With renewed focus, I let the shift take me. Bones realign, muscles stretch, fur erupts across my skin. In seconds, I’m on four paws, powerful and free. I lift my muzzle to the night sky and let out a triumphant howl before plunging deeper into the forest, running until the dreams can’t follow.
The world whizzes past as I push myself faster, harder. My paws barely touch the ground between strides, my body remembering the pure joy of speed. This is freedom. This is what the nightmare tried to take from me: the wild certainty of my own strength.
Wind rushes through my fur as I leap over fallen logs and weave between ancient trunks. The forest is alive around me, breathing with secrets and shadows. I run to outpace the imagesthat still haunt me: the bloodied wedding dress, the arrow, the child I’ve never carried.
A ripple of movement catches the edge of my vision. I don’t slow, don’t turn, but I’m aware of them—wild wolves, emerging from the deeper woods to run alongside me. Three, then five, their silver and gray coats ghostly in the moonlight. They match my pace, their eyes occasionally flashing my way, acknowledging but not challenging.
This has happened since I was a child. Wild wolves find me, run with me, accepting me in a way that wouldn’t make any sense to my pack. I’ve never told anyone. Not my parents, not Astra, not even Selene. The wild wolves are my secret, my mystery.
One of them, a female with a scar across her muzzle, nudges closer, darting beneath me to weave between my much larger paws. Standing nearly twice their height, I dwarf these wild cousins, yet they show no fear. The female looks up at me, her eyes holding a wisdom that transcends the difference in our forms. I feel a surge of connection and belonging that outstrips pack boundaries. These wolves aren’t from my pack, yet something in my blood recognizes them.
We crest a small rise together, and I push even faster, my heart pounding with exhilaration rather than fear. The wild wolves fan out, five shadows dancing through the trees in perfect formation.
A flash of movement cuts across our path. Another wolf, much larger than the others, is now running parallel to our course through a dense stand of pines. It’s not one of the wild wolves. This one’s scent is different—powerful, ancient, carrying hints of snow and mountains and something else I can’t quite place.
The glimpse of the intruder disrupts my rhythm. My wolf’s attention divides, curious about this newcomer even as wemaintain our headlong sprint. The distraction costs me. My front paw catches on an exposed root, and at the speed I’m running, there’s no recovery.
I tumble forward, momentum sending me into a chaotic roll. My wolf form twists, instinctively trying to right itself, but the slope is too steep, the speed too great. I crash through underbrush, the world spinning around me until something—or rather, someone—stops my fall.
Strong hands grip my shoulders, bringing my descent to a halt. The sudden transition jolts me back into human form, the shift happening without conscious thought. I gasp, disoriented, pine needles in my hair and scratches across my arms. My clothes reform with me, pants and shirt materializing as my fur recedes.
“Are you hurt?” The voice is deep, concerned.
When I look up, I’m staring directly into dark eyes I know too well. My heart stutters. I scramble backward, putting distance between us. “What are you doing out here?”
Kieran straightens to his full height, his black clothes having reformed perfectly with his shift, as well. The moonlight accentuates his imposing silhouette—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, powerful stance, and an aura of authority that commands attention. He’s at least ten or fifteen years my senior, but his body shows no sign of the softening of age. If anything, the years have honed him to be sharper, more dangerous.
The silver threading through his black hair catches moonlight as he studies me with an intensity that sends unwelcome heat through my veins. Something about him calls to me on a level I can’t understand—a pull that feels ancient and instinctive and terrifying.
“I run under the darkness of night,” he says simply, as though it’s the most natural thing for the alpha of the Snow Mountain Pack to be miles from the palace, alone in these woods. “Themoon speaks more clearly when the world is quiet.” His eyes travel over me, assessing. “And you? Why is the Queen’s guard so far from her charge at this hour?”
“None of your business,” I snap, then immediately regret my tone. I’ve been raised to respect alphas, even those from other packs. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to be rude. I just…needed some air.”
He nods, accepting my explanation without question even though his eyes say he doesn’t believe it. “Would you like to run together? These woods have good hunting.”
“No.” The answer comes too quickly, too forcefully. “I should head back.”
I don’t want to spend time with Kieran. Every moment in his presence makes me feel like I’m standing at the edge of a precipice, my body urging me to leap while my mind screams in warning.
I take a few steps away, turning my back to him deliberately—a show of trust I don’t entirely feel.
“You seem troubled, Daciana.”
I stop but don’t turn around. “I’m fine.”
His footsteps make no sound on the forest floor. The first I know of his approach is the heat of him behind me, then his hands—large and unexpectedly gentle—circling my neck from behind. His fingers press lightly on the spot where Selene’s blade nearly ended my life.
“Your scar is throbbing,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that I feel more than hear.
I should move. I should twist away. I should remind him that touching a royal guard without permission is overstepping. But my body betrays me, going limp and pliant under his touch. Acting submissive. Too submissive for a woman who has fought all her life to be seen as strong.
“My wound is fine,” I manage to say, but my voice emerges breathy and weak, my core tightening at the scrape of his voice against my skin. He’s too close. His warmth radiates against my back, and I can feel every point where his body might touch mine if either of us moved even an inch.
His grip on my neck tightens just slightly—not threateningly, but possessive in a way that makes my wolf want to bare her throat.
“The woods are filled with dangerous creatures at night,” he says, his breath stirring the hair by my ear. “Creatures who know how to claim what they desire.” His thumb traces a slow circle at the base of my skull. “Go back to the safety of the palace, little wolf.”
He releases me, and I stumble forward from the sudden absence of his touch.
