*Kieran*
The first time Cassian hit the den line, he did it in fur.
We’d been expecting it.
The signs were all there—his restless scent on the wind, Levi’s ragged howls echoing from the northern ridge, Northridge scouts testing markers like teenagers with matches.
Sage had started sleeping with her boots near the pallet.
I’d started sleeping half-shifted, claws just under my skin, teeth itching.
When the alarm howl went up—sharp, urgent, from Edda’s throat—we were already moving.
“Stay,” I growled at Sage, as I tore off my shirt.
She glared from where she’d rolled off the pallet. “We’ve been over this. I’m not—”
“You are not coming into an Alpha clash,” I snapped. “Not this time. Not yet.”
“Stop saying ‘yet’ like I’m going to join the next one,” she hissed.
“If you keep arguing, you might,” I said. “Because you won’t be here when I get back.”
Her eyes flashed.
We didn’t have time for this.
I shifted.
Pain.
Bones.
Fur.
The room tilted, then righted.
She watched, jaw tight, eyes bright with a cocktail of fear and fascination.
I shook once.
Teeth bared.
*Stay,* I sent, not in words, but in the tug of the bond between us.
Her scent flared—anger, frustration, worry.
But under it, reluctant assent.
I bolted.
Snow slapped my paws.
The night was clear, moon high and sharp.
Howls crisscrossed the valley—ours, layered and coordinated, rising from the dens, the ridges, the creek.
Northridge answered.
Rough.
Discordant.
Hungry.
We met them in the trees just beyond the dens.
My pack fanned out at my side—Rafe, Edda, Kellan, half a dozen more, all in fur, teeth gleaming, eyes like coals.
Cassian stood in the snow, wolf-formed, massive and dark, scarred muzzle wrinkled in a snarl.
Ronan flanked him, smaller but no less dangerous, fur bristling, eyes wild.
Levi hovered behind them, half a step back, his shape…off.
He was in wolf skin, but it didn’t fit quite right. One ear stood at a slightly wrong angle. His front right leg moved with a hitch. A pale line of scar tissue marred the fur at his throat.
Our eyes met.
Recognition flashed.
He flinched.
Cassian’s head lifted.
He howled.
Challenge.
I answered.
Acceptance.
We circled into the clearing—two packs facing off, snow between us like a battlefield map.
Mara stood at the edge of the dens, human-shaped, power coiled under her skin, ready to snap if needed.
Pups huddled in the shadows behind her, wide-eyed.
I bared my teeth.
Cassian took a step forward.
The air between us crackled.
He shifted.
Fur sliding off him like water.
Bones cracking.
In seconds, he stood on two legs, naked in the snow, steam rising from his skin.
He didn’t bother with modesty.
Power was his clothing.
Ronna and Levi stayed in fur, bristling.
I shifted partway, halfway.
Enough to speak.
Enough to keep claws.
“We agreed,” I snarled. “Inner ring is off-limits.”
“We agreed a lot of things,” Cassian said mildly. “Times change.”
“Not this,” I said. “You cross this line, you don’t walk back.”
He smiled.
“You keep saying that,” he said. “And yet, here we are. All walking.”
My hackles rose.
“What do you want?” I demanded.
He spread his arms.
“An invitation,” he said.
“Not happening,” Rafe growled.
Cassian ignored him.
“You built a tree,” he said instead, nodding toward the ridge. “Hung bones. Called the valley’s eyes. You made a show. I wanted to see if you’d do the same here. On your doorstep.”
“This is not a stage,” I snapped. “This is my home.”
“All the world’s a stage,” he said. “You should know that by now.”
“Stop quoting Shakespeare at me,” I snarled.
He blinked.
“Shakespeare?” he repeated. “What the fuck is a Shakespeare.”
“Never mind,” I muttered.
He laughed.
“You really are living in both worlds,” he said. “Makes you…clumsy.”
“You’re the one turning other people’s homes into your theater,” Mara said, voice cool. “What did you hope to gain by bringing your teeth to our pups’ beds?”
“Perspective,” he said. “Yours. Mine. Hers.”
He jerked his chin toward the dens.
My stomach dropped.
Sage stood at the entrance.
Boots on.
Coat thrown over pajamas.
Hair loose.
Face pale and set.
I snarled.
*I told you to stay,* I sent, the thought sharp.
She flinched.
But she didn’t move.
“What are you doing,” I growled, voice rough.
“I’m not hiding while he walks up to your door,” she said. “I can stay back. But I won’t…pretend this isn’t about me too.”
Cassian’s smile widened.
“Good girl,” he purred.
“Don’t,” I snarled.
He lifted his hands in mock surrender.
“Relax,” he said. “I just came to…talk.”
“You attacked rangers and kids,” I said. “That’s not talking.”
“They shot first,” he said. “Or second. Or…somewhere in the sequence. Details.”
“You sent Levi in Blue Tag’s collar,” I said. “To make us take the fall.”
Levi’s ears flattened.
Guilt flashed in his eyes.
“I sent Levi to…test,” Cassian said. “He knew the risks. He knew the prize. He almost got it.”
“The prize being…dead rangers?” Sage demanded, voice shaking. “You think that’s…victory?”
“The prize being proof,” Cassian snapped. “That your people can’t control what they unleash. That they’ll turn on you the moment the wild doesn’t fit in their pretty boxes.”
“You almost killed Peters,” she said. “You *hurt* Tyler. Jess. Those kids. What did they ever do to you?”
“They exist,” he said. “On land that used to be ours. They build roads. Cut trees. Tell stories about monsters to scare their brats while they poison the river. Don’t ask what they did to me. Ask what they did to *this.*” He gestured broadly at the valley.
“We know what they did,” Mara said. “We’re not blind. But killing them won’t undo it. It’ll just speed up the machine rolling over us.”
“Maybe the machine needs to see some blood to take us seriously,” he said.
“It’ll see *ours*,” I snarled. “Not just theirs.”
He shrugged.
“Better to die on our feet than live as rumors,” he said.
“Rumors keep you alive,” Sage said. “Stories keep you hidden. That’s the whole point of what we’re doing.”
“What *you’re* doing,” he said. “Writing bedtime tales while I sharpen my teeth.”
“You’re inserting yourself into those stories whether you like it or not,” she snapped. “Every time you stage an attack, you make yourself the villain in their heads. You make it easier for them to justify pulling the trigger. On you. On Kieran. On pups who’ve never even seen a cow.”
Ronan bristled. “You think we’re scared of a few bullets?” he growled.
“You should be scared of what comes with them,” she shot back. “Helicopters. Scientists. Lawmakers. People like me, but without the…conflicting loyalties. The ones who see you as a problem to be solved, not a neighbor to be understood.”
“You think you understand me,” Cassian sneered.
“I think you’re more afraid than you want to admit,” she said. “Afraid of losing control. Afraid of being forgotten. Afraid that if you don’t make a big enough mess, no one will ever know you were here.”
“You talk too much,” he snarled.
“You lash out too much,” she retorted.
He took a step toward her.
Half my pack surged forward.
I threw my weight in front, teeth bared, fur bristling.
“Don’t,” I growled. “You so much as scratch her, you’ll be spitting out your own teeth.”
He and I locked eyes.
Something crackled between us.
Old rivalry.
New stakes.
“I could have killed her,” he said softly. “On that hill. At the tree.”
“Yes,” I said. “You didn’t.”
“Don’t thank me,” he snarled.
“I’m not,” I said. “I’m saying…you won’t. Not like that. Not in a sneak attack under branches. If you want her blood, you’ll have to take mine first. That’s…challenge.”
He laughed.
“You think I won’t?” he asked.
“You think you can?” I shot back.
We bared teeth.
The packs around us shifted, restless.
Fault lines.
One wrong move and the valley would open.
“Cassian,” Mara said sharply. “You didn’t come here just to posture. Say what you came to say and go.”
He broke eye contact with me.
Looked at her.
Then at Sage.
Then at the bone tree, visible between trunks, bones swaying.
“You’ve changed the game,” he said to Sage. “You. With your posters. Your talks. Your tree. You’ve made them look up. At the ridges. At the eyes in the dark. That was…smart.”
“Thank you?” she said warily.
“It makes them…uneasy,” he went on. “Fearful. Curious. All good things, in my book.”
“It also makes them…invested,” she said. “Curious people can become protective. If we do this right.”
He snorted. “You really don’t understand your kind, do you? They don’t protect what they fear. They cage it. Or kill it.”
“Some do,” she said. “Some…don’t. Some fall in love with it.”
His gaze snapped to Kieran.
Then to our joined silhouettes.
Recognition.
Horror.
Amusement.
“You’ve bound yourself to her,” he said softly. “Truly. Not just…for strategy.”
“That’s none of your business,” I snarled.
He threw his head back and laughed.
“You’re more of a fool than I thought,” he said. “You think you can hold this valley and that woman and your secrets all at once? You’ll drop something. Sooner or later.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But I’ll choose what falls. You let gravity decide.”
“Poetic,” he sneered.
“You came here for something,” Sage said, voice quieter now. “Say it. So we can all stop freezing.”
He studied her.
“Give her to me,” he said suddenly.
The world went still.
“What,” I said.
“You heard me,” he said. “Give her. To me. Come with me to the old stone. Lay your hand on her head. Release her from your protection. Let her walk with *us* for a while. See the valley through *our* eyes. Then, if she lives, if she still wants your side, she can crawl back.”
“No,” I said.
“You don’t get to decide for her,” he said.
“She’s under my protection,” I snapped. “You don’t get to decide for *her* either.”
“Then let her decide,” he said, smiling slowly. “Right here. Right now. In front of everyone.”
All eyes turned to her.
Her breath hitched.
She stepped forward, just enough to be clearly seen.
Fur brushed her boots.
Teeth gleamed at her knees.
Humans would have run.
She didn’t.
“Cassian,” she said. “If I went with you…what would you show me?”
He tilted his head.
“The parts of this place your data can’t see,” he said. “The old hunts. The river caves. The places where your kind never walked because you were too weak, too soft, too…blind. I’d show you what we’ve lost. What we *could* be. If we stopped crawling for scraps from your tables.”
“And then?” she asked. “What happens to me when you’re done showing me? Do I get to leave? Or do I become a story you tell your pups about the human who thought she was safe with wolves.”
He smiled.
“No promises,” he said.
“Then there’s no choice,” I snarled.
She shot me a look.
“Stop,” she said.
“Sage,” I growled.
“This *is* about me,” she said. “He’s right about that much. You don’t get to answer for me.”
“Yes, I do,” I snapped. “Because if you say yes to him, I’ll drag you back by your hair.”
Her eyes flashed.
“Try it,” she said.
The pack winced collectively.
Cassian laughed, delighted.
“Oh, I like her,” he said. “Keep talking.”
She ignored him.
Looked at me.
Really looked.
Through me.
“Kieran,” she said softly. “Do you think I haven’t already seen the parts of this place that scare me? That make me question everything I thought I knew? I watched you break on a forest floor. I watched Mara pull a wolf back from death. I’ve stood on the treaties and felt them hum in my bones. I don’t need Cassian’s tour.”
Heat—pride, shame, something in between—flared under my fur.
“Then say no,” I said.
She turned to Cassian.
“No,” she said.
He blinked.
“Just like that?” he asked. “No curiosity? No…scientific drive? You, of all people, are going to turn down a chance to understand more?”
“I want to live,” she said. “Curiosity isn’t worth my throat.”
“You trust him to keep you safer than me?” he asked, nodding toward me.
“Yes,” she said.
No hesitation.
Cassian’s lip curled.
“You’re wrong,” he said.
“Maybe,” she said. “But if I’m going to die on one of your stupid hills, I’d rather it be his. At least he *cares* about who he drags up there.”
A low murmur rippled through my pack.
Mara’s eyes gleamed.
Ronan snarled.
Levi stared at Sage with a strange, haunted look.
Cassian’s gaze burned.
“Care will get you killed,” he said.
“So will reckless pride,” she shot back.
He straightened.
“Very well,” he said. “You’ve had your chance. Remember this, human. When your wolves fail you. When your people turn on you. When you stand alone on that ridge with no one’s name to call.”
He shifted.
Bones.
Fur.
He howled.
Short.
Sharp.
Command.
Northridge wheeled as one.
Turned.
Melted back into the trees.
Leaving us in the snow.
Breathing hard.
Shaking.
Mara exhaled slowly.
“You’re insane,” she told Sage.
“Pot,” Sage wheezed. “Kettle.”
“You didn’t even *consider* it,” I snarled at her. “You should have stayed inside.”
“You think he wouldn’t have come closer if I’d hidden?” she shot back. “He would have prowled right up to the den door. Probably stuck his head in, just to prove he could. At least this way, we…” She gestured vaguely. “Showed him a united front.”
“You keep saying ‘we’ like you’re not the one standing in the middle with a target on your forehead,” I snapped.
She threw her arms wide.
“Newsflash, Kieran,” she yelled. “I *am* the one in the middle. That’s literally the job description of ‘bridge.’ You wanted me to help? This is what it looks like. It’s messy and scary and you don’t get to keep me wrapped in bubble wrap while you go do the dangerous parts.”
“I can try,” I growled.
She marched up to me.
Jabbed a finger at my chest.
“In a relationship,” she said, “you don’t get to decide unilaterally what risks the other person takes. That’s not protection. That’s control.”
My hackles rose.
“You risk my pack,” I said. “Every time you step into his sightline. You risk *more* than yourself.”
“I know,” she said. “Believe me, I know. I was there when Peters bled into the snow. When Tyler screamed. When Levi choked on air that wasn’t his. I’m not…stupid. I’m *choosing.*”
“I didn’t—” I began.
“Trust me,” she said. “That’s what you keep asking me to do. With you. With this. With magic. Trust. You want it both ways. You want me to trust you and not…trust myself.”
The words hit like blows.
She was right.
I hated that she was right.
My chest heaved.
“I am *terrified*,” I snarled. “Every time he looks at you. Every time you open your mouth in his direction. Every time you stand near the edge of anything. My whole body screams to drag you back. To lock you in the deepest part of the dens and stand on top of the door. It’s not rational. It’s not…reasonable. It’s wolf.”
She blinked.
Some of the anger bled out of her face.
“I know,” she said softly.
“Do you?” I asked harshly. “Do you know what it feels like to smell your mate’s blood on someone else’s claws? To see your father cut your brother’s throat in the name of safety? To carry the weight of every death in your territory like it’s a stone in your ribs?”
Her breath hitched.
“I know what it feels like,” she said, “to stand in front of a room full of people and ask them not to kill the things you love. To lie to your best friend. To watch a wolf jump up from under a bullet and have to pretend it’s…nothing. I know what it feels like to be told ‘you can leave’ and realize you *can’t* anymore. Not really. Because part of you is here. With *you.* Whether you like it or not.”
My rage stuttered.
“You think I don’t…want you here,” I said, stunned.
“Sometimes I don’t know,” she said, voice small. “Sometimes it feels like you’d rather have the *idea* of me—safe, theoretical, helpful at a distance—than the messy reality. The one who argues. Who bleeds. Who makes bad jokes at bone trees.”
Heat flushed my face.
“That’s not—” I started.
Rafe cleared his throat loudly.
“Hey,” he said. “As much as I love watching you two work your shit out in front of the children, maybe save the couples therapy for later? We’ve got scared pups and exhausted elders and a very pissed-off Northridge at the edges. Priorities.”
Mara smacked him.
“He’s right,” she said reluctantly. “This isn’t…resolved. But neither is the valley.”
Sage and I stared at each other.
Breath steaming.
Hearts pounding.
“Later,” she said finally, voice hoarse.
“Later,” I echoed.
The word had become a plea, a promise, a curse.
We turned away from each other.
For now.
To deal with what we could.
Pups.
Patrols.
Power hummed under my skin.
Not Cassian’s.
Something older.
The valley itself, maybe, watching us draw our lines and daring us not to trip over them.
***
That night, after the pups were soothed and the patrols set, we ended up back where we always did.
In the cabin.
On opposite sides of the pallet.
Blanket between us like a treaty line.
The argument hovered, unfinished, like a storm that had pulled back but hadn’t blown itself out.
We lay there in the dark, not touching.
It felt wrong.
Like missing a limb.
After what felt like an hour, Sage sighed.
“Okay,” she said. “I hate this.”
“I know,” I said.
Silence.
“I’m sorry,” she said into the dark.
“For what?” I asked.
“For…not staying in the den,” she said. “For making your job harder. For…walking toward the thing with teeth instead of away.”
I stared at the ceiling.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“For what?” she whispered.
“For…wanting to chain you to my side,” I said. “For snapping when you don’t obey impulses I haven’t even said out loud. For…loving you so much it makes me stupid.”
The word hung.
We both froze.
I hadn’t planned to say it.
It had slipped out.
True.
Raw.
Undeniable.
“Sage,” I said quickly. “I—”
“Say it again,” she whispered.
I swallowed.
My throat was dry.
“I love you,” I said.
The world didn’t end.
The roof didn’t cave in.
The valley didn’t split.
She exhaled a shaky breath.
“Good,” she said. “Because I…love you too.”
My heart stuttered.
“I know,” she went on, voice gaining strength. “Logically, it shouldn’t be possible to feel this way this fast. Our attachment systems are all messed up by trauma and magic and limited dating pools. But…here we are. It’s…love. Or something close enough my brain doesn’t know the difference.”
Heat burned behind my eyes.
“You’re very bad at romantic speeches,” I said hoarsely.
“I know,” she said. “You love that about me.”
“I do,” I said.
We lay there.
Breathing.
Not touching.
It felt like torture.
“Okay,” she said finally. “New rule.”
“Do we need more rules?” I asked, half-laughing.
“Yes,” she said. “We fight *with* love. Not…around it. Not…pretending it’s not there. When we argue, we do it…knowing. Not…testing.”
I thought about that.
“Agreed,” I said.
“Second new rule,” she said. “No more unilateral decisions about my safety. You don’t get to say ‘stay’ without giving me reasons I can understand. And I don’t get to ignore those reasons just because my pride’s bruised.”
“Agreed,” I said slowly.
“Third,” she added. “We…touch. Even when we’re mad. A hand. A shoulder. Something. So we remember…this.”
She reached across the pallet.
In the dark, her fingers brushed my arm.
I grabbed her hand.
Held on.
“All right,” I said.
We shifted closer.
Tentative.
I slid my free arm under her head.
She scooted until her forehead rested against my collarbone.
Our legs tangled.
I breathed in the smell of her hair.
Smoke.
Sage.
Us.
“Later,” I murmured into her hair.
“I’m holding you to that,” she mumbled.
Sleep took us like that.
Wrapped around each other.
Lines blurred.
Edges soft.
Storm still gathering.
But for one stolen night, the crash point paused.
Held.
Waited.
And we did what we could.
We loved.
In the face of everything.
***