I nod. “Darius gave me the order.”
Her jaw tightens. “And you accepted.”
“What else was I supposed to do?” I say, my voice becoming low, steady. “If I refuse, I’m already guilty. If I go, maybe I can tear Roman apart from the inside.”
She steps closer, her wolf bristling under her skin, her voice hard. “Or maybe he tears you apart first.”
“I’ve bled for him before. I can bleed again.”
Her eyes narrow. “This isn’t the same.”
I take a step toward her, close enough that the heat of her wolf brushes against my skin, close enough that I can smell the fire and pine in her breath. My voice drops lower, heavier, the words dragging from deep in my chest. “Say you’ll wait.”
She freezes, her lips parting just slightly, her breath catching. For a heartbeat, her wolf presses forward, ears pricked, tail raised. Then she shakes her head, her voice tight. “You don’t ask me for that.”
“I’m asking anyway,” I reply.
The silence stretches, thick as snow, heavy as chains. Her eyes lock on mine, steady, unflinching, and I see it—the battle inside her, the war between wolf and woman, rage and pull.
Then she moves.
She grabs my collar, yanks me down, and her mouth crashes against mine. The kiss is hard, fierce, burning with everything she doesn’t want to say, everything she doesn’t want to admit. Her wolf snarls low, hungry, claiming, even as her hands shake.
When she pulls back, her breath is ragged, her voice rough. “Come back whole—or don’t come back.”
The words cut sharp, sharper than any blade, and I know they’re not promise but demand.
I nod once, my jaw tight, my chest burning with something I can’t name.
I turn from her before I break.
The night is darker when I leave. The snow has slowed, but the cold is sharper, the sky clearer, stars bleeding across black. The Brotherhood watches from the shadows, their eyes glowing faint in the dark, silent as I cross the ridge. None stop me. None speak.
I pull my hood low, my steps steady, my wolf pressed deep in my chest. The path ahead is long, the trees black against the sky, the scent of Roman’s camp already clawing at memory.
I don’t look back.
Because if I do, I won’t leave at all.
21
MARY
The ridge feels emptier without him.
It’s not just that his scent fades from the cabin, or that the fire seems colder for his absence. It’s in the air itself, in the silence that lingers too heavy, pressing down until even the sound of my own breathing feels strange. My wolf won’t stop pacing. She claws at me, restless and aching, snarling when the wind shifts but doesn’t bring his scent back. She is half-feral without him now, her need pulling sharp through my veins.
I stand at the window, staring into the dark sprawl of trees below. The snow glows faint in the moonlight, unbroken save for the path he carved hours ago. I trace it with my eyes until it vanishes into shadow. My hand presses against the cold glass, my breath fogging, and I whisper low, “Damn fool.”
The words sting my own throat. Because I let him go. Worse—I told him to come back whole, when part of me feared even then that he never would.
The door opens behind me, heavy steps breaking the quiet. I don’t need to turn to know who it is. My brother’s presence fills the room like a storm.
“You’re slipping,” Darius says, his voice rough, his tone like stone grinding.
I turn slow, my wolf already bristling. “Slipping?”
His green eyes cut into me, sharp and unyielding. “That fox has twisted you. I see it in the way you carry yourself, in your eyes, in how your wolf bristles at his absence. You’re letting him sink claws where they don’t belong.”
