The alarm bells rang across the pack grounds, low and urgent, vibrating through stone and bone alike. She felt it first in her chest, a sharp tightening that stole her breath before the sound fully registered. Instinct took over, ancient and unyielding, urging her to move, to hide, to protect what mattered most.
Outside her door, voices rose in controlled chaos. Orders were being given. Wolves shifted forms mid stride, claws scraping against stone, muscles bunching with purpose. The pack was under threat, and every part of her understood what that meant.
He did not tell her to stay behind this time. He was already moving, already issuing commands, his authority unquestioned. She watched him for a brief moment from the doorway, taking in the way power sat on him so naturally now. Years ago, that same power had crushed her. Now it pulled at her, dangerous and familiar.
She followed.
No one stopped her. Some recognized her. Others did not. A few stared too long, their gazes curious, suspicious, unsettled. She ignored them all. Fear was useless. Hesitation even more so.
The perimeter had been breached on the eastern edge, near the old tree line where the forest thickened and visibility dropped. She could smell it before she saw it. чуж danger, sharp and foreign, mixed with blood and adrenaline.
He noticed her presence beside him and frowned. "You should not be here."
"I am exactly where I need to be," she replied without slowing.
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. There was no time for argument.
They reached the edge of the clearing just as the first body hit the ground. A wolf from a rival faction lay twisted in the grass, throat torn, eyes still open. The message was clear. This was not a warning. This was an opening strike.
Her stomach turned, not from fear but from recognition. This was deliberate. Calculated. Someone wanted chaos.
"Circle the grounds," he ordered. "No one moves alone."
She caught fragments of conversation as the pack spread out. Names. Old grudges. Whispers of alliances long thought dead. The tension was thick, every sense on edge.
She stayed close to him, not because she needed protection, but because the bond would not let her drift far. It pulsed beneath her skin, stronger now, responding to danger, to proximity, to the undeniable truth that whatever was coming would bind them tighter whether they wanted it or not.
A branch snapped deeper in the trees. Too clean. Too deliberate.
"Stop," she said quietly.
He froze instantly, trusting her instinct without question. That alone sent a ripple through her chest. Once, he would have ignored her. Once, her voice had meant nothing.
Movement erupted from the shadows. Three figures lunged forward, shifting mid leap, claws gleaming, eyes wild with hunger and purpose.
The fight was brutal and fast.
She moved without thinking, body remembering what her mind tried to forget. She ducked, rolled, struck with precision honed by years of survival. She was not the broken girl they remembered. She was not prey.
He fought beside her, powerful and relentless, a force of controlled violence. Their movements aligned instinctively, backs guarding each other, attacks seamless. It felt wrong and right all at once. Like slipping into a rhythm their bodies had never truly forgotten.
When it was over, the ground was littered with blood and silence. The remaining attackers fled, retreating into the forest, leaving their intent behind like a stain.
Her hands shook as the adrenaline faded. She pressed them together, grounding herself, breathing carefully.
He turned to her slowly, eyes dark, searching her face for injury. His gaze dropped, lingered, then snapped back up. Something shifted in him, something dangerously close to awe.
"You trained," he said.
"Yes."
"You prepared for this."
"I prepared for everything," she replied.
The pack gathered around them, murmurs rippling outward. Respect. Unease. Recognition. They were seeing her clearly for the first time, and it unsettled them.
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "This attack was meant to draw us out. To test our defenses."
"And to see if I would survive," she added softly.
His expression hardened. "You are the target."
She did not deny it. She could feel it now, the pressure closing in, the sense of being watched long before she returned. Someone knew what she carried. Someone knew what she meant to him.
They returned to the pack house under heavy guard. The atmosphere inside was tense, thick with questions no one dared ask aloud.
In the quiet of the corridor, he stopped her, hand closing around her wrist. The contact sent a jolt through them both, sharp and undeniable.
"You cannot keep this from me anymore," he said. "Whatever you are hiding, it is putting you in danger."
She pulled her hand free, forcing distance between them before her resolve shattered. "I have survived worse than this."
"Not alone," he countered. "Not this time."
She looked at him then, really looked. The regret in his eyes was no longer buried. It sat heavy, raw, unguarded. It frightened her more than the attack had.
"If you had wanted to protect me," she said quietly, "you would not have rejected me when I was weakest."
The words cut deep. He flinched, pain flashing across his face before he nodded once, slow and deliberate.
"I know," he said. "And I will spend the rest of my life paying for it if you let me."
Her throat tightened. She turned away before he could see the truth threatening to spill. The secret pressed harder now, demanding acknowledgment, demanding air.
Outside, the forest watched in silence. The enemy had made its move. And the bond between them, battered but unbroken, had surged back to life, fierce and impossible to ignore.