By the third day, Mira let Rafe sit up on his own.
“You show off,” she warned, arms crossed, “and I’ll sedate you with something that makes your balls tingle for a week.”
He blinked. “That’s very specific.”
“Personal experience,” she said. “Don’t ask.”
He decided very quickly not to.
He swung his legs slowly over the side of the table, teeth clenched, every motion careful. His side pulled, but the pain had dulled to a steady ache. He could breathe without wincing every time now.
The floorboards were cool under his bare feet. The sensation grounded him startlingly hard.
“How long since you last touched ground?” Mira asked, watching him like a hawk.
“Felt like years,” he said. “Probably… three days.”
“Three and a half,” she corrected. “You were out of it longer than you realize.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” he muttered.
She snorted. “Apology accepted. Next time, try not to intercept amateur arrows with your spleen.”
He rolled his shoulders gingerly. The motion tugged at the scar bisecting his chest from some older wound. “I’ll add it to my list of life improvements.”
He glanced at the other table. It stood empty now.
“Toren?” he asked.
“Complaining in the den about how I ‘ruined his rugged good looks’ with my stitching,” Mira said. “He’ll live.”
“Good,” Rafe said.
She gave him a look. “You care.”
He shrugged, then hissed when it pulled his side. “We fought in the same war. Different sides. Same snow. That… counts.”
She eyed him for a heartbeat, then looked away. “You’re not as good at being heartless as you think.”
“Don’t tell my alpha,” he said dryly.
“I won’t,” she said. “He might have an aneurysm.”
He chuckled.
Yara chose that moment to barge in without knocking, arms laden with folded linens.
“Mira, Wren says if you don’t come eat at least one proper meal in the hall today, she’s going to drag you there by your ear—oh.” She stopped dead. “He’s… sitting.”
“Very observant,” Mira said.
Yara scowled at her. “It’s faster than I thought. Don’t ‘observant’ me.”
Rafe managed a small nod. “Yara.”
Her brows shot up. “You remember my name.”
He hesitated. “You called me an idiot while I was bleeding. It stuck.”
A grin flickered across her face despite herself. “Good. Memory’s fine.”
Mira rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, he’s very impressive. He sat up. I’ll bake him a cake.”
“You bake?” Rafe asked, intrigued despite himself.
“Once,” Mira said darkly. “I set the den on fire. Wren banned me. Now I threaten my patients with my cooking when they misbehave.”
Rafe huffed. “Remind me to be on my best behavior.”
“You’d better,” she said. “Your enforcer pride might not survive my bread.”
Yara set the linens down with a thump.
“Wren’s calling a small council,” she told Mira. “She wants you there. ‘Immediately, if not sooner.’ Her words.”
Mira’s stomach sank. “About…?”
“Joren’s latest message,” Yara said grimly. “He’s getting… impatient.”
Rafe’s jaw clenched. “What did he say?”
Yara shot him a look, then glanced at Mira, silently asking if she should share.
“Go ahead,” Mira said. “He’s at the center of this mess whether we like it or not.”
Yara sighed. “A runner came this morning. Young. Out of breath. Said Joren wants his enforcer back within two days or he’ll ‘assume Ashridge has chosen to break the treaty and act accordingly.’”
“Act accordingly,” Mira repeated. “Subtle.”
Rafe cursed under his breath. “Fool.”
“Your alpha or mine?” Yara asked.
“Both,” he said.
Mira’s wolf snarled.
Two days. It wasn’t nearly enough. Physically, maybe—if she pushed, if he gritted his teeth, he could probably walk that far, make it to the border, survive the journey.
Would the wound hold? Maybe.
Would the bond?
Her stomach twisted.
“Wren’s arguing,” Yara went on. “She told the runner we won’t move you until the healer clears it. The boy looked like he wanted to dig a hole and hide. Joren’s not going to like being told no.”
“He never does,” Rafe said. “He’ll… escalate.”
“How?” Mira demanded. “By sending more idiots to shoot arrows at your side?”
Rafe flexed his fingers. “By goading. By pushing patrols. By finding some ‘insult’ to howl about at the council.”
“Then we have to decide,” Yara said. “Soon.”
Mira scowled. “Decide what? Whether to hand him over like a bandaged parcel or keep him and dare Joren to cross our line?”
“Exactly that,” Yara said quietly.
Silence stretched.
Mira’s skin crawled. A headache pulsed behind her eyes.
“I’ll go,” Rafe said abruptly.
Mira’s head snapped toward him. “What?”
“I’ll go back,” he repeated. “Soon as I can put one foot in front of the other without falling over. Before Joren uses me as an excuse to tear into your lands again.”
Her heart lurched. “You can barely sit.”
“I’ll manage,” he said. “I always have.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” she snapped. “You tear that wound open in the middle of the forest, what then? You bleed out on neutral ground and both our packs claim the other killed you.”
“Better than them claiming you kidnapped me,” he said. “Better than Joren pointing at Ashridge and saying ‘see, they take our wolves and keep them.’”
Her wolf snarled.
Let him go, some cold, rational part of her said. He’s enemy. He’s danger. He’s weight you don’t need.
Another part—the one tangled in the bond—howled.
“No,” she said.
Rafe blinked. “Mira—”
“No,” she repeated, louder. “You are not my bargaining chip. You are not Joren’s pawn. You are…” Her voice cracked. “You’re not walking out of here until I say you’re ready.”
He stared at her.
“Your oath,” he said slowly, “doesn’t require you to keep me. Only to heal.”
“My oath,” she snapped, “requires me not to be a fucking idiot and send a half-mended wolf into the teeth of someone who’d rather see him dead than doubting.”
His jaw tightened. “I can handle Joren.”
“Can you?” she demanded. “You think he’ll welcome you back with open arms after you’ve spent days under an Ashridge healer’s hands? After rumors of bonds and oaths and shared blood start slithering through the packs?”
His mouth thinned. “He needs me.”
“He needs the idea of you,” she said. “The unshakable enforcer. The loyal teeth. The moment he thinks there’s even a crack…”
She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.
Yara shifted uncomfortably. “She’s not wrong, Rafe. Joren’s not known for his… forgiveness.”
“I know my alpha,” Rafe said.
“Do you?” Mira shot back. “Or do you just know the version of him you were allowed to see?”
He flinched as if she’d struck him.
“Enough,” Yara murmured. “Maybe have this fight not over his bare chest? There’s a lot of vulnerable linen in the splash zone.”
“Fine,” Mira said tightly. “I’ll go see what Wren has to say. You—” she stabbed a finger at Rafe “—stay put. If you try to get off that table while I’m gone, I will know, and I will hurt you.”
He lifted both hands slightly, palms out. “I’ll be here.”
“Good,” she snapped.
She yanked off her apron, tossed it over the back of the chair, and stalked out, shoulders tight.
The door slammed.
Yara whistled low. “You’ve got a talent, Ironclaw.”
“For what,” he muttered.
“Getting under her skin,” Yara said. “Most wolves don’t manage that and live.”
He exhaled sharply. “It’s mutual.”
“Oh, I know,” Yara said. “I can smell it.”
He gave her a flat look. “Thank you for that.”
She grinned. Then her face sobered.
“Don’t go while you’re weak,” she said quietly. “Whatever your alpha’s like when you’re at full strength, he’ll be worse if he thinks you’re compromised.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Rafe muttered. “You think I haven’t seen what he does to wolves who question him?”
“Then don’t make this choice with your guilt,” Yara said. “Make it with your head. And maybe your heart. If it’s not too busy being an ass.”
He snorted despite himself. “You and Mira share insults.”
“She taught me everything I know,” Yara said proudly. “How to stitch, how to swear, how to break a man’s nose with my elbow.”
He eyed her. “Remind me not to spar you.”
“Remind yourself,” she said. “I’m not carrying you back here if you fall over.”
She gathered up the dirty linens and moved toward the door.
“Try not to brood too hard while she’s gone,” she said over her shoulder. “Wrinkles don’t look good on Ironclaw.”
He almost smiled. “We wear our scars with pride.”
“Different from wrinkles,” she said. “Scars mean you did something. Wrinkles mean you thought about it too long.”
The door shut behind her.
Rafe was left with his thoughts and the low crackle of the fire.
He swung his legs more fully over the side of the table and sat for a moment, letting the world settle around him. The cabin smelled like Mira—herbs and soap and that ineffable her. It had soaked into the wood, into the blankets, into his skin.
He thought of Joren. Of years spent at his heel. Of blood spilled at his word.
He thought of Mira, fingers digging into his shoulders, voice fierce in his ear: You are not dying on my table, Rafe of Ironclaw. I forbid it.
He rubbed a hand over his face, wincing when his side twinged.
“I’m fucked,” he told the empty room.
The raven on the roof cawed as if in agreement.
* * *
The small council met in the sunken hall near the heart of Ashridge’s den.
Mira hated council halls. Too many voices. Too much posturing. Not enough handwashing.
She pushed through the leather flap into a thick mix of scents—wolves, smoke, the faint tang of anticipation. The central firepit crackled, heat licking the stones. Wren stood at one end of the gathered half-circle of elders and key wolves, arms folded.
Her gaze snapped to Mira the moment she entered.
“Late,” Wren said.
“Busy,” Mira replied. “Trying to keep our ‘leverage’ from ripping himself apart.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the room, quickly smothered under the weight of the topic.
Elder Hara, her white hair braided in a crown around her head, tapped her staff lightly on the floor. “We’ve all read Joren’s message,” she said. “We know his tone. He feels… slighted.”
“He feels thwarted,” Wren corrected. “He danglingly offered us a test. We didn’t behave as expected. Now he’s trying to claw back control.”
“He wants his enforcer,” Elder Bran said, rubbing his beard. “Can’t say I blame him. If Ashridge had one like that, I wouldn’t want him under another alpha’s roof either.”
“We do have one like that,” Hara said dryly. “She works with herbs instead of claws.”
Several elder brows rose. Wren’s mouth twitched.
Mira scowled. “I am not your enforcer.”
“You enforce something,” Hara said. “Different kind of law.”
“We’re not here to compliment Mira,” Wren cut in. “We’re here to decide what to do about Joren’s demand.”
“Give him the wolf,” Elder Harn said bluntly. “We’ve honored the oath. We kept him alive. Let Ironclaw deal with their own. Why provoke more trouble?”
“Because sending him back half-mended is as good as cutting his throat ourselves,” Wren snapped. “You think Joren will see us as honorable for that? He’ll call us careless. He’ll call us cruel. He’ll use it.”
“He’ll use anything,” Mira muttered.
“Yes,” Wren agreed. “But we don’t have to hand him weapons.”
Elder Mera frowned. “What does the healer say? Is he fit to travel?”
Mira swallowed. All eyes swung to her.
“He can walk,” she said slowly. “Probably. With support. He can breathe without gasping now. But if he shifts too soon, if he exerts himself too much, the wound could tear. Bleeding still a risk. Infection lurking. I’d prefer to keep him under my eye another five days. A week, ideally.”
Harn snorted. “A week? You’d have us risk war for an extra week with an enemy wolf under our roof?”
“I’d have us avoid causing his death by negligence,” Mira snapped back. “My oath doesn’t have fine print that excuses me when politics get inconvenient.”
“It also doesn’t say you have to keep him forever,” Harn shot. “You’re letting your… personal feelings… cloud your healer’s eye.”
Silence fell at the insinuation.
Mira’s spine locked.
“What “personal feelings”?” she asked, very quietly.
Harn’s gaze was sharp despite his years. “The bond,” he said. “Don’t play the fool. Half the den can smell something strange when you’re in the same room as him. Old blood, new heat. Fate.”
Murmurs fluttered through the small council like startled birds.
Mira’s stomach sank. She cut a sharp look at Wren.
“You said you hadn’t told them,” she hissed.
“I didn’t,” Wren said tightly. “But wolves aren’t blind or nose-deaf. Especially old ones who’ve seen bonds before.”
“You could have denied,” Mira snapped.
“And lied?” Wren shot back. “If we’re already dancing on the edge of an accusation of oathbreaking, I’d rather not be caught in outright falsehood as well.”
Elder Hara’s eyes softened as she studied Mira. “Child,” she said gently, “none of this is your fault. The Mother spun the threads. We’re all just… tangled in them.”
“I didn’t ask for this tangle,” Mira muttered.
“Few do,” Hara said. “But denying it won’t unmake it.”
Harn snorted. “Bond or no bond, he’s Ironclaw. He’s dangerous. The longer we keep him, the more risk we invite. What if his alpha tries to call him, even from there? What if others in his pack slip in to ‘rescue’ him? Our den is not a prison.”
Mira’s jaw clenched. “He’s not a prisoner.”
“Then what is he?” Bran asked. “A patient? A guest? A mate?”
The word landed like a stone in a pond, ripples spreading.
Mira’s heart hammered.
“Right now,” she said, forcing each word out, “he is a wounded wolf under my care. That’s it. I won’t let you turn him into a tool. On either side.”
“That’s very… noble,” Harn said. “And very naive. His existence here already makes him a tool, girl. To Joren. To Wren. To the council. To us. You can’t put that back in the jar.”
“She can’t,” Wren cut in before Mira’s temper could flare, “but we can choose how we use it.”
Mira glared. “We’re not using—”
“Hear me,” Wren said, eyes hard. “I meant what I told you. I won’t whore your bond out for politics. But Joren has already turned Rafe’s presence here into a weapon, whether we like it or not. The choice isn’t ‘weapon or no weapon.’ It’s ‘who points it where.’”
The room murmured.
“So what do you suggest?” Mera asked.
“We hold,” Wren said. “For now. We send a very polite message to Joren: our healer deems your enforcer unfit to travel. If you wish him alive, you’ll wait. Meanwhile, we invite a neutral third-party witness—someone from the council—to confirm both his condition and that we are treating him fairly. Transparency.”
Hara nodded slowly. “Clever. It puts the decision in the council’s lap. If they say he’s fit, we let him go without further accusation. If they say he’s not and Joren pushes anyway, he becomes the unreasonable one.”
“And in the meantime?” Harn demanded. “We let Ashridge’s healer and Ironclaw’s enforcer… bond?”
Mira flushed.
“Yes,” Wren said bluntly. “We let wolves be wolves. I trust Mira. I trust Rafe…” She hesitated, then sighed. “…enough to know he won’t slit throats in his sleep.”
The fact that Wren had said she trusted an Ironclaw enforcer at all made several elders blink.
“He could be a bridge,” Hara murmured. “Between teeth that have only ever seen each other as targets.”
“Or he could tear us apart,” Harn snapped. “Bonds don’t always heal. Sometimes they drag both packs into the grave.”
Mira crossed her arms tighter, nails biting into her skin. “What do you want me to do, Harn?” she demanded. “Slit his throat now to spare us the trouble later?”
“No,” Harn said. “I want you to admit that your heart is involved. That your wolf will not let you see him as just another patient. And then I want us to decide with clear eyes if we can afford that risk.”
“My heart has been involved since Kellen died,” she shot back. “You think I look at any Ironclaw and see ‘just another’? I see snow. I see fire. I see my brother’s blood. If anything, the bond makes it harder for me to hate him. That’s the risk, isn’t it? That I might… forgive.”
Silence slammed down.
Hara’s eyes shone. Bran shifted uncomfortably. Harn’s mouth thinned.
“Forgiveness,” Mera said softly, “is the only thing that ever actually ends wars. Not treaties. Not truces. Not lines on maps. When enough wolves decide to lay down their teeth and say ‘I won’t bite you today. Or tomorrow.’ That’s it. That’s peace.”
“You’d stake our safety on one healer’s forgiveness?” Harn rasped.
“No,” Mera said. “I’d stake it on two wolves’ decisions. Mira’s. Rafe’s.”
Mira’s stomach swooped.
“That’s too much weight,” she said hoarsely. “I’m not… built for carrying that.”
“You already do,” Wren said quietly. “Every time you pull a warrior back from the edge. Every time you choose who gets your last vial of fever tincture when we’re short on herbs.”
Mira shook her head. “That’s different. That’s… flesh. Blood. I can see it. I can stitch it. This is—” She gestured helplessly at the air. “This is… bigger. Stupider. I can’t—”
“You’re not alone,” Wren said. “I carry it too. So do they.” She nodded toward the elders. “We’re not throwing it all on your shoulders and walking away.”
Mira snorted. “You say that now.”
Wren’s mouth quirked. “I’ll probably say it again. Loudly. In your ear.”
A reluctant smile tugged at Mira’s lips, then faded.
“Fine,” she said. “Fine. You want my healer’s opinion? Here it is: he stays. Until I say he can walk without bleeding. You want my wolf’s opinion? It’s… the same. For different reasons.”
Harn grimaced. “And your heart’s?”
She swallowed. “My heart doesn’t get a vote right now. It’s compromised.”
Hara smiled faintly. “Spoken like a true healer.”
Wren exhaled. “Then that’s what we do. We hold. We invite a witness. We brace for Joren’s tantrum.”
“And if he sends more than words?” Bran asked. “If he sends wolves?”
Wren’s eyes went cold. “Then we remind him why the last war ended in a treaty and not his dominance.”
Mira’s wolf rumbled approval.
Mira herself just felt… tired.
She left the hall with her head buzzing, footsteps heavy. The morning air outside slapped her cheeks, cold enough to sting. The sky hung low, grey and close.
She made it halfway back to her cabin before she realized her hands were shaking.
She stopped, braced a palm against a tree, and dragged in a breath.
“You all right?”
The voice came from her left.
Mira spun, hand going automatically to the small knife at her belt.
The young warrior who’d stood beside Wren on her porch the other day raised both palms, stepping out from behind a birch. He was lean, broad shoulders, dark hair cut short. A faint scar ran along his jaw.
“Easy,” he said. “Didn’t mean to startle.”
“Kai,” she said, recognizing him belatedly. He’d transferred from a smaller allied pack two years ago. Quiet. Watchful. Good with a bow.
“What are you doing lurking in the trees outside my house?” she demanded. “If you’re here to spy on my… patient…”
“Wren posted me as guard,” he said. “Subtle, she said. ‘Kai, stand where you can see the healer’s door without looking like you’re standing where you can see the healer’s door.’”
Mira snorted despite herself. “Subtlety is not your strong suit.”
“I know,” he said cheerfully. “I do hit things well, though.”
“I’ve seen,” she said. “You shot that hare out of the air last week.”
He beamed. “It was delicious.”
Her lips twitched, then flattened. “If you’re guarding my cabin, you don’t leave your post to chat.”
“I saw you coming,” he said. “Figured if I startled you, you’d stab me before you turned to the door. Wanted you facing away from the patient if you got twitchy.”
She eyed him. “You think I’d stab Rafe?”
He shrugged. “I think you might stab someone. I’d rather it be me. I heal slower.”
She huffed out a laugh. “Idiot.”
He grinned, unbothered. “How bad is it?”
“You’ll have to be more specific,” she said. “Politically, emotionally, physically…?”
“Yes,” he said.
She sighed.
“Joren wants his teeth back,” she said. “We’re telling him no. For now. Wren’s sending for a council witness so we don’t get called liars.”
He nodded slowly. “Makes sense.”
“You don’t think we should just… push him out the door with a bow?” she asked, more curious than accusatory.
Kai grimaced. “I fought on the border before I came here. Saw what Joren does to wolves he suspects of disloyalty. You’re right not to send him back half-ready. Even if he wanted to go.”
She swallowed. “He did.”
Kai whistled low. “That’s… something.”
“It’s stupid,” she said.
“It’s loyal,” he said. “To a fault. I’ve seen that too.”
She rubbed her temples.
“You’re shaking,” he noted.
“I’m aware,” she snapped.
He hesitated. “You want… me to stand closer to the door? Just in case? Or farther, if you want privacy?”
“Closer,” she said without thinking. Then, “No. Farther. But not too far. Gods, I hate this.”
He smiled sympathetically. “You and me both. I’ll be… over there.” He gestured to a thicker clump of trees, where he could see the cabin without being obvious. “Shout if you need me. For stabbing or otherwise.”
She snorted. “Go. Before I practice on you preemptively.”
He saluted sloppily and melted back into the trees.
Mira rolled her shoulders, took one more steadying breath, and pushed her cabin door open.
Rafe sat where she’d left him, legs dangling, eyes on the window. He turned his head when she entered. His gaze swept her face, scanning.
“Well?” he asked.
“Well what?” she said.
“Well,” he said, “did your pack decide to string me up, cut my throat, or send me back tied with a bow?”
“Fourth option,” she said. “Keep you and piss Joren off.”
His brows shot up. “You’re choosing that?”
“Wren is,” she corrected. “With the elders’ grudging agreement. I just… told them what your insides look like and how stupid it would be to send you back early.”
He huffed. “Remind me to thank your graphic descriptions.”
“You won’t,” she said. “You’ll continue being ungrateful and obnoxious.”
A corner of his mouth kicked up. “Probably.”
She moved toward the table.
“You’re still not walking,” she said. “Not far. You can sit up. You can stand with support for a minute or two. That’s it.”
He eyed her hair. “Is your braid considered ‘support’?”
She bristled. “Touch my hair again and I’ll tie it around your throat.”
He smiled, properly this time. It did something to her insides she did not approve of.
“Joren sent a threat,” she went on, more briskly. “Wren’s sending word back that if he wants you in one piece, he’ll wait for the council’s assessment.”
He sobered. “The council?”
“Neutral witness,” she said. “To confirm we didn’t rip your guts out and dance with them under the moon. They’ll send some elder with a nose like a moose and you’ll get to spend a day being poked by two healers instead of one.”
He grimaced. “Joy.”
“Behave and I might let you keep your pants on,” she said.
“That’s… not the inducement you think it is,” he muttered.
She flushed. “You’re insufferable.”
“You like me,” he said.
She sputtered. “I tolerate you like one tolerates a splinter they can’t reach with tweezers.”
“Intimately, then,” he said.
She gaped at him. “Did you just—”
“Blame the bond,” he said.
“I blame your mouth,” she snapped. “And your alpha, and the Mother, and anyone else within biting distance.”
“You can bite me,” he said, then winced. “That came out wrong.”
She stared at him. Then, for the first time since he’d been dumped on her table, she laughed properly. It burst out of her like water from a cracked dam, surprised and unwilling.
Rafe’s eyes widened. Then he laughed too, the sound rusty but real.
The sound startled them both into silence after a few seconds.
“Don’t,” Mira said, still catching her breath. “Don’t make me like you. It complicates homicide.”
He sobered. “I know.”
They looked at each other.
Somewhere outside, a raven called, harsh and insistent. The wind shifted, carrying with it the faintest whiff of something wrong—sour, sharp, not Ashridge, not Ironclaw.
Mira’s wolf pricked its ears.
Rafe’s did too.
They both turned their heads toward the window at the same time.
“What,” Mira said slowly, “is that?”
Rafe’s nostrils flared. The scent was faint, but distinctive. Meat gone sweet. Fur unwashed for too long. Old blood. Wrongness.
“Rogue,” he said.
Her stomach tightened. “Like the one that tore Toren.”
He nodded once, expression going grim. “And close.”
As if to prove his point, a howl split the air.
It wasn’t Ashridge. It wasn’t Ironclaw.
It was something in between and outside. Wild. Broken.
Mira’s skin crawled.
She glanced at Rafe.
His eyes were very clear. Very awake.
“Stay on the table,” she said automatically. “Do not move.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it again. “You’re going out there.”
“Yes,” she said. “My pack. My land.”
“You’re not a warrior,” he said.
“I’m everything I have to be,” she said. “Right now, that’s one more set of eyes and teeth.”
He cursed under his breath. “At least—take someone.”
“Kai’s outside,” she said. “He’ll be first at my shoulder. Yara won’t be far behind. Wren—”
Another howl cut her off. Closer. Panic laced it this time, thinner.
“That’s near the eastern pens,” Mira muttered, mind racing. “Pups.”
Her wolf snarled.
She grabbed her belt, buckled it on with shaking fingers. Small knife. Vials of quick-coagulant. A pouch of bitter powder that made rogues retch if flung in their faces. She’d used it once, years ago, on a mad wolf at the border. It hadn’t been pretty.
Rafe swung his legs off the table.
“I said stay,” she snapped.
“You’ll need someone who’s seen this rogue’s type before,” he said. “The one that hit Toren—their scent’s similar. Off. Like something riding them. Possessed.”
“You are not—”
“If it’s the same one,” he cut in, “it’s learning. Testing. It tried your warrior. It tried my patrol. Next, it’ll try pups. Or elders. Things that can’t fight back as hard.”
She closed her eyes for half a heartbeat.
Images flashed. Tore’s torn chest. Rafe’s blood. Pups with milk teeth.
“Fine,” she hissed. “But you stay behind me. One step more than I say and I knock you out myself.”
He nodded, already pushing himself upright. His face went pale with the effort, a sheen of sweat popping on his forehead.
She moved to his side, slipping under his arm without thinking.
He was heavy. Hot.
The bond roared approval.
She gritted her teeth and braced herself.
“On three,” she said. “One, two—”
He pushed.
Pain shot through his torso. He bit it back with a hiss, leaning his weight into her.
They staggered together to the door.
Outside, the den roiled.
Wolves shouted, some in human words, some in barks and growls. Pups cried somewhere to the east. The stink of fear rode the air.
Mira glanced up.
Kai stood nearer the door now, bow already strung. His eyes widened when he saw Rafe.
“Wren’s going to kill me,” he muttered.
“Get over it,” Mira snapped. “Rogue?”
“East pens,” Kai said, already nocking an arrow. “Came out of nowhere. Big. Fast. Wrong smell.”
“Of course,” she muttered. “Come on.”
She and Rafe moved toward the chaos, step by careful step.
Every jolt sent a lance of pain through his side. He didn’t slow.
As they neared the pens, the smell hit them full-force.
Rot. Madness. Old magic.
Rafe’s wolf snarled.
“Mother,” he whispered. “That’s not just a rogue. That’s… something else.”
“Later,” Mira said through her teeth. “Right now, we keep it from tearing into the pups.”
They rounded a bend.
The eastern pens were a series of fenced enclosures where Ashridge kept livestock and, during storms, pups too small to shift. Now, chaos reigned.
A massive wolf, fur patchy and dull, eyes milky and filmed, had its claws hooked in the top rail of one pen. Pups yelped and scrambled backward inside, tiny bodies pressed to the far side. Two warriors danced at its flanks, slashing, trying to draw its attention away without getting close enough for a killing bite.
The rogue whipped its head toward them, lip peeling back.
Mira’s skin crawled.
It didn’t smell like any wolf she’d ever known. It smelled like… more. Like something had slid under its skin and was driving it like a borrowed cart.
“Kai!” she barked. “Eyes! Blind it!”
Kai’s arrow was already flying. It thudded into the rogue’s shoulder instead when it lurched sideways at the last second, as if sensing the shot. The creature snarled, snapping in his direction.
“Fuck,” Mira hissed. “It’s too aware.”
Rafe’s breath was hot against her ear. “That… is not just madness.”
“You said that already,” she snapped.
He didn’t take offense. “I’ve seen something like this. Once. Years ago. On the northern border. A wolf that moved wrong. Smelled wrong. It killed three before we brought it down. The elders whispered about possession. Old curses. Witches.”
“Wonderful,” she said tightly. “Add that to our list.”
The rogue wrenched at the rail. Wood groaned. A board cracked.
A pup scream-panted.
Mira’s wolf lunged.
Ours, it snarled. Protect.
Her body moved before her mind caught up.
“Distract it,” she barked at Rafe. “Shout. Move. Something.”
He opened his mouth and loosed a sound that was more wolf than human—a barked command, sharp and ringing.
The rogue’s head snapped toward him.
Its eyes—if they could be called that—locked on his face.
It snarled, lips peeling back further, froth at the corners of its mouth.
It knew him, Mira realized with a sick twist. Or knew something riding him. Or recognized pack scent and wanted to tear it out.
It lunged.
Mira bit back a scream and did the stupidest thing she’d done since charging into the square the night of the raid.
She stepped between Rafe and the rogue.
* * *