No shouted orders.No sharp-edged hierarchy snapping into place at dawn.Just the low hum of life beginning again—boots on packed earth, the hiss of a kettle, laughter drifting from somewhere near the center of the compound.It feels wrong, how gentle it is.Like the calm before the storm.
I lie there for a few minutes anyway, watching the light creep across the ceiling of Grayson’s cabin, feeling the steady warmth of him at my back.He’s still asleep.I know because the bond tells me—soft, constant, and patient.He holds me like he is afraid I’ll disappear and even though I thought I would be freaking out right now, all I feel is calm.
I roll onto my side, studying him while he continues to sleep.The scar along his shoulder is pale and old.Earned, not decorative.His breathing is even, relaxed in a way I don’t remember ever seeing in another wolf when they slept beside someone.
“This is dangerous,”a voice in my head warns but I already know that.
I ease out of bed without waking him and dress quietly, pulling on borrowed clothes that smell like him and the pack and something steadier than either.When I step outside, the morning air hits my lungs sharp and clean.
The dead are waiting and I can’t keep hiding from them.
They don’t cross the inner boundary of the compound.They hover at the tree line, shapes half-formed, restless and murmuring.Wolves mostly.A few others, shifters whose bones never made it home, whose names were swallowed by time.
“You should not be here,”one whispers, a female with her chest caved in.
“I know,” I murmur under my breath.
A large male is leaning against a post nearby, pretending not to watch me.His eyes flick briefly to the tree line, then back to me.His scent tightens.
He doesn’t see them.But he feels them.
I walk toward the training ring instead.The ghosts follow along the edge of the territory like they’re pacing a fence I can’t see.Their whispers rise and fall, urgent but unfocused.They always do when there’s movement, when wolves are planning something, when danger stirs but hasn’t yet taken shape.
Training is already underway when I arrive.A female’s voice carries clearly across the ring, sharp and confident as she corrects a young male’s stance.A different male watches from the sidelines, arms crossed, gaze assessing but not cruel.
“Pair up,” she calls.“And no posturing.If you’re here to impress, you’re already losing.”
A few wolves chuckle.I hesitate at the edge, unsure where I fit.Fighter.Guest.Mate.Trinity.
She spots me and lifts her chin.“Have you trained before?”She doesn’t bother with introductions.
“Yes,” I say.
“Show me.”
She tosses me a practice blade without ceremony.I catch it easily, the familiar weight grounding me.The ghosts quiet a fraction, curious now.I face my opponent, a broad-shouldered male, older and heavier than me.He doesn’t smirk.Doesn’t underestimate me.Good.
“Go,” the female snaps.
We move.My body remembers even when my heart stutters.I duck, pivot, and strike, not hard enough to injure, but fast enough to warn.He counters with controlled force, testing my balance.We circle, dirt scuffing under our boots, breath coming faster.
I don’t think.I react.It’s only when I disarm him cleanly and step back that I realize the ring has gone quiet.
Her smile is sharp with approval.“Again.”
We spar twice more before she waves us off.My arms burn.My lungs ache.But it feels good, It feels normal.
A male nods once at me as I step out of the ring.“I’m Calum and that’s my mate Talon,” he says with a nod toward the female now scolding two younger fighters.“You’ll do well here.”
Praise, Katu-style.I wipe sweat from my brow and glance instinctively toward the tree line.The ghosts are louder now.Closer.
A young male pushes forward, his features blurred with panic.“They are watching,”he says.“The cages are ready.”
My stomach tightens but I school my face into neutrality and turn back toward the pack.Grayson stands near the edge of the ring, eyes on me, concern threading through the bond.
I give him a small nod.
Not now.
