The northern ridge rose like a jagged spine against the night sky, its rocky edges catching the faint moonlight. As we climbed, the scent of my pack grew stronger—fear, exhaustion, blood, and something else beneath it all.
Desperation.
Elias stirred weakly in my arms, a soft groan escaping him. I tightened my hold, whispering, "Almost there. Stay with me."
Rylan slowed his pace, glancing back at us. "Your pack is close. I can smell the healers."
Mira nodded, though her expression remained tense. "They'll smell you too."
"I know," he said simply.
He didn't sound worried. That irritated me more than it should have.
We reached the top of the ridge, and the sight below made my breath catch.
Dozens of wolves—some in human form, others still shifted—were scattered across a makeshift camp. Injured wolves lay on blankets or against trees, their wounds hastily bandaged. Warriors stood guard at the perimeter, their eyes sharp despite their exhaustion.
My heart clenched.
"Lyra!" someone shouted.
I turned just as Alpha Rowan limped toward me. His left arm was wrapped in blood‑soaked cloth, and bruises marred his ribs, but his eyes were sharp and alive.
"You're safe," he breathed, relief flooding his face.
I nodded, lowering Elias gently. "He needs a healer."
Rowan signaled two wolves, who rushed forward to carry Elias away. Mira followed them, still clutching her wounded arm.
Then Rowan's gaze shifted.
To Rylan.
Instantly, the air changed. Warriors tensed. Growls rippled through the camp. A few wolves shifted halfway, claws extending, teeth bared.
Rowan stepped in front of me protectively. "Why is the Bloodfang Alpha here?"
Rylan didn't flinch. "Your pack was attacked by controlled rogues. So was mine."
Rowan snarled. "You expect me to believe—"
"It's true," I said quickly. "I saw them. Their eyes were black."
Rowan's expression faltered.
Rylan continued, voice steady. "Someone wants our packs to destroy each other. They're using rogues to do it."
"And why would you warn us?" Rowan spat.
Rylan's gaze flicked to me.
Just me.
"Because," he said quietly, "I can't let her die."
A ripple went through the pack.
Gasps. Growls. Shocked whispers.
Rowan stiffened. "Explain."
Rylan didn't look away from me. "She's my mate."
The ridge erupted.
Wolves surged forward, snarling. A few shifted fully, fur bristling, teeth bared. Rowan raised a hand, stopping them, though his own face had gone pale.
"No," he whispered. "No, that's impossible."
I swallowed hard. "I didn't choose it."
Rylan's voice softened. "Neither did I."
Rowan turned to me, eyes full of pain. "Lyra… tell me he's lying."
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because the bond pulsed again—hot, undeniable, cruel.
Rowan's expression shattered. "Moon damn it."
Rylan stepped forward. "I'm not here to claim her. I'm here because whoever is controlling the rogues will strike again. And next time, neither of our packs will survive."
Rowan glared. "And you expect us to trust you?"
"No," Rylan said. "But you need me."
The ridge fell silent.
Wolves shifted uneasily.
Rowan looked at me. "Lyra… what do you think?"
I hated that he asked.
I hated that I knew the answer.
"He's right," I whispered. "We need him."
Rowan closed his eyes, pained. "Then the moon truly has cursed us."
Rylan's jaw tightened. "It's not a curse."
Rowan ignored him. "Fine. You can stay. But one wrong move, Bloodfang, and I'll tear your throat out myself."
Rylan nodded. "Fair."
Rowan turned away, barking orders to the warriors.
Rylan looked at me.
And the bond hummed like a heartbeat between us.
I tore my gaze away, but the connection lingered—warm, electric, terrifying.
I didn't want this.
I didn't want him.
But the moon didn't care what I wanted.
And neither, it seemed, did fate.