She didn't.
God, she didn't want him to pull away.
She wanted the opposite—wanted to close every inch of distance between them, to feel him without barriers, without hesitation, without thought.
Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, almost painfully, as she forced herself to hold onto something solid, something grounding.
This was exactly what she had come here to avoid.
After a few seconds that felt far longer than they should have, she broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to breathe.
"Not yet," she whispered, her voice unsteady as she tried to catch her breath.
Kidd didn't move away.
Not even a fraction.
If anything, he leaned in closer, just enough for Ithilien to feel the shift—to feel the heat of him, the quiet pressure of his presence closing around her like something inevitable.
"Not yet," he repeated under his breath, but this time it didn't sound like acceptance. It sounded like a warning.
To himself.
She didn't step back.
Couldn't.
Her back was still close to the glass, her body acutely aware of every inch between them—which was barely anything now. She turned her head slightly, breaking eye contact on purpose, as if looking at him directly would be too much.
Too dangerous.
Her breathing still hadn't settled.
Neither had his.
"This is exactly what I meant," she said, but the words came out softer than intended, lacking the certainty she had walked in with.
Kidd let out a quiet breath, his gaze fixed on her face, on the way she avoided looking at him, on the tension in her shoulders that didn't match the fact that she hadn't pulled away.
"No," he said slowly, his voice low and controlled, though the strain beneath it was impossible to miss. "This is exactly what you're trying not to feel."
That made her jaw tighten.
"I'm not running," she replied, still not looking at him.
"Then look at me."
She didn't.
And that alone said more than any answer could have.
Kidd shifted slightly, one hand coming up—not to grab, not to force—but to rest just beside her, fingers brushing the glass near her shoulder. It boxed her in without quite touching her, without crossing a line he hadn't been given permission to cross.
Yet.
"You came here," he continued, quieter now, closer, "in the middle of the night, straight to me."
His voice dropped even further, almost lost between them.
"That's not control, Ithilien."
She exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening at her sides as she fought the urge to close the distance herself.
"I came to make something clear."
"And did you?" he asked, leaning in just slightly more, enough that she could feel his breath when he spoke.
She swallowed.
Didn't answer.
Because the truth was—
she wasn't sure anymore.
"I don't want to repeat the same mistake," she said finally, her voice low, steadier now only because she forced it to be. "I won't belong to someone like that."
Kidd's expression darkened just a fraction.
"I'm not asking you to belong to me."
His hand shifted slightly on the glass, closer now, his body angling just enough that the space between them felt even smaller.
"I'm asking you to choose."
That made her finally glance at him—
just for a second.
And that was all it took. The eye contact snapped tight between them, charged, immediate, like striking something that had been waiting to ignite.
Her breath hitched. She looked away again almost instantly.
"What if I don't?" she asked quietly.
"Then I stop. But don't lie to me. And don't lie to yourself."
Silence settled again, thick and heavy, filled with everything they weren't saying.
Ithilien's heart was pounding hard enough that she was sure he could feel it, smell it, read it in the way her body refused to move away from his.
She should have stepped back.
She didn't.
He should have given her space.
He didn't.
They stayed exactly like that—too close, too aware, both holding the line that was already starting to blur.
And the longer it lasted—
the harder it became not to cross it again.
Ithilien didn't move. She knew she should. Knew that if she took even a single step back, if she put even the smallest distance between them, she would regain control over this—over herself, over whatever was pulling her toward him like something inevitable.
Kidd was still too close, his body angled toward hers, his hand resting against the glass just beside her shoulder, effectively trapping her there without ever truly touching her. The heat between them hadn't faded after the kiss—it had settled lower, heavier, turning into something that made it harder to think clearly, harder to remember why she had come here in the first place.
It hit her suddenly, sharp and wrong, like a thread pulled too tight beneath her skin.
Her breath caught.
For a fraction of a second, the room tilted—not physically, but somewhere deeper, where instinct lived. The familiar, unwanted pull of the bond flickered to life, but it wasn't like before. It wasn't dull or distant.
It was violent.
Chaotic.
Anger—no, not just anger. Something darker, colder, edged with something that didn't belong to any wolf she had ever known.
Ace.
Her body tensed instantly. Something was wrong.
Not just with him—
with the bond itself.
"Ithilien?"
Kidd's voice cut through, sharper now, more alert, and she realized too late that her reaction hadn't gone unnoticed.
She turned her head slightly, just enough to look at him, and whatever he saw in her expression made his entire posture change.
The heat didn't disappear.
It shifted.
"What is it?" he asked, already scanning her, the room, the air around them.
"I don't know," she said under her breath, her pulse suddenly too fast, her senses snapping into something much clearer than they had been seconds ago. "Something's—"
She stopped.
The forest. The scent. It broke through the rain.
Metallic.
Her head snapped toward the window.
Kidd followed the movement instantly.
For a heartbeat, everything went still.
Then—
the glass exploded.
It shattered inward with a violent crack, sending shards across the floor as something forced its way through, too fast, too large, too unnatural in its movement. Ithilien barely had time to react before Kidd's hand was on her, pulling her away from the window with a force that sent them both stumbling back.
The thing landed hard inside the room.
Not quite wolf.
Not quite anything.
Its body was wrong in the same way the one from Mount Hood had been, but worse—more controlled, more deliberate, its limbs moving with a disturbing precision that didn't match the raw instability she remembered.
Water and blood dripped from its frame.
Fresh blood.
Its head lifted slowly and then it looked straight at her.
Not at Kidd.
Not at the room.
At her.
Ithilien's stomach dropped.
Kidd stepped in front of her without hesitation, his body shifting, blocking her from view, his entire presence snapping into something lethal.
"Stay behind me," he said, low and absolute.
But she already knew—
this wasn't a random attack.
The creature didn't move toward the rest of the house. Didn't hesitate. Didn't assess.
It tracked only one thing.
Her.
And as it took a slow, deliberate step forward, Ithilien felt it again—deep under her skin, through the fractured bond—
that same violent pulse from Ace.
Like a signal.
Like a command.
Her breath hitched.
This wasn't a coincidence. This wasn't just another mutant. And for the first time that night, real fear settled in.
Because whatever had just come through that window—
hadn't come for the pack.
It had come for her.