Peace. Connection. The beginnings of something that might, someday, be love.
As I drifted toward sleep, I murmured against his fur, "Whatever they're planning, they made a mistake."
"How so?" he asked, his voice a rumble beneath my ear.
"They put us together thinking they could control the outcome." I smiled in the darkness. "But they never considered we might become allies."
His arms tightened around me. "More than allies, I hope."
"Yes," I whispered, pressing a kiss to his chest. "Much more than allies."
Ten
Redmon
The forest shadows deepened as I made my way along the hidden path. Dawn was still hours away, and even with my superior night vision, I had to ease through the dense undergrowth. Each step sent small twinges of pain through my still-healing wounds from the challenge fight.
Overhead, the twin moons cast just enough light to illuminate the moss-covered stones marking the trail to Elder Marok's dwelling. Unlike most tribal elders who lived within our communal caves, Marok had chosen isolation decades ago, retreating to the ancient forest where he could "hear the earth speak," as he put it.
He was also the only elder I trusted completely.
I approached the massive hollow oak that served as his home, noting the soft glow of firelight from within. Before I could announce myself, his gravelly voice called out.
"Either come inside or go away, Redmon. Your pacing disturbs the night birds."
I ducked through the low entrance, my bulk barely fitting through the opening. Inside, the hollow tree opened into asurprisingly spacious chamber. Marok sat cross-legged beside a small fire pit, his face illuminated by the dancing flames. His hide had faded to a pale gray with age, and one eye was clouded white from an old battle wound.
"You look terrible," he observed, gesturing for me to sit.
"I've had better weeks," I admitted, lowering myself carefully to avoid aggravating my injuries.
Marok studied me, his good eye missing nothing. "The challenge fight with the Fanghorn was foolish."
"So I've been told."
"But necessary, perhaps." He prodded the fire with a stick. "The council is in an uproar. Thorne is calling for your removal as war chief."
"Let him try," I growled, though we both knew my position was precarious.
Marok poured a steaming liquid from a clay pot into two rough cups. "You didn't risk everything for a human girl you barely know just to be noble. What's really happening, Redmon?"
I accepted the cup, inhaling the bitter herbal scent. "Something's wrong with the matching system. The forced pairings. I need to understand what's really going on."
"Ah." Marok nodded slowly. "You've begun to ask the dangerous questions."
"Have there been other matches like mine? High compatibility pairs who've been closely monitored?"
The elder sipped his tea, his expression unreadable. "There have been... unusual pairings. Ones that drew special attention from both our council and Magnus Terra."
"How many?"
"Twelve that I know of, over the past five years. All with compatibility ratings above ninety percent."
I leaned forward, ignoring the pull of stitches in my side. "What happened to them?"
"Most live in isolation, like you and your mate. Closely observed." Marok's eye narrowed. "Three couples produced offspring. Those children were taken for 'special education' at age three. Their parents were told it was mandatory under the Accords."
My blood ran cold. "Taken where?"
