The path through the forest was darker than Liora remembered, shadows stretching like fingers between the trees. Each step she took felt heavier, as though the ground itself tried to warn her.
Arin walked ahead, silent, his amber eyes scanning the woods with a precision she couldn't match. Every so often, he glanced back, and for a heartbeat, their gazes met. She saw restraint there—self-control measured in shallow breaths and clenched fists.
"I should have stopped you," she said finally, voice low, almost lost beneath the wind.
He didn't answer immediately. His stride slowed, but he didn't turn around. "I tried," he admitted after a moment. "But the pack…" His voice broke, just slightly, and the sound was foreign to her. Human, vulnerable. "I had to go where it mattered."
She frowned, the ache in her chest twisting tighter. "You left me alone."
"I didn't leave you." The words were firm, but the tremor betrayed him. "I stayed away so you wouldn't get hurt."
Liora's hands clenched at her sides. Hurt. Always hurt. The memory of that winter night surfaced—the snow red, her scream tearing through the stillness, his back disappearing into the trees. She'd buried the pain, but it had never left.
"You call this protection?" she whispered. "I nearly lost everything because of your choices."
Arin stopped walking. The moonlight caught the line of his jaw, sharp and tired. He didn't look at her, only at the shadows ahead. "I made a choice I thought would save you. You can hate me for it, but understand this—I never stopped caring."
She swallowed hard. The words should have eased the fire in her chest, but instead they poured more fuel over it. She wanted to scream, cry, throw herself into his arms—or run. Any choice would leave her raw.
The wind shifted, carrying scents she recognized: pine, wet earth, and something deeper—wolf musk. Her heart lurched. The bond they'd shared three years ago, fractured and silent, now stirred again. Subtle, insistent, a whisper in her blood she couldn't ignore.
"You've changed," she said, more observation than accusation.
He finally looked at her. The amber in his eyes was brighter, sharper, but softened at the edges by something she couldn't name—loss? longing? guilt? "We both have," he replied.
They walked on in silence, the only sounds the crunch of leaves beneath their feet and the distant call of a lone owl. Each step seemed to pull her closer to him and farther from the life she had known.
Finally, she broke the quiet. "Why now? After all this time?"
"The Alpha is dead," he said simply. "The pack needs me back. And the moon…" He paused, as if speaking the truth was a burden. "…it marked you."
Her laugh was sharp, brittle. "Marked me? I'm human. Nothing more."
"Not entirely," he countered, voice steady, almost gentle. The words weren't meant to argue; they were a statement of fact, a reminder she couldn't dismiss.
The tension between them coiled like a living thing. Liora's gaze dropped to the ground, focusing on the broken path and the roots jutting up like veins. Memories rose unbidden: the snow, the cold, the scream, his transformation. A shiver ran through her—not from cold, but from the pull of what had never truly ended.
Arin's hand brushed against a branch, shaking slightly. "I didn't come back to hurt you," he said quietly. "I came back because leaving you was never the right choice."
She lifted her head and met his eyes. For the first time that night, she saw the weight he carried—the decisions made in darkness, the nights spent awake, thinking of her, wanting to turn back but knowing he couldn't.
"You should have fought," she whispered, voice cracking. "For me, for us."
"I did," he replied, the word like steel wrapped in sorrow. "Just not where you could see."
They continued in silence, moving deeper into the forest. Shadows thickened, and the scent of the pack grew stronger, more pungent. Every step made her blood stir, her senses heighten. Something was awakening—not just the forest around her, but something inside her that had been dormant.
Liora's chest tightened. She wanted to demand answers, to make him stay, to turn back the years of pain with words alone. But she knew—he wouldn't yield, and she wouldn't force him.
The first glimpse of the pack's territory appeared through the trees: faint firelight flickering, low murmurs of movement. Wolves. Not just the animals, but the pack, alive, waiting.
Arin stopped and turned to her. His face was unreadable, though his eyes burned with an intensity she remembered from the first time he'd truly looked at her. "When we cross this line," he said, "there's no turning back. Are you ready?"
Her breath caught. Her pulse thundered in her ears. The forest around them seemed to hold its breath.
She nodded, just once. "I'm ready."
He offered her a small, almost imperceptible nod in return. "Then follow me," he said, stepping forward into the shadows.
As Liora fell in step beside him, the bond between them stirred fully awake. It whispered in her blood, in her heartbeat, in the quiet between their footsteps: a promise, a warning, and a pull she could no longer resist.