corin had pressed in place. It wasn’t moving. It wasn’t spreading. It was just… there.
“Better,” she echoed. “We ‘get’ to stew here together longer while something old licks its chops.”
“Could be worse,” he said.
“How,” she demanded.
“Could be stewing separately,” he said. “With no idea if the other was alive.”
Her heart stuttered.
The casual way he said it, like it was obvious, made her chest ache.
She covered it with a snort. “You’re very needy for a big, bad enforcer.”
“I’m very aware of how fast things can… end,” he said quietly. “I don’t like not knowing.”
She looked at him.
His face was open in a way she suspected he didn’t show many. Vulnerability edged with humor. Fear edged with stubbornness.
“I don’t either,” she admitted.
He smiled faintly. “Then we’re agreed on something.”
“We’ve been agreed on more things than is good for us,” she muttered.
His smile widened.
“You hungry?” he asked abruptly.
She blinked. “What?”
“You haven’t eaten since before the rogue,” he said. “You said so. Your body needs… fuel… to heal. Even I know that.”
She scowled. “Don’t use my own lectures on me.”
He tilted his head. “Will you eat if I do it without commentary?”
“Maybe,” she said.
“Stay,” he ordered.
She bristled. “I—”
“Sit,” he amended. “Lie. Whatever passes for ‘not falling on your face’ in your world. I’ll get food.”
“You can barely stand,” she protested.
“I can stand well enough to ladle stew,” he said. “Wren won’t mind if I raid her pot. It’s for us anyway.”
She hesitated.
Her stomach growled loudly enough that even his dulled senses heard it.
He grinned. “See?”
“Traitor,” she muttered at her own gut.
“Stay,” he said again, softer this time.
She sighed. “Fine. But if you rip those stitches, I’ll skin you and use you as a rug.”
“Romantic,” he said.
She flipped two fingers at him without heat and eased herself back onto the pillow.
He pushed himself to his feet, hiding the brief grimace of pain. Each step to the door pulled at his side, but he could manage. He’d walked into worse pain for less reason.
This, at least, was for food. For her.
He left the cabin, nodding at Kai outside, and limped toward the hall.
Behind him, Mira watched him go, biting her lip.
The bond tugged faintly as the distance between them grew. Not painful. Just… noticeable. Like a stretched thread.
She exhaled.
“Ties that pull,” she muttered.
Her wolf huffed in agreement.
“Idiot,” she added quietly. She wasn’t sure if she meant him or herself.
Probably both.
* * *