Mira had fallen asleep sitting in her chair.
She woke with a start, head jerking, neck screaming as if someone had shoved a knife between her vertebrae. Her mouth tasted foul. Her hands were numb where they’d been folded in her lap, fingers tucked under her thighs.
The room was dim. The fire had burned low, embers a dull glow in the hearth. Toren snored softly on the table, the sound oddly reassuring.
Mira groaned and scrubbed her palms over her face. “How long was I out?”
The sky outside the small window above the sink was a wash of color, somewhere between afternoon and evening. Her stomach growled, hollow.
She’d meant to lie down for an hour after tending Toren and eating Wren’s stew. Instead, she’d sat in her father’s old armchair “just for a moment” and drowned in sleep.
You need it, her wolf grumbled. You run us like a hunted deer.
“I know,” she muttered aloud, ignoring the absurdity of arguing with herself. “But I can’t exactly ask the patients to schedule their emergencies between my naps.”
Her wolf huffed.
Mira hauled herself up, every joint complaining, and moved to check on Toren. His color was better. The ragged wound slashed across his torso had pulled together a little, the paste-drenched bandages damp but not soaked through with fresh blood.
She pressed her fingers gently at his throat. His pulse thrummed, steady. His breathing was slow, deeper than earlier.
“Good,” she murmured. “Stay that way. I’m not in the mood to explain your death to your mate.”
He didn’t have one, as far as she knew, but the joke comforted her.
She stripped and rewound the bandages with quick, practiced motions, humming under her breath. An old lullaby Kellen had used to sing to her when the wind howled through gaps in the old house’s roof and she’d been convinced ghosts would come down it like a chimney.
The knock at the door made her flinch so hard she almost dropped the roll of linen.
Three hard, rapid bangs. No bell.
Her heart leapt into her throat. Warriors. Urgent.
“Mother above,” she whispered, tossing the bandage aside and snatching up her apron. “Not again.”
She shoved her arms through the straps as she crossed the room, tying it behind her back with fumbling fingers. Her bare feet slapped the floor. She didn’t bother with shoes.
She wrenched the door open.
The world crashed into her.
Cold air, sharp and biting. The scent of blood—so much blood—slammed into her nose like a brick. Sweat. Panic. Ironclaw.
Her vision tunneled. For a second, all she saw was red on snow, her brother’s body sprawled.
“Mira!” Yara gasped, half-dragging, half-carrying a limp form with Dela’s help. Between them hung a man, bare-chested, an arrow jutting from his side, blood pouring bright and shocking down his skin.
Not one of theirs.
His scent hit her like a fist.
Not Ashridge. Not anyone she knew. Wild, sharp, tinged with smoke and something darker. Ironclaw. But under it, something else, something that arrowed straight through her lungs and lodged somewhere behind her breastbone.
Warm pine. The tang of rain on stone. A hint of musk that made her wolf sit up so fast Mira swayed.
Oh, her wolf breathed. There.
Every hair on Mira’s arms stood up.
“What—” Her voice came out hoarse. She swallowed. “What in all hells is this?”
“We… border… river—” Yara panted. Her face was white under the streaks of dirt. Blood spattered her neck. “Arrow from our ridge knocked him onto our stones. Alpha said—”
“We had to bring him here,” Dela cut in, teeth bared, eyes wild. “She said—she said the treaty—”
Mira’s gaze snapped to the man between them.
He was taller than she was by a head, maybe more, his weight straining the women’s arms. Muscles roped his chest and shoulders, not pretty, but earned—corded from years of fighting, scars crossing like pale lines on tanned skin. Hair dark, shaved close on the sides, longer on top where sweat had matted it. Stubble darkened a strong jaw. His nose had been broken at least once, maybe twice; it listed slightly to the left.
The arrow jutted from under his right ribs at a cruel angle. Blood soaked his side, ran down the ridges of his abdomen, dripped off the waistband of his pants.
His head lolled. His eyes were half-open, pupils blown, irises a pale, startling silver-green. His lips were drawn back from his teeth in a snarl even unconscious, breath coming in ragged pants.
Ironclaw, everything in her screamed. Enemy. But her wolf was losing its mind.
Ours, it howled, slamming into her gut. Mate.
The word detonated inside her. For a wild second, the world blurred. The doorway, the warriors, the blood—everything tilted.
Mira’s hands shot out, bracing on the doorframe. Her knees threatened to give.
“No,” she whispered.
Yara and Dela stared at her, panting. “Mira?” Yara’s brows knit. “You all right?”
You smell it, her wolf panted. You feel it. Don’t you lie to me, girl. That’s ours.
“No,” Mira said again, louder, to herself, to her wolf. To the universe that thought this was funny. “No, no, no. That’s… that’s an Ironclaw. That’s—”
“An enforcer,” Dela spit. Hatred crackled off her. “Joren’s, from the way they moved around him. I’ve seen him at the border talks. He was there the night of the raid, Mir. He was—”
Her voice broke. She swallowed. “I remember his eyes.”
Mira’s stomach lurched. The inside of her skull buzzed. Her gaze dropped, unbidden, to the man’s hands.
Scarred. Callused. Blood-slick now. They twitched faintly, fingers curling as if reaching for something that wasn’t there.
A memory stirred: smoke, screaming, the flash of a wolf’s jaws in the firelit dark. A boy’s body skidding across a trampled yard, chest ripped open.
Mira clamped down on it so hard her teeth ached.
She didn’t know for certain he’d been there. But Dela had a better eye for faces than anyone she knew, and if Dela said she recognized him…
Her wolf didn’t give a damn.
Mate, it insisted, pressing against the inside of her skin, desperate. Ours. Hurt. Fix him.
The oath under her breastbone flared, hot and insistent. She could almost feel it turning, focusing, latching onto this new weight dropped on her doorstep.
Her palms burned.
Yara shifted, groaning under the man’s weight. “Mira. He’s heavy. We can’t stand here gawking.”
Mira’s laugh came out sharp and a little wild. “You bring a half-dead Ironclaw enforcer to my door without warning and I’m the one gawking?”
“Wren said—” Dela started.
“Wren isn’t the one who has to shove her hands in his guts,” Mira snapped. The man’s scent curled around her like smoke. She fought the urge to inhale it deeper. “Put him on the table. Now. Before he bleeds out on my floor and we have a war on top of the mess.”
They hauled him inside. The motion jostled the arrow. He groaned, low and rough, muscles clenching. The sound melted down Mira’s spine like hot wax.
She wanted to slap herself.
She shut the door with more force than necessary, then forced her legs to move. Each step toward the table felt like walking into a storm.
They dumped him on the wood with less care than they would have shown one of their own. Yara muttered an apology under her breath, then scowled like she didn’t mean it.
Mira’s healer’s mind cataloged everything in a heartbeat.
Pulse: rapid, weak but present. Breathing: shallow, pained. Skin: clammy with cold sweat. Arrow entry: below the ribs, right side. Angle: upward toward the lung. Danger: high.
“Yara, stoke the fire. Dela, boil water. Lots.” Mira’s voice came out sharp, clipped. It steadied her. Orders were familiar ground. “Get me the cleanest linens from the chest. Not the ones we used this morning, the others.”
Yara moved. Dela hesitated.
“Mira,” she began, voice low. “We don’t have to—”
“We do.” Mira rounded on her, eyes flashing. “Do you want to be the one to explain to Wren that you stood in my doorway and watched an Ironclaw bleed out when the treaty says we treat them?”
“I’d celebrate explaining it,” Dela snapped back. “Joren used our bones for kindling. You know that. You think he’d spare one of us if the roles were reversed?”
“No,” Mira said. “I think he’d tear out our throats himself and piss on our corpses. That’s not the point.”
“Then what—”
“The point is, we are not them,” Mira hissed. Her hands shook. She clenched them into fists. “We’re the ones who remember what promises mean. We’re the ones who keep the damn oaths even when it hurts. We’re the ones who—”
Her voice broke.
Silence fell, heavy.
Dela’s jaw worked. Then she cursed, stomping toward the hearth. “Fine. But if he so much as looks at me wrong when he wakes up, I’m jamming that arrow somewhere more creative.”
“Get in line,” Mira muttered. She turned back to the enforcer.
He wasn’t pretty. Not in the polished, storybook way some men were. His body was a brutal map of a life spent fighting—scars old and new, muscle layered not for show but function. His nose was uneven, cheekbone slightly dented from an old break. A thin, pale scar ran from his left eyebrow into his hairline.
His mouth, though.
Wide. Full lower lip, thinner upper, both currently drawn back in a grimace of pain. Stubble shadowed his jaw. There was a stubborn set to it even unconscious, like he’d refuse to back down even from a mountain.
Stupid. Reckless. Wolf.
Her wolf whimpered.
“Shut up,” Mira whispered, not sure if she meant her wolf or herself. “Just—shut up. He’s an Ironclaw. He’s—”
He groaned again, louder this time. His head rolled, eyes fluttering.
She didn’t give herself time to think. She slapped her hands against either side of the arrow, fingers digging into his bloody skin to brace it so it wouldn’t shift.
The moment her palms touched him, the world exploded.
Heat shot up her arms, searing along her veins. Her heartbeat slammed into her throat. The oath under her breastbone roared to life, not the familiar soft hum, but a blaze.
And under it, older than any oath, deeper than any law, another force uncoiled.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was claws sinking into the inside of her ribs, a howl tearing through her marrow.
Mate, it snarled. Ours. Fix him.
Mira gasped.
The room swayed. The firelight blurred. For a second, she thought she might faint, which was laughable; she’d seen intestines spill into her hands without flinching. But this—
His scent hit her full force, as if some dam had broken.
Pine and cold river stones. Smoke from a hearth that wasn’t hers. The metallic tang of steel. Under it, something earthy and clean, like wild thyme crushed underfoot.
Her vision tunneled down to his face.
His lashes were dark against his cheekbones, longer than any man’s had a right to be. His pupils were blown wide, but she caught a flash of that strange, pale green. His chest heaved, muscles bunching under her hands.
He looked… lost.
Something in her howled in answer.
Her wolf surged, slamming into the surface. For a heart-stopping instant, she wondered if it might tear through her skin, take over, drag her into a shift she hadn’t planned.
She dragged in a breath hard enough to hurt.
“No,” she whispered. To her wolf. To the bond. To the universe that thought this was some kind of twisted joke. “Not him. Anyone but him.”
The bond didn’t care. It wrapped around her ribs like iron bands, settled into her bones as if it had always been there and had just been waiting for its other half to appear.
Too late, her wolf said, almost giddy. Found him. You can’t undo a scent like that, girl.
“Mira?” Yara’s voice sounded very far away. “You… you’ve gone pale. Like—paler than normal pale.”
“I’m fine,” Mira croaked.
She wasn’t. Not by any sane measure. But she could stand. She could breathe. She could move her hands.
She forced her own emotions down like shoving a beast back into a too-small cage. The bars rattled. Her wolf paced, furious, terrified, strangely elated.
“Hold him,” she told Yara and Dela, her voice snapping into the tone she used when babies were crowning and fathers were fainting. “Shoulders and hips. Don’t let him thrash when I deal with the arrow.”
“Deal with,” Dela muttered. “As in, ram it in deeper?”
Mira ignored her. She braced one hand just above the wound, the other on the arrow’s shaft near the entry point. Every touch sizzled. She grit her teeth.
“On my count,” she said. “Three, two—”
On “two,” she yanked.
The arrow came free with a wet, sucking sound, the head tearing at flesh on its way out. Blood gushed, hot and slick, over her fingers, splattering her apron and stomach.
The man—Rafe, some distant memory whispered, from border talks, from overheard names—jerked. A raw sound tore out of him, half-snarl, half-moan. His back arched, muscles knotting.
Yara cursed, leaning her weight into his shoulders. Dela grunted as his hips bucked.
The bond flared, a blast of sensation that wasn’t hers flooding through her chest.
Pain. White-hot, flaring like lightning. Fury. A sense of edges, sharp and howling. And under it, a flicker of confusion and something like… wonder? Disbelief?
What—who—
The impressions slammed into her so hard she staggered. For a terrifying heartbeat, she forgot where she was. She was in a strange body on a strange table, bleeding, lungs on fire. She was him.
Then she gasped, and she was herself again, back in her own skin, her own hands drenched in blood.
She pressed hard over the wound, clamping her palm against the ragged hole.
“Bandages!” she barked. “Now.”
Yara shoved a roll into her free hand. Mira wound it around his torso, tight, as fast as she could, fingers slipping on slick skin. The fabric bloomed red almost instantly.
“Mother above,” Dela whispered. “There’s so much—”
“Shut up,” Mira snapped. “If you’re going to puke, do it in the basin, not on my floor.”
Dela made a gagging noise that was half-choked laugh, half-sob. She wasn’t usually squeamish. This was just… a lot.
Mira tied off the bandage and grabbed the jar of imported powder from a high shelf—a rare, expensive coagulant she’d bartered three jars of honey and a handful of silver for last summer. She hated using it. It was precious. But this…
She sprinkled it along the edges of the wound and watched as the powder soaked up blood, forming a sticky crust.
Rafe’s breath came in ragged, shuddering pulls. His fingers clawed at the table.
She slapped her hand on his chest, above his heart, more to ground herself than anything. Heat seared her palm. The bond buzzed, a live wire under her touch.
“Stay,” she hissed at him. At fate. At whatever had decided this was a good idea. “You do not get to die on me, Ironclaw. I refuse to have my first enemy patient bleed out.”
His lips moved. She leaned closer, frowning.
“What?” she snapped.
His lashes fluttered. His eyes cracked open. Pale green, blown wide with pain, but focused now on her face.
For a moment, the world narrowed to that gaze.
She saw herself reflected there—hair a dark, messy knot, braid half-fallen, freckles standing out on too-pale skin, mouth pinched, eyes ringed with exhaustion. A smudge of someone else’s blood on her cheekbone.
He inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. His pupils blew even wider.
His wolf scent changed, subtly but distinctly. Recognition. Shock.
“Fuck,” he rasped. His voice was rough as gravel. “You… smell like…”
He never finished the sentence.
His hand shot up, faster than she would have thought a half-dead man could move, and clamped around her wrist.
Heat speared up her arm where his fingers closed. The bond flared so bright she saw sparks behind her eyes.
There you are, something in him whispered, wordless but clear. I thought…
Her heart slammed.
Yara and Dela tensed, instinctively leaning away, ready to yank her back. Mira held very still.
“Let go,” she said, low.
His grip tightened.
“Let,” she repeated, teeth bared, “go, or I swear I will snap your fingers one by one and feed them to my raven.”
Something like a laugh rattled in his chest. It turned into a cough halfway through, blood flecking his lips.
His fingers loosened. He let her wrist go.
Mira realized belatedly that her other hand still pressed over his heart. She could feel the thunder of it under her palm. Too fast. Too hard. But there.
Her wolf pressed against the inside of her ribs, keening. It wanted to climb into his chest and curl around that heartbeat.
“Stubborn,” he rasped, staring up at her like she was some impossible thing. “Healer.”
“Idiot,” she shot back automatically. Then flushed. Idiot. Enforcer. Ironclaw. Mate.
Mate.
She drew herself up, shoulders tight.
“Save your breath,” she said. “If you’re talking, you’re breathing, and that’s about the only good sign I see so far. But you start wasting air on flattery or insults and I’ll… adjust your bandages.”
His mouth twitched. “That… a threat?”
“A promise,” she said.
He swallowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed.
His gaze dropped, flicking to where her hand pressed over his heart, then back to her face. Something flickered in his eyes. Something raw.
“You’re… Ashridge,” he said. “You’re… her.”
Her. Who? Wren? Some nightmare they told their pups?
Mira’s spine snapped even straighter.
“I’m your healer,” she said. “That’s all that matters right now.”
His lips parted, like he might argue, might say something else.
Then his eyes rolled back, and he went limp.
The bond surged, then settled into a low, insistent thrum. Mira swallowed bile.
“He passed out,” Yara breathed. “Is that bad?”
“It’s probably the best thing that could have happened,” Mira said, more briskly than she felt. “If he was awake for what comes next, he’d just get in my way.”
She stepped back, flexing her bloody fingers. Her legs wobbled. She locked her knees.
“Mira,” Dela said softly. “His… he grabbed you. Are you—”
“I’m fine,” Mira cut in. “He’s delirious. Doesn’t know where he is.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Dela persisted. Her dark eyes searched Mira’s. “You went… strange. For a second. When you touched him. Like something… shocked you.”
Heat crawled up Mira’s neck. “That’s because he’s heavy as a damn boulder and the arrow was in deeper than I like. Nothing else.”
“You’re lying,” Yara said quietly.
Mira’s head snapped around. Yara’s gaze was steady. She’d always been able to read Mira too well. Too long spent side by side in the dirt, turning the dead into ghosts and the living into stories.
“This isn’t the time,” Mira hissed through her teeth. “We have a bleeding, unconscious man on my table who happens to be from the pack that killed my brother. And he’s here because someone up on our ridge couldn’t keep their damn fingers off their bowstring.” Her voice climbed. She swallowed it back down with effort. “I don’t have room in my head for anything else right now.”
The room went quiet.
A log popped in the hearth, sparks drifting up.
Dela rubbed a hand over her face, leaving a smear of blood on her cheek. “What do you need us to do?”
The simple, practical question steadied Mira like a hand on her back.
She inhaled slowly. Exhaled. Let the rhythm of triage settle over her.
“Yara, keep pressure here.” She moved Yara’s hands to the edge of the bandage. “If it soaks through, swap out for fresh cloth. Dela, stoke the fire, we’re going to need more light. Then go to the alpha. Tell Wren he’s here. Tell her he’s alive—for now—and that if she doesn’t want this turning into a slaughter, she’d better get ahead of the story.”
Dela nodded, jaw set. “On it.”
“And Dela,” Mira added, voice flattening, “don’t embellish. Don’t tell anyone on the way that he grabbed me, or looked at me, or that the air smelled funny, or any other poetic bullshit. Understood?”
Dela’s brows shot up. “The air did smell funny,” she muttered. Then, at Mira’s death glare, she threw up her hands. “Fine. I’ll stick to ‘Ironclaw enforcer. Arrow. Bleeding. Healer’s pissed.’ Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” Mira said.
Dela bolted out the door, boots thudding on the porch. Cold air gusted in, then was cut off as the door slammed.
Mira turned back to the table.
Rafe’s face was pale now, the planes of his cheekbones starker. Sweat slicked his temples. His chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid pulls.
Her wolf pressed against her skin, whimpering.
“He’s enemy,” she whispered. “He’s… my enemy.”
Her wolf didn’t care. It only knew what the bond told it.
“Mate,” it insisted.
Mira set her jaw.
“Fine,” she said under her breath. “Then our mate is a fucking idiot. And if he dies on me after all this, I’ll hunt his ghost down and kick it.”
She reached for her tools.
* * *
By the time Wren arrived, Mira was elbow-deep in Rafe’s blood.
The wound had taken more work than she liked. The arrow had nicked something important on its way in; she’d had to reach inside, fingers slick, feeling for the torn place while her wolf howled and the bond flared and she fought back nausea that had nothing to do with gore.
She’d stitched fast. Not as neat as she preferred, but tight. The bleeding had slowed to an ooze. The bandages around his torso were now layered thick, the outermost dull pink instead of bright red. That was something.
Toren snored obliviously on the other table, blissfully unaware that an Ironclaw lay ten feet away. Mira envied him.
Her hands trembled as she washed them in the basin. Pink spirals spun away into the water. She scrubbed until her skin burned.
The door opened without a knock this time.
Wren stepped in, closing it behind her. She took in the room in a heartbeat: Rafe on the table, pale and bandaged; Yara hovering at his head, eyes shadowed; Mira at the basin, arms red up to the elbows.
Her jaw tightened.
“Report,” she said.
“Arrow under the ribs.” Mira’s voice sounded dull to her own ears. “Entry on the right side. Angle up toward the lung. I pulled it. It nicked something important. I stitched what I could feel. He’s lost a lot of blood. I don’t know if he’ll make it through the night.”
She dried her hands on a rough towel, not looking up.
Wren moved closer to the table. The smell of her—pine, smoke, the faint copper tang that clung to all alphas—bumped up against Rafe’s scent. The air felt crowded.
She stared down at him, eyes cold.
“I remember him,” she said quietly. “From the raid.”
Mira’s stomach dropped. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Wren’s tone brooked no argument. “He was in the vanguard. Took down three of ours in the first minute. Almost tore my throat out before your brother—” Her voice rasped. “Before Kellen tackled him.”
Mira’s lungs forgot how to work.
Images slammed into her.
Kellen, grinning, flour on his nose, waving a loaf of stolen bread at her. Kellen, eyes bright, telling her he’d been made a full warrior. Kellen, standing between her and a snarling Ironclaw wolf, shoulders squared.
Kellen, broken in the snow.
Her fingers knotted in the towel. The fabric creaked.
“I thought…” Her voice came out thin. She cleared her throat. “I thought Dela recognized him, but I wasn’t sure. He doesn’t look—”
“He was in wolf form then,” Wren said. “But a wolf is its scars. Its eyes. I don’t forget those who try to kill me.” Her gaze flicked to Mira. “Or those who take my family.”
Silence pressed, thick.
Mira swallowed. Her throat was dry. “Then why,” she forced out, “is he on my table instead of in a shallow grave at the border?”
Wren’s eyes were hard. “Because of the oath.”
The word was a slap.
Because of the oath. Because of the truce. Because once, under the full moon, Mira had said I swear and the world had changed.
She wanted to scream.
Instead, she laughed, short and bitter. “Then the oath is a fucking fool.”
“It’s the only thing keeping us from another war,” Wren snapped. “You think Joren won’t use any excuse to howl that we’re dishonorable? That we lured his wolves onto our land and butchered them? If this one had died on the river stones, we might have made a case that it was his own stupidity. But he didn’t. He hit our ground. In front of our warriors. With my enforcer niece watching. You think that coughing, coddled council in the capital wouldn’t side with them if we let him bleed out?”
Mira flinched at the heat in her cousin’s voice. Wren rarely raised it with her.
“Reva was there?” she asked.
Wren’s mouth twisted. “Of course she was. Slippery little fox. She brought word to me herself, all wide eyes and concern. ‘Such a terrible accident, Alpha Wren. Of course you’ll honor your healer’s oath, won’t you? It would be awful if anyone started saying Ashridge breaks its promises.’”
Mira’s hands curled into fists. “I’d like to shove my mortar up her—”
“Join the line,” Wren cut in. “But I smiled and said of course we would care for any wolf injured within our territory, because we’re not animals. Then I sent Yara and Dela with him.” Her gaze flicked back to Rafe. “And here we are.”
Rafe lay still between them, oblivious. His lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks. His chest rose and fell, each breath a shallow hitch.
“Does Joren know yet?” Mira asked.
“Reva was probably running back to him before the blood dried on the stones,” Wren said.
“So he’ll know we have his enforcer on our table.” Mira’s mouth went sour. “He’ll think we have leverage.”
“He’s wrong.” Wren’s lip curled. “I don’t bargain with rabid dogs. But yes. He’ll know.”
Silence fell.
Yara shifted her weight, foot creaking on the floorboards. Toren snored.
Mira realized she was trembling only when Wren’s gaze sharpened.
“What else?” Wren said.
Mira blinked. “What?”
“You’re shaking,” Wren said. “Not from blood loss or exhaustion. I’ve seen you elbow-deep in entrails without twitching.” Her eyes narrowed. “What happened when you touched him?”
Mira’s heart lurched. “Nothing.”
“Liar,” Yara said softly.
Mira shot her a glare. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours,” Yara said. “Which is why I’m not going to pretend I didn’t see you go white as milk and sway like you’d been gut-punched. Or that the room didn’t suddenly smell like…” She hesitated, nose wrinkling. “Like lightning. Right before it hits a tree.”
Wren’s attention went from Rafe to Mira with the slow inevitability of a hunting cat’s.
“Mira,” she said, very quietly. “Tell me.”
Mira’s throat closed.
She could lie. She’d never been good at it, but she could try. She could say it was just the shock of seeing Ironclaw on her table. The memory of Kellen. The weird way the arrow wound had bled. Anything.
But Wren knew her too well. Yara too. And some truths had a taste they all would smell if she tried to hide them.
Her fists clenched until her nails bit her palms.
“When I grabbed the arrow,” she said, voice rough, “when I touched him… something… happened.”
Wren waited.
“The oath flared,” Mira went on. “Like it always does when I start working. But louder. Hotter. And under it, there was… more.” She swallowed. The word stuck. She forced it out.
“Mate.”
Silence crashed down.
If someone had dropped a needle, Mira thought absently, she’d have heard it hit the floorboards.
Wren’s face went blank. Yara’s mouth fell open.
“Mira,” Wren said slowly. “You’re telling me…”
“That the universe hates me,” Mira said, a wild, brittle laugh bubbling up. It sounded hysterical even to her own ears. “Yes. Apparently my mate is…” She gestured at the bleeding, half-dead man on her table. “That.”
Yara made a strangled noise somewhere between a snort and a gasp. Wren remained very, very still.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
Mira flung her arms wide, splattering faint flecks of blood from the tips of her fingers. “Oh, I don’t know, Wren. My wolf went from grumbling in the corner to howling like it just found a fresh kill. The air turned inside out. His scent hit me like a hammer. And when he grabbed me, I felt…” Her voice shook. She dropped her arms, hands falling limp at her sides. “I felt him. In my head. For a second.”
Wren’s eyes darkened. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I knew what his pain felt like. It was in my own chest.” She pressed her palm over her sternum, as if she could erase the phantom ache. “I knew he was… surprised. Angry. Confused. And under it, that same… click. Like when a bone goes back into place.”
Wren swore. Not the casual curses she flung around warriors. The old ones. The kind their grandmothers would have smacked their mouths for.
“Fuck the Mother’s eyes,” she hissed. “Fuck the stars. Fuck every elder who ever said the mating bond was a blessing.”
“Seconded,” Mira muttered.
Yara sank onto a stool, looking like someone had smacked her with a trout. “So that’s why the room smelled like a thunderstorm.”
Wren dragged both hands over her face, fingers digging into her scalp. “This complicates things,” she said, which might have been the understatement of the century.
Mira barked a laugh. “You think?”
“Mira.” Wren dropped her hands. Her expression had shifted from shock to calculation. “Listen to me.”
“No,” Mira said immediately. “Absolutely not. Whatever you’re about to say, the answer is no.”
“You don’t even know what I’m—”
“You’re going to tell me to use this.” Mira jabbed a finger in Rafe’s direction. “To… to play nice. To flirt. To somehow turn my… bond—” she nearly choked on the word “—into leverage. Aren’t you?”
Wren’s mouth snapped shut, guilt flashing in her eyes.
“Unbelievable,” Mira spat. “You think I’m not messed up enough over this? You want me to—what—bat my lashes at the bastard who helped rip Kellen’s throat out so he’ll tell me how many warriors Joren has on his side of the river?”
Yara flinched. Wren’s jaw hardened.
“I would never ask you to whore yourself for the pack,” she said, low. “I’m not Joren. But I am thinking about what this means. What it could be.”
“What it means,” Mira said through her teeth, “is that the Mother has a fucked-up sense of humor. That’s all.”
“It also means,” Wren said, voice rising, “that if he feels it too, Joren suddenly has a warrior whose loyalty might be… split. For the first time in his life.”
Mira froze.
She hadn’t let herself think that far. Couldn’t, yet. The idea made her stomach swoop.
“He’s an enforcer,” she said. “His loyalty is in his bones. In his teeth. It’s who he is.”
“And so is the bond,” Wren shot back. “You think you’re the only one reeling? You think when he wakes up and smells you, touches you, he won’t feel it? You think he’ll just… shrug it off? Go about his day?”
Mira pictured it. Vividly.
His eyes opening. That pale green sharpening. His nostrils flaring, the way they had before he passed out. The way his hand had clamped on her wrist, grip iron despite his blood loss.
Her heart lurched.
“He’s Ironclaw,” she whispered. “He might reject it. Reject me.”
Her wolf snarled, distressed. The idea landed like a stone in her gut.
Wren’s expression softened for a heartbeat. “If he does… then we deal with that, too. But if he doesn’t—if he lets this pull him… It could be the only thing that ever pulls us back from the brink.”
Mira swallowed. Her throat hurt.
“You always said you’d do anything to keep us from another war,” Wren said quietly. “So would I. Maybe the Mother heard that and decided to hand us the most twisted ‘anything’ imaginable.”
Mira pressed her palms into her eyes until colors burst behind them.
She hated that Wren was right. Hated that some tiny, traitorous part of her wondered what his hand would feel like on her skin if he wasn’t half-dead and gripping her in panic.
Hated that when she’d felt his pain, some part of her had wanted—instinctively, stupidly—to take it into herself and leave him whole.
“This isn’t fair,” she whispered. The words sounded childish even as she said them. She didn’t care. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“None of us did,” Wren said. “Kellen didn’t ask to die. Those pups in the raid didn’t ask to grow up with scars. The Mother doesn’t seem to give a shit what we ask.” Her voice roughened. “All we can do is decide what to do with what she hands us.”
Mira dropped her hands. Her eyes burned, but no tears fell. She was so past tears they felt like a luxury now.
“What I’m going to do,” she said, voice steadying with familiar stubbornness, “is keep him alive because I swore I would. That’s it. That’s my part. You want to weave politics and prophecy around that, be my guest. But don’t you dare come in here and suggest I twist whatever the hell this bond is into a noose for his pack’s neck.”
Wren’s gaze searched her face. Something like pride flickered in her eyes.
“I wouldn’t ask you to betray yourself,” she said softly. “Not after everything you’ve already given.” She glanced at Rafe. “But I am going to keep the existence of this—” she gestured between them “—quiet. For now. Between us and Yara.”
Yara held up both hands. “I’m good at keeping my mouth shut. Mostly. Usually. This time, I swear.”
Mira blinked. “You’re not telling the elders? Or the council?”
Wren snorted. “The elders would piss themselves in fear and excitement. The council would try to drag you both to some ‘neutral ground’ to perform mating rites like you’re prize goats. No. Not until we know more. Not until he wakes.”
“If he wakes,” Mira muttered.
Wren’s jaw clenched. “If he doesn’t… then we bury him quietly and never speak of this again.”
The thought landed in Mira’s chest like a cold stone. Her wolf recoiled, furious.
“No,” it snarled.
Mira didn’t voice the word, but Wren must have seen something in her face, because her lips compressed.
“I should talk to the patrol who loosed that arrow,” Wren said. “And to Reva, if she’s still here. Make sure their stories match.” Her gaze flicked to Mira one last time. “Can you handle him?”
Mira looked at Rafe. Really looked.
At the uneven rise and fall of his chest. At the way his fingers twitched faintly against the wood, as if reaching. At the smudge of soot along his jaw. At the faint, stubborn line between his brows that said he did not relax easily, even unconscious.
Her wolf leaned against the inside of her ribs, aching.
We can’t lose him, it whispered. Not now. Not after finding.
“Yeah,” she said roughly. “I can handle him.”
Wren nodded. “I’ll send food. And someone to relieve Yara later.”
“I’m not leaving him,” Yara said immediately.
Mira shot her a look. “You’re not staying all night either. You’ve been up since before dawn.”
“So have you,” Yara said. “Don’t even start.”
Wren’s mouth twitched. “Fight over it later. For now, do what you do best. Keep idiots alive.”
She left, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
The room felt smaller in her absence. The air heavier.
Mira pulled a stool up next to the table and sat. Her knees brushed the wood. Rafe’s arm lay inches from her thigh, the veins along his forearm faintly visible under tanned skin.
She stared at his hand.
Stupid, she thought. Stupid that a handful of bones and tendons and scarred knuckles could matter so much.
Very slowly, as if testing the edge of a blade, she reached out and laid two fingers on his wrist.
The bond hummed. Not the earlier flare of molten heat, but a steady, low vibration. His pulse beat under her fingertips, faster than it should be, but there.
“Don’t make me regret this,” she whispered. “Don’t make me carry your ghost too.”
His fingers twitched. His lashes fluttered.
Mira held her breath.
His eyes didn’t open.
Still, she didn’t move her hand.
Yara shifted on her stool, watching them both with wide eyes, then cleared her throat.
“So,” she said carefully. “Do we… bring him soup when he wakes? Or just… more bandages and an apology for the arrow?”
Mira snorted, the sound startlingly close to a laugh.
“Soup,” she said. “Definitely soup. It’s harder to stab someone when your mouth’s full.”
Yara grinned weakly. “Smart.”
Mira let her gaze travel back up Rafe’s body, over the bandages, the scars, the line of his throat.
The universe had put an Ironclaw enforcer on her table, handed her a bond she’d never asked for, and lit the fuse of something she didn’t understand.
Fine.
Let it burn.
She curled her fingers more firmly around his wrist and settled in for the long night.
* * *