Mira woke to the smell of smoke and someone snoring like a saw through wet wood.
For once, it wasn’t Rafe.
She cracked an eye open.
The eastern pack’s common shelter was little more than a wide, low building with pallets arranged in loose rows around a central hearth. Wolves sprawled in various states of undress—blankets kicked half off, limbs dangling. The fire had burned low to coals, the red glow painting everyone’s faces with soft, ugly honesty.
Her own body felt like a sack of bruises.
Not from any direct hit. Just… use. Too much magic, too much shoving at dark doors, too much standing under old eyes.
Her bitten arm ached, a familiar, dull throb. Her chest felt tight, like she’d spent the night screaming instead of sleeping.
She pushed herself up on one elbow.
Yara lay two pallets away, mouth open, hair everywhere, one foot hanging off the edge. Kai had somehow managed to tangle himself in not just his own blanket, but Wren’s discarded cloak as well. Wren herself was absent; Mira smelled her faintly in the doorway, out on early watch.
Rafe…
She found him by feel before she found him by sight.
The bond hummed, a low, steady vibration under her ribs.
She turned her head.
He sat propped against a post near the far wall, long legs stretched out, back to rough wood. His head was tipped back, eyes closed, mouth parted. Stubble darkened his jaw. One arm rested loosely over his stomach, the other dangled at his side, fingers almost brushing the packed earth.
She frowned.
“Idiot,” she muttered under her breath.
He slept sitting up.
Because of course he did.
No one had claimed the pallet next to him. He could have lain down. But lying down meant being less aware. Less ready to move.
Enforcer habits died hard.
She rolled off her pallet, biting back a groan as her muscles protested, and padded across the room.
His lashes fluttered as her shadow crossed his face.
He didn’t startle.
He just opened his eyes and looked at her.
“Mornin’,” he rasped, voice rough.
“Don’t ‘mornin’’ me,” she whispered. “You slept like a gargoyle.”
His mouth twitched. “Comfortable enough.”
“Liar,” she said.
He huffed a quiet laugh, then winced when his ribs twinged.
Her gaze dropped to the faint bruise peeking above the collar of his tunic. Purple-yellow, edged with green.
“Tevan’s door-kicking stunt whacked you too,” she murmured.
“Just a little echo,” he said. “Nothing like yours.”
“Don’t minimize,” she snapped automatically.
His brows rose. “You’re allowed to be the only one hurting?”
“I’m allowed to be accurate,” she retorted. “You fought a curse. Twice. You’re not made of stone.”
He tilted his head. “You sure?” He tapped his sternum. “Feels a lot like it some days.”
Her mouth softened.
“Same,” she said quietly.
They sat in that strange, early-morning pocket of almost-privacy for a few breaths.
Voices mumbled around them as other wolves shifted in sleep. A pup whimpered in a dream. Someone near the hearth burped loudly and rolled over.
Mira lowered herself to sit cross-legged in front of him.
He blinked.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Define ‘okay,’” she said. “Alive? Yes. Annoyed? Constantly. Hungry? Also yes.”
“Hungry we can fix,” he said. “Annoyed… might be permanent.”
She snorted.
He studied her face.
“You look… better,” he said slowly.
She arched a brow. “Than when?”
“Than when I first saw you,” he said. “At the Circle. At the pens. Even yesterday. There’s… more color. Less… empty.”
Her throat tightened.
“I pulled a wolf out of the dark last night,” she said quietly. “If that doesn’t put a little color in my cheeks, what’s the point?”
He smiled, small.
“Heroic,” he murmured.
“Don’t,” she snapped, heat creeping up her neck. “I already hate that Corin looks at me like I’m his favorite new scroll. Don’t you start with the pedestal shit.”
“It’s not a pedestal,” he said. “It’s… respect.”
“Same thing, different angle,” she muttered.
He shook his head. “You won’t let anyone see you as… more than your worst moments, will you.”
Her jaw clenched. “Better than the opposite.”
He hummed, noncommittal.
Silence stretched.
Mira dropped her gaze to his hands.
Callused. Scarred. Still smudged faintly with last night’s herb-paste.
She wanted to touch them.
She hated that she wanted to.
“Stop,” she muttered to herself.
He cocked his head. “Talking to me or your wolf?”
“Both,” she said.
He chuckled, then winced again.
She reached out before she could stop herself.
Her fingers brushed his ribs, light.
“Where?” she asked.
He went very still.
“Little to the left of where you’re touching,” he said hoarsely.
Her hand slid.
He sucked in a breath.
Her fingertips found the edge of a bruise, heat under skin.
Her healer’s mind cataloged it automatically.
Depth: shallow. No crack in the bone. Color: healing. Pain: sharp but manageable.
Her wolf, meanwhile, was paying attention to an entirely different set of details.
The heat of his skin. The way his muscles clenched under her hand. The way his breath stuttered.
She swallowed.
“You’re fine,” she said gruffly. “Mostly.”
“Mostly,” he echoed.
She realized belatedly that her hand was still on his chest.
Under the thin fabric of his tunic, his heart thudded, strong and fast.
The bond hummed.
She snatched her hand back like she’d touched coals.
He watched her, something raw flickering behind his eyes.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she snapped.
“Like what,” he asked gently.
“Like you… see me,” she said. “It’s rude.”
He smiled.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “I’ll go back to being blind.”
“Please,” she muttered.
He huffed.
A shadow fell across them.
Mira looked up.
Liri stood there, arms folded, eyes red-rimmed but fierce.
“Hey,” she said gruffly. “You two. Walk with me.”
Mira blinked. “Is that a request or an order?”
“Both,” Liri said. “Now.”
Rafe pushed to his feet, offering Mira a hand without thinking.
She hesitated, then took it.
His fingers wrapped around hers, warm and firm, calluses scraping her palm.
He pulled her up in one easy motion, then let go quickly.
Restraint.
They followed Liri out into the pale morning.
The air held that scrubbed-clean smell after a long rain, though it hadn’t rained here. Maybe it was just the absence of curse that made everything feel crisper.
Liri led them to the edge of the den’s small clearing, where a rough fence separated the main area from a cluster of goat pens.
She turned and faced them, expression hard.
“I owe you,” she said.
Mira opened her mouth to protest.
“No,” Liri cut in sharply. “Don’t do the whole ‘you owe us nothing, we just did what we had to’ dance. You dragged my idiot wolf back from wherever he ran off to. That’s not… nothing.”
“Your healer burned the curse,” Mira said. “We just—”
“Cut the guilt-sharing shit,” Liri snapped. “You help. You get thanks. End of story.”
Rafe’s lips twitched.
“I like her,” he murmured.
Mira elbowed him lightly.
Liri took a breath, muscles in her jaw jumping.
“Tevan’s always been… strong,” she said. “First into fights. Last off the training grounds. Thought curses were something that happened to other packs. To ‘weaker’ wolves.” Her mouth twisted. “He thought he could… power through it.”
Rafe’s shoulders tensed.
“Sound familiar,” Mira said under her breath.
He gave her a rueful look.
“When it hit him,” Liri went on, eyes distant now, “it hit hard. He fought it. Harder than any of us. We tried to help. He… pushed. Too much. When you said he kicked it out… yeah. He did. But he kicked himself in the head too.”
She swallowed.
“I thought I’d lost him,” she said. “Not to curse. To… fear. Of it. Of what he’d done. Of hurting us.” Her hands clenched. “I get that. I do. But I also wanted to shake him until his teeth rattled.”
“Understandable,” Mira said softly.
Liri stared at her.
“You do?” she asked.
Mira’s throat tightened.
“I spent a year half-dead myself,” she said. “After the raid. Walking. Talking. Healing. But… not. I hid behind my oath. Let it move my hands. Pretended that was enough. Kellen would have… kicked my ass.”
Rafe’s chest ached at the rawness in her voice.
“He probably would have,” he murmured.
She shot him a faint glare. “Don’t agree with me when I’m insulting myself.”
He smiled.
Liri exhaled.
“Point is,” she said, “you did what I couldn’t. Sera tried. Wren’s words helped. But you two—” she jabbed a finger between them “—you grabbed him. Hard. From… there.” She tapped her own chest. “Whatever you and your bond and your Moon-touched nonsense are… keep being it. Even if it scares the piss out of the elders. Even if it makes you want to run in opposite directions.”
Mira stared at her.
“That’s… a lot,” she said.
Liri snorted. “Tevan always says I talk too much when I’m scared. I think he’s right.” Her eyes glinted. “You two are terrified. That’s good. Means you’re not idiots. Completely.”
Rafe huffed.
“We’re trying,” he said.
“Try harder,” Liri said. “And if either of you ever comes near my den possessed, I’ll knock you out and let Sera poke at you instead.”
Mira smiled, crooked.
“Deal,” she said.
They parted with more gruff thanks, more muttered jokes, more sidelong looks than Mira was entirely comfortable with.
On the walk back to camp, Rafe was quieter than usual.
“You okay?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Just thinking.”
“About what,” she pressed.
“Doors,” he said. “How easy it is to slam them. How hard it is to open them again.”
She swallowed.
“I’ve got a few of those,” she admitted. “You?”
“Whole corridor,” he said dryly.
She snorted.
They walked in silence for a few minutes.
Then he said, so low she almost didn’t hear it, “You ever think about… what if it had been you. On that pallet.”
“Cursed?” she asked. “Or empty?”
“Either,” he said. “Both.”
She hesitated.
“After the curse in my arm,” she said slowly, “I had nightmares. For a while. About… black in my veins. Crawling up. Over my heart. Into my head. About… talking with three voices. Or none.”
He stopped walking.
She took a few more steps before realizing and turned.
His face had gone very still.
“You didn’t tell me,” he said quietly.
“You had your own shit,” she snapped. “And it wasn’t your job to sit by my bed and listen to me whimper.”
“It is my job to notice when you’re…” he gestured vaguely at her chest. “Not okay.”
She scowled. “You’re not my keeper.”
“No,” he said. “I’m your mate.”
The word landed like a stone dropped in still water.
She froze.
He froze.
They stared at each other.
The bond thrummed, pleased.
“Fuck,” she whispered.
“Sorry,” he said immediately. “That… slipped.”
“Slipped,” she repeated, dazed. “Like it’s… nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” he said quickly. “It’s… everything. Too much. I know. I just—”
“Don’t,” she cut in starkly. “Not… here. Not… like this. In the middle of someone else’s den, with curses listening under our feet.”
He swallowed.
“Okay,” he said. “Later.”
Her heart lurched.
“There might not be a later,” she snapped. “Haven’t you figured that out yet? We keep standing near cursed rocks and asking old gods to notice us. Later is a luxury.”
“Then I’ll say it now,” he replied, voice rough. “So I don’t choke on it if rocks fall.”
Her throat burned.
“Rafe,” she said, warning and plea tangled.
He took a breath.
“I care,” he said simply. “Not because of this.” He tapped his chest, where the bond throbbed. “Not only. Because of you. Your stupid mouth. Your stubbornness. The way you beat curses with a knife and a snarl. The way you talk about your brother. The way you talk about my pack even when you hate it. I… care. Deep. More than I should. More than is safe. There. It’s out.”
She stood there, staring at him.
The world seemed to narrow to the space between them.
Wind.
Trees.
The faint murmur of eastern wolves in the distance.
All of it receded.
“I hate you,” she whispered.
His face flickered.
Then she added, voice shaking, “For saying that before I was ready to hear it.”
He blinked.
“That’s fair,” he said softly.
She squeezed her eyes shut, fingers digging into her palms.
“Don’t… ask me to say it back,” she said. “Not yet. I can’t… twist my tongue around the words without choking on all the blood between us.”
“I’m not asking,” he said. “I’m just… putting it on the table. So you know what you’re dealing with when you decide whether to run or… stay.”
Her laugh came out wet.
“I can’t run,” she said. “Every time I try, some cursed rock pops up in front of me and the council drags us both back by the scruff.”
He smiled, crooked.
“Then maybe we walk,” he said. “Slow. Together. Until we figure out what the fuck we’re doing.”
She opened her eyes.
His gaze was steady.
Vulnerable.
Hopeful in a way that made something in her chest ache.
“You’re very… brave,” she said slowly. “Saying it. Knowing I might… not.”
He shrugged one shoulder.
“I fought curses,” he said. “Confessing to a healer is… less scary.”
“Liar,” she murmured.
He grinned.
“Terrified,” he admitted.
She drew in a slow breath.
Her wolf was practically climbing the inside of her ribs, whining.
Say it, it urged. Or something like it. Give him a bone.
She couldn’t.
Not fully.
Not yet.
But she could give him something.
“You matter,” she said quietly. “To me. As much as I hate it. As much as it scares me. You… matter. Happy?”
His throat worked.
“Very,” he said, voice rough.
“Good,” she muttered. “Now shut up and walk. We’ve got elders to annoy and curses to kick.”
He laughed.
They moved again.
Side by side.
Not resolved.
Not simple.
But… more honest.
And under the earth, something old ground its teeth.
Honesty.
Hope.
Bonds.
Love.
All very inconvenient.
It would just have to… adjust.
Or destroy them.
Whichever came first.
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