*Kieran*
The first snow came three days after Sage joined us.
It fell hard and fast, fat flakes swirling down from a steel-gray sky, blanketing the valley in white. The pups went wild, rolling and yelping, their human parents half-shifted, ears tipped furry, tails flicking under their coats as they chased them.
Sage watched from the edge of the clearing, notebook clutched in gloved hands, eyes bright.
She’d taken to documenting like a wolf to a new scent trail.
Every spare moment not spent sleeping or being force-fed Mara’s soups, she scribbled. Observations. Questions. Theories. She’d stopped asking for her phone or laptop after the second day, when I’d explained—again—that anything with a camera or a wireless chip was a liability we couldn’t afford.
“Fine,” she’d muttered, flipping open the battered journal Mara had given her. “Analog it is. You realize I’m going to have to draw charts by hand. Do you know the last time I did a graph on paper?”
“No,” I’d said.
“Middle school,” she’d said. “And it was terrible.”
Her handwriting was messy but fast, a river of black ink. I’d watched her once, from the doorway, as she frowned down at a page, lips moving silently, tongue peeking out at the corner as she did math in her head.
It had done things to me I didn’t want to examine.
Now, as snow piled up on the cabin roofs and turned the wolf paths into faint depressions in the white, I felt the press of time like a weight on my shoulders.
Northridge was closer.
I could smell them.
Even through the snow.
“Stop pacing,” Mara said, not looking up from the herbs she was grinding in a stone mortar by the fire. “You’re making the floor anxious.”
“The floor is wood,” I said.
“It listens,” she replied. “Everything here does.”
I forced myself to lean against the wall instead, folding my arms.
Sage looked up from her notebook, pencil between her teeth. “You know, in my world, they call that ‘catastrophizing.’”
“What,” I said.
“Rehearsing disaster,” she said. “Running future worst-case scenarios in your head until your brain forgets any other outcome is possible.”
“I’m not rehearsing,” I said. “I’m…preparing.”
Mara snorted softly. “You’re chewing your own tail.”
“I don’t have a tail,” I muttered.
“In both shapes, you do,” she said. “You just tuck one better.”
Sage’s mouth twitched.
“Has anyone ever told you,” she asked Mara, “that you’re terrifying in a very calming way?”
“Yes,” Mara said. “Usually right before they throw up.”
Sage blinked. “Good to know.”
“Repeat to me,” Mara said, setting down the mortar. “What we know.”
“About Northridge?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “About their Alpha. About their numbers. About their…courage.”
“Courage?” Sage repeated under her breath. “Interesting choice of word.”
“Cassian took over when his father died last spring,” I said. “He’s young. Impulsive. Hungry. He wants what we have.”
“Which is?” Sage asked.
“Stability,” I said. “Territory with good hunting and enough human oversight to keep larger encroachments at bay, but not so much that we can’t slip between. A foothold in both worlds.”
“Jealousy,” Mara said. “Fury. He thinks your calm is his cage.”
“He wants to tear it down,” I said. “Prove to his pack that he’s stronger than the old treaties.”
Sage chewed on the end of her pencil. “And your…treaties. They’re…verbal? Traditional? Magic?”
“A bit of each,” Mara said.
“There are places,” I said, “where packs agree to meet. Rocks. Rivers. Trees that have seen more winters than our grandparents. We speak there. We set lines. There are…consequences for breaking them.”
“Consequence how,” Sage asked.
“Blood,” I said. “Usually.”
She swallowed.
“The Northridge pack is bigger than ours,” Mara said. “They’ve been…reckless. Taking risks we would not. Hunting closer to human towns. Baiting rangers. They grow their numbers, but they also draw attention.”
“And you think they felt it,” Sage said slowly. “When I saw you.”
“I know they did,” I said. “Two nights ago, they crossed one of our outer markers. Briefly. Left scent. A…message.”
“What did it say,” she asked.
I hesitated.
Mara’s gaze flicked to me. “He’s going to tell you anyway,” she said. “Better he uses words instead of making you smell it.”
“It said,” I said stiffly, “‘We smell your fear. We smell your human. We want to play.’”
Sage’s face drained of color.
“Play,” she whispered.
“In our world,” I said, “that word doesn’t always mean fun.”
“I figured,” she said, voice thin.
“They’re baiting you,” Mara said to me. “Trying to get you to lash out. Make a mistake.”
“I already made one,” I said bitterly. “I gave them a human to salivate over.”
Sage flinched. “Could you not talk about me like I’m a snack, please?”
“I’m talking about how they think,” I said. “Not how I see you.”
“And how do you see me,” she asked quietly.
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
“Complication,” I said. “Variable. Risk. Potential.”
Her jaw clenched. “Not exactly heartwarming.”
“I’m not trying to warm your heart,” I said. “I’m trying to keep it beating.”
“Poetic,” she muttered.
“Cassian will want to…meet her,” Mara said. “Show you he can get what you have.”
“He won’t touch her,” I growled.
“He’ll try,” Mara said. “He always pushes where it hurts.”
“So what do we do?” Sage asked. “Wait for him to show up? Lock me in a deeper basement and hope he doesn’t...sniff me?”
“You really like that word,” Rafe said from the doorway.
He stepped inside, snowdust clinging to his hair and shoulders, coat unzipped, cheeks flushed from cold.
“How close,” I asked.
“Closer than I like,” he said. “Four of them, running the north ridge. Not on our land. Yet. But their hackles are up. They’re…amped. Smell like adrenaline and cheap whiskey.”
“Drunk shifting,” Mara said, disgust curling her lip. “Idiots.”
“They sent a scout down toward the river,” Rafe continued. “Didn’t cross the line, but he got a noseful of our dens. And something else caught his attention.”
His gaze flicked to Sage.
My hands curled into fists.
“He knows,” I said.
“He suspects,” Rafe said. “He sniffed around the footprints we left taking her from the tower. Followed them a ways. He knows we brought *something* back. He doesn’t know what.”
“Yet,” Sage muttered.
“We could give him a show,” Rafe said. “Let him see you all cozy with your human pet. Might make him think twice about messing with you.”
“I am not a pet,” Sage snapped. “And using me as bait is a terrible plan.”
“No one’s using you as bait,” I said.
“You sure?” she asked. “Because from where I’m sitting, this has all the hallmarks of a very fucked up wildlife management strategy.”
“She’s not wrong,” Rafe admitted. “They’re already circling. You can either fortify the walls and hope they don’t find the weak spot, or you can walk out and show them your teeth.”
“By teeth, you mean…” Sage said.
“Me,” I said.
She swallowed.
“We meet them,” Mara said. “At the treaty stone. Neutral ground. Let them posture. Let them sniff. You stake your claim. You draw your line. You make it very clear what happens if they cross it.”
“And you think that’ll work,” Sage asked.
“It has before,” I said.
“That was before they knew you…” Rafe gestured vaguely at Sage. “Brought home a souvenir.”
“I’m not a souvenir,” she muttered.
“You’re a provocation,” Mara said. “Whether you want to be or not.”
“I don’t,” she said.
“I know,” Mara said gently.
“So,” I said. “We tighten patrols. Keep the dens on alert. And I go meet Cassian.”
“Alone,” Rafe said. “With him and his goons.”
“I’ll take Kellan,” I said.
“You’ll take me,” Rafe countered. “Kellan’s better placed guarding the dens. If Cassian has half a brain, he’ll send a second team to probe the other side while you’re playing chicken on the ridge.”
“Language,” Mara murmured.
“You’re the one who called them idiots, Mara,” he said.
“I stand by that,” she said.
“I’m coming,” Sage said.
The room went dead silent.
“No,” I said.
“Absolutely not,” Mara added.
“Hard pass,” Rafe said.
Sage’s jaw set. “I’m not asking your permission,” she said. “If they’ve already scented me, if they’re already building their little fantasy about what you’re hiding, having me locked in a cabin like a secret lover is not going to help.”
“Secret what,” I asked sharply.
“Never mind,” she muttered, flushing. “Point is, rumors are always worse than reality. If they *see* me, see that I’m a person, not a prize buck you hauled in, it might…shift something.”
“Or it might make them want you more,” I snarled. “Humans always want what they’re told they can’t have. Wolves aren’t much different.”
“Then you show them they can’t have me,” she said. “You stake your claim. The way you said you would.”
Rafe’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, I am *loving* this.”
“Not helping,” I snapped.
Sage stepped closer, closing some of the space between us. She had to tilt her head back to meet my eyes.
“I’m not naive,” she said. “I know this is dangerous. I’m scared out of my fucking mind, Kieran. But I am also not your…package to be hidden under the floorboards. My presence here already put everyone at risk. I might as well be useful.”
“You *are* useful,” I said.
“More useful than you think,” Mara added. “Cassian won’t ignore her. He’ll think he can use her. That makes him predictable. Predictable men can be…maneuvered.”
“Manipulated,” Sage translated.
“Guided,” Mara said.
“Exploited,” Rafe threw in.
Mara swatted him.
“You can’t take her to the treaty stone,” Kellan said from the doorway, his deep voice a quiet thunder. “It’s old ground. It hums with power. Human bodies aren’t meant to stand in that long.”
“Then she stays back,” Sage said. “At a distance. Close enough to be seen, far enough not to…whatever. Get zapped.”
I stared at her.
Her cheeks were flushed with fear and something that wasn’t quite adrenaline. Her eyes were wide but steady. Her hands shook, just a little, where they gripped her notebook, but her spine was straight.
She was terrified.
She was stubborn.
She was…mine to protect.
Mine to use.
The two impulses snarled at each other in my gut.
“You’re not trained to handle…this,” I said. “You’ve been in our world for three days. You don’t know our tells. Our triggers. One wrong look, one wrong word, and Cassian might take it as an invitation to—”
“To what,” she shot back. “Attack me? Kidnap me? Hurt me? Newsflash, Kieran, those things are already on the table. Hiding me doesn’t take them off. It just postpones the moment we have to deal with them.”
“She’s right,” Mara said.
“You’re supposed to be on my side,” I muttered.
“I am,” she said. “On the side that doesn’t involve us running like rabbits every time Northridge bares their teeth. We’ve been small and quiet and careful for too long. It’s made them bold.”
“You want to use her as a bluff,” I said.
“I want to use her as a mirror,” she said. “Show them that we are not afraid of what we are. Or of what we…love.”
“I don’t *love* her,” I snapped.
Silence slammed into the room like a wall.
Sage went very still.
Rafe let out a slow, low whistle. “Oh, buddy,” he said softly. “You really are an idiot.”
Mara just shook her head.
“I didn’t mean—” I began.
“I know what you meant,” Sage said, voice oddly flat. “It’s only been three days. It would be insane if you did.”
“That’s not—”
“It’s fine,” she said. “I’m not…asking for anything. I’m just trying to be useful.”
The word tasted like ash in my mouth.
“You’re not a tool,” I said roughly.
“Right now, I’m whatever keeps your pack from being ripped apart,” she said. “If that means tool, or bait, or…symbol, so be it.”
“You’re a person,” I said.
“I can be both,” she said. “People get used all the time. At least this way, I’m choosing it.”
Her eyes met mine then, and something cracked open in my chest.
“She goes,” Mara said quietly.
“Mara,” I said, half-pleading.
“You bring her to the outer ring,” she said. “You let Cassian see her. You show him that you are not ashamed. Not afraid. You make it very clear that touching her is a line he cannot cross without losing…everything.”
“You’re asking me to put a target on her back,” I growled.
“The target is already there,” she said. “We’re just drawing a circle around it and writing ‘mine’ on the inside.”
Sage inhaled sharply.
My pulse roared in my ears.
“Fine,” I said. “But she follows my lead. She doesn’t speak unless spoken to. She doesn’t move unless I tell her to. One sign, one hint, one *hair* of danger, and I get her out. No arguments.”
“No arguments,” she echoed.
“Rafe,” I said, not taking my eyes off her. “You and Edda flank us. Kellan, you hold the dens. No one gets past you.”
He grunted assent.
“Mara,” I said. “Stay with the pups.”
“I am not a babysitter,” she sniffed.
“You’re the only one who can calm them if this goes south,” I said.
She sighed. “Fine. But if one more of them throws up on my favorite shoes, I’m shifting and making them lick it up.”
“Charming,” Sage muttered.
“Welcome to parenthood,” Mara said dryly.
I stepped closer to Sage.
“You sure,” I asked, low enough that only she could hear.
She looked up at me.
Fear trembled in her pupils.
But beneath it, something else burned.
Anger.
Resolve.
Curiosity, always.
“No,” she whispered. “But I’m going anyway.”
A huff of something that wasn’t quite admiration escaped me.
“You’re insane,” I said.
“Pot, meet kettle,” she said. “You’re the one who turns into a wolf on weeknights.”
Despite everything, my mouth twitched.
“Come on, then,” I said. “Let’s go shake hands with the devil.”
***
The treaty stone stood on a narrow ridge halfway between our heartland and Northridge’s.
It wasn’t much to look at—a squat, weathered boulder streaked with lichen, half-buried in the earth. But the air around it thrummed.
Even in my human skin, I could feel it. A low, steady vibration in my bones, like distant thunder.
Sage shivered.
“Feel that,” she whispered.
“Yes,” I said.
“What is it,” she asked.
“Old promises,” Mara had told me once, when I was a boy and had first stepped onto this ridge. “Older than us. Older than your father. Older than the first wolf that crawled out of the dark and looked at the moon and decided to sing.”
“Magic,” I said now.
She swallowed. “Great.”
The snow here was thinner, scoured by wind. The sky stretched low and heavy overhead, clouds bruised and swollen.
Rafe and Edda waited in the trees at the edge of the clearing, half-shifted—ears tipped, fingers clawed, eyes bright.
“Remember,” I said to Sage, keeping my voice low. “Stay behind me. Don’t stare too long at any of them. Don’t bare your teeth unless you mean it.”
“Noted,” she murmured. “Any other fun cultural taboos I should know about? Handshakes? Eye contact? Don’t mention their moms?”
“If Cassian calls you ‘little human,’ don’t punch him,” Rafe said helpfully. “No matter how much you want to.”
“Also noted,” she muttered.
A howl split the chilly air.
I lifted my head.
Three dark shapes loped along the ridge from the north, snow spraying under their paws. One was massive, coat dark as wet stone. The other two flanked him, smaller but still formidable.
They slowed as they approached the stone.
One by one, in a ripple of motion and sound, they shifted.
Bones cracked. Fur slid. Limbs lengthened.
Sage tensed behind me, her breath hitching.
I reached back without thinking and curled my fingers around her wrist.
She stiffened.
Then, after a heartbeat, she let out a slow breath and didn’t pull away.
Cassian stood bare to the waist, snow melting on his dark skin. His hair was buzzed close, jaw sharp, eyes a cold, flat blue. Scars latticed his chest and arms—some old and white, some newer.
He smiled, showing too many teeth.
“Kieran,” he drawled. “You look tired.”
“You look drunk,” I said.
He laughed.
His gaze slid past me.
Stopped.
“Ah,” he said. “There it is.”
“Eyes on me,” I said, voice low.
“Hard to, when you’ve brought such…interesting company,” he said.
“Interesting is not the word I’d use,” Edda muttered from the trees.
Sage’s pulse fluttered under my fingers. I could feel it even through the layers of her jacket and glove.
Cassian took a step closer, ignoring the treaty stone between us.
“That smell,” he said, inhaling theatrically. “Human. Female. Sharp. New. Yours?”
“Mine,” I said.
The word came out rougher than I intended.
Sage went very still.
Cassian’s eyebrows shot up. “You *claimed* her?”
“Verbally,” I said sharply. “Not…formally.”
He smirked. “You sure about that? Because that sounded pretty formal to me, brother.”
“I’m not your brother,” I said.
“No,” he said. “You’re the good dog. The one who rolls over when the humans scratch his ears.”
“Careful,” I said softly.
He spread his arms. “What? I’m complimenting you. Takes a lot of control to live so close to them without…breaking.”
“Breaking,” Sage murmured behind me.
I squeezed her wrist. A warning and a reassurance.
Cassian’s gaze flicked to that tiny movement.
“Oh,” he said. “Oh, this is *rich.* You didn’t just drag home a pet. You got yourself a little scientist. Does she take notes while you fuck her?”
Rage ripped through me so fast the world went red.
I stepped forward, a snarl tearing free from my throat.
“Kieran,” Rafe said sharply. “Stone.”
The word cut through the red like cold water.
The treaty stone hummed under my feet.
I forced myself to stop.
Barely.
Cassian watched me, amused. “Touched a nerve, did I?”
“You will not speak of her like that,” I said, voice gravel.
“Why not?” he asked. “Isn’t that what she is? A novelty. A toy. Something soft to warm your bed when the snow falls.”
“I warned you,” I said.
He tilted his head, smile widening. “What are you going to do, good dog? Bite?”
Sage shifted behind me.
“Hey, asshole,” she said.
Every head snapped toward her.
Her hand trembled under mine, but her voice was surprisingly steady.
“I have a PhD,” she said. “I didn’t spend ten years in higher education to be reduced to your porn category.”
Cassian blinked.
Then he laughed.
“Oh, this one has teeth,” he said. “I like her.”
“Don’t,” I snarled.
“Relax,” he said. “I’m not going to steal your toy. Yet.”
“I’m not a toy,” Sage said through gritted teeth. “And I’m not his.”
“Sage,” I warned.
She shot me a look. “You don’t own me, Kieran.”
Cassian’s smile widened. “Trouble in paradise already.”
“You have something to say,” I snapped, “say it. Or go crawl back to your den and lick your wounds.”
He tsked. “Always so serious. Fine. I’ll be direct. Word travels fast. You slipped. She saw. Now you’ve got a human in your bed and a target on your back. I’m here to…offer solutions.”
“Solutions,” Rafe muttered. “I’m sure.”
Cassian ignored him. “You’re soft,” he said to me. “You always have been. Clinging to the old ways, the old lines. Hiding under the humans’ skirts, hoping their laws will shield you. That won’t last. They breed faster than we do. They build more every year. They poison rivers, cut down forests, pave over our bones. You think hiding from them will save you? You think begging for their scraps will keep your pups fed?”
“We survive,” I said. “We have for generations.”
“Surviving isn’t living,” he snapped. “I don’t want to eke out my days on the edges of their world like a rat. I want to feel wind in my fur and blood in my teeth. I want to *hunt* without looking over my shoulder for men with guns and your precious Fish and Wildlife Service.”
Sage flinched at that.
“You want war,” I said.
“I want respect,” he said. “And sometimes, the quickest way to get that is to rip out the throat of the biggest dog in the yard.”
“You mistake fear for respect,” I said.
He smiled slowly. “Fear works too.”
The hair on my arms prickled.
“What do you want, Cassian,” I asked, cutting through the speeches.
He glanced at Sage again. “I want to meet your human.”
“You already have,” I said.
“Mmm.” He took another step, testing the stone’s boundary. The air buzzed, a faint warning. He stopped just shy. “I want to *know* her. Smell her up close. See what it is about this one that made you break your own rules. Risk your pack. Shift in front of a camera.”
“There was no camera,” I snarled.
“There’s always a camera,” he said. “You’re just lucky this time.”
He let his gaze drag over Sage in a way that made my fists clench.
“So little,” he mused. “So fragile. I could break her neck with two fingers.”
“Stop,” Sage said.
He blinked, genuinely surprised.
“What,” he asked.
“Talking about me like I’m not here,” she said. “Like I’m…meat. A bargaining chip. A…thing. If you want to know something about me, ask *me,* not him.”
He tilted his head, intrigued. “All right, little human. Who are you?”
“I’m Dr. Sage Holloway,” she said. “I study wolves.”
“And now,” he said, smiling slowly, “you study us.”
“Yes,” she said. “Whether I like it or not.”
“You don’t,” he said.
“No,” she said. “I don’t like being kidnapped. Or having my choices taken away. Or being used as a pawn in some…pack pissing contest. But I *do* like understanding ecosystems. And right now, *you* are part of this one. So yes. I’m studying you.”
He laughed again, delighted. “You hear that, Kieran? She’s studying me. Should I take my shirt off?”
“You’d freeze your nipples,” Edda called from the trees.
Sage choked.
Cassian’s eyes flashed, annoyed for the first time.
“You keep interesting company,” he said to me.
“Get to the point,” I growled.
“Fine,” he said. “Here’s my offer. You hand her over. Let me…interview her. Learn what she knows. Make sure she hasn’t already spilled our secrets into one of her little boxes.”
“She hasn’t,” I said.
“Do you know that?” he asked. “Have you checked every chip, every cloud, every…what do they call it. Hard-drive?”
Sage stiffened.
“She didn’t have time,” I said. “We took her straight from the tower.”
“Even if that’s true,” he said, “it doesn’t change the fact that she *could.* Someday. When you’re not looking. When she’s tired of playing house with the monster. Humans always choose their own in the end.”
“I haven’t chosen anyone yet,” Sage murmured.
His smile sharpened. “See? She’s honest. I like that about her. So. Give her to me. I’ll take her off your hands. Make your problem mine.”
“No,” I said.
“You sure?” he asked. “Think about it. No more sleepless nights wondering when she’ll slip up. No more patrols doubled to keep her safe. No more pups whispering about the human in their Alpha’s bed.”
“She’s not—” I began.
“She’s under my protection,” I said instead. “That means I don’t hand her over to be your chew toy.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t chew,” he said. “Much.”
Sage gagged softly.
“You’re disgusting,” she said.
He shrugged. “Honest.”
“You think if I go with you, your problems go away?” she asked. “You think the fact that I *exist* stops being an issue because you moved me to a different cage?”
“Cage,” he said, tasting the word. “Interesting choice.”
“You think I don’t know what you’d do,” she said. “You’d tear me apart. Slowly. See what makes me tick. Try to figure out how much I know, how much I can forget. How much…pain I can take.”
His smile faded.
“You think so little of us,” he said softly.
“I’ve met men like you,” she said. “They don’t wear fur. They wear suits. They sit on grant committees and ethics boards and they pretend to care while they decide which lives are expendable.”
“And Kieran’s not like that,” he said.
She hesitated.
Heat flared in my chest.
“He is,” she said finally. “But he’s more than that too.”
Pain and pride tangled under my sternum.
Cassian studied her.
“Fascinating,” he murmured. “You really do have a hold on him, don’t you.”
“I have a hold on no one,” she said. “Least of all him.”
“Liar,” he said gently.
My growl rattled the air between us.
“I will not say it again,” I said. “You are not touching her. You are not taking her. You are not *thinking* about her any more than you already have. You come near our inner ring, you sniff at our dens, you so much as *look* at her without my permission, I will tear your throat out and let the ravens drag your tongue across the snow.”
Silence fell like snow itself.
Cassian’s nostrils flared.
He smiled slowly.
“There you are,” he said. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”
“This is me,” I said. “Always has been.”
“No,” he said. “Usually you’re…tempered. Reasonable. The good son. It’s nice to see the teeth your father kept hidden.”
“Leave,” I said. “Now.”
He held my gaze for a long moment.
Then he inclined his head, mock-courteous.
“As you wish,” he said. “For now.”
He stepped back, deliberately dragging his fingers along the edge of the treaty stone. Sparks snapped in the air. The rock hummed.
He winced, just slightly.
Then he turned and walked away, bare back marked with old scars and new ice.
His lieutenants shifted as they moved, bodies folding into fur, disappearing into the snow-dusted trees.
We watched them go.
Only when their scent had faded to a distant smear on the wind did I let out the breath I’d been holding.
Sage’s wrist was still in my hand.
She was shaking.
I turned to her.
“Are you—”
“Don’t ask if I’m okay,” she said, voice tight. “I’m not. But I’m not screaming, so that’s something.”
Rafe exhaled a shaky laugh from the trees. “You did good, Doc.”
“Don’t call me Doc,” she muttered.
“You faced down Cassian and didn’t piss yourself,” Edda said, stepping out of the brush, eyes wide. “That’s more than some of us can say.”
Sage’s knees buckled.
I caught her before she hit the ground.
Her fingers fisted in the front of my shirt, clutching like a drowning person grabbing a rope.
“Easy,” I murmured, without thinking, one hand cradling the back of her head.
She trembled against me.
“Hey,” I said more quietly. “You’re okay. He’s gone.”
“For now,” she whispered.
“For now,” I agreed.
Her scent was a storm—fear, adrenaline, anger, the salt of unshed tears.
And under it all, faint but unmistakable, the warm, electric spark of something else.
Trust.
Not complete. Not unconditional.
But there.
Tiny.
Dangerous.
Mine to keep or shatter.
“You shouldn’t have said that,” she mumbled against my chest.
“Said what,” I asked.
“‘Mine,’” she said. “In front of him. In front of everyone.”
“I had to,” I said.
“No, you didn’t,” she said. “You chose to. There’s a difference.”
“Yes,” I said. “There is.”
She pulled back enough to look up at me.
Snowflakes clung to her lashes. Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were huge.
“What does it mean,” she asked. “In your world. To say that. To…claim.”
I swallowed.
“In front of a rival?” I said. “It means ‘touch her and die.’”
“And in front of your own,” she pressed.
“In front of my pack,” I said slowly, “it means…she is under my protection. My responsibility. My…priority.”
“And in front of *me,*” she whispered.
The question hung between us, suspended in the cold air.
My heart slammed.
In my world, words had teeth.
Names had weight.
To say *mine* was to tie a thread.
Not a bond. Not the deep, unbreakable thing that hummed between true mates. That rope was thicker, older, woven by something beyond us.
But this thread was real. Fragile. Trembling.
I wanted to wrap it around my hand and pull her closer.
I wanted to cut it before it strangled us both.
“It means,” I said finally, my voice rough, “that you’re…not alone anymore.”
Her breath hitched.
“Even if I want to be?” she asked.
“You don’t,” I said.
She stared at me.
Then, very slowly, she shook her head.
“No,” she whispered. “I don’t.”
Snow fell around us, soft and relentless.
Somewhere far off, a wolf howled.
This time, when the sound tugged at something deep in my chest, I wasn’t sure if it was calling me to the pack.
Or to the woman in my arms.
***
When we returned to the village, the pups surged toward us, wide-eyed and chattering.
“Did you see them?” one boy asked. “Did they smell funny? Did they have extra heads?”
“Quiet,” their mother hissed, grabbing his hood.
Sage laughed weakly.
Mara appeared at the longhouse door, eyes sharp.
“Well?” she demanded.
“They’re not backing down,” Rafe said. “But they’re not charging either.”
“One sniff of Sage and Cassian got all philosophical,” Edda added. “It was weird.”
Mara’s gaze cut to me. “You?”
“Still in one piece,” I said. “For now.”
Her eyes softened infinitesimally. Then she looked at Sage.
“And you?” she asked.
Sage hesitated.
Then she straightened, pulling away from me.
“I’m…” She exhaled. “Not okay. But alive. And less likely to have my neck snapped by your charming neighbors than I was this morning, I think.”
“That’s something,” Mara said.
“Also,” Sage added, voice gaining strength, “Cassian’s a misogynistic dick with delusions of grandeur.”
Rafe barked a laugh. “Put that in your notes, Doc.”
“I plan to,” she said. “Under the heading ‘External Threats.’ Subsection: ‘Fragile Male Egos.’”
Edda snorted. “Oh, I *like* her.”
Kellan rumbled something that might have been agreement.
Mara smiled, small and satisfied. “Good,” she said. “The more clearly we can see our enemies, the better we can avoid becoming them.”
Sage met my eyes across the swirling snow.
For a heartbeat, everything else—the pack, the threats, the treaties, the humming stones—fell away.
Just her.
Just me.
Just this impossible, dangerous, fragile thing growing between us.
A thread.
A door.
A choice.
“Come on,” I said roughly. “You need food. And rest. And to write ‘misogynistic dick’ in your notebook before you forget.”
Her mouth curved.
“I’d never forget that,” she said.
She followed me into the warmth of the cabin.
Neither of us closed the door all the way.
Outside, beyond the ring of our hearth smoke and laughter, something dark moved in the trees.
Northridge.
Watching.
Waiting.
Hungry.
Inside, ink scratched on paper as Sage wrote her world into mine.
And under it all, the slow, steady drum of two hearts learning to beat in time with something old and wild and utterly, terrifyingly new.
***
*To be continued…*