I lock the bunkhouse door behind me—the old saloon repurposed for pack housing, its weathered wood still carrying echoes of a wilder era. The perimeter check took longer than usual. Every wolf is on edge, asking questions about tomorrow that I don’t have answers for. My boots crunch against the gravel path leading to my cabin.
My door is unlocked. I don’t need to check who’s inside. Her scent reaches me before I even touch the handle.
Nova sits at my kitchen table, a mug of something herbal steaming between her hands. She doesn’t look up when I enter, but her shoulders shift slightly.
I hang my jacket on the hook and place my knife on the counter. The silence stretches between us, not uncomfortable, but loaded. Heavy with things we haven’t said.
“Everyone settled?” she asks finally, her voice low.
“As much as they can be.” I fill a glass with water from the tap, drink half of it in one swallow. “Ben’s checking the north ridge again. Callum won’t sleep tonight.”
She nods. We both know what morning brings. What we’re facing. What we might lose.
I sit across from her, the wooden chair creaking under my weight. Her eyes lift to mine, violet and steady. No fear there. No regret. Just clear focus and something else. Something that makes my chest tighten.
“I didn’t think you’d come here,” I say.
“Neither did I.” She cradles the mug, fingers tracing its rim. “But here I am.”
The clock on the wall ticks loudly. Five hours until dawn. Until we lead the pack against Faelan’s forces. Until we find out if all our plans hold up.
“When this started,” I begin, choosing each word carefully, “I thought you were a threat to keep contained.”
Her mouth quirks. Not quite a smile. “I was.”
“No.” I lean forward, elbows on the table. “You were never what I expected. You were something else entirely.”
She stills. The air between us changes, charges.
“What was I?” she asks, voice barely audible.
“A mirror.” My hand moves across the table, not touching her yet. “You showed me what this pack needed. What I needed.”
“And what was that?”
“Someone who stands their ground. Even against me.”
She sets the mug down, fingers brushing against mine. The contact sends heat crawling up my arm. Her pulse jumps, visible at her throat.
“I told myself I came here for the mission,” she says. “To give you the herbs for tomorrow. To go over the plan one more time.”
I capture her wrist gently, thumb pressing against her pulse point. “That’s not why you’re here.”
“No.” She doesn’t pull away. Her skin burns under my touch. “It’s not.”
I stand, drawing her up with me. Her body fits against mine, all lean muscle and contained power. I breathe her in, one hand sliding into her hair, cradling the back of her head.
“If tomorrow goes wrong,” she whispers against my neck.
“It won’t.” I tilt her face up to mine.
Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer. I lower my mouth to hers, not kissing yet, just sharing breath. Letting her feel the weight of my choice.
Her eyes search mine in the dim light. Close enough to see the gold flecks scatter like sparks.
Her lips part slightly. Waiting.
When our lips finally connect, there’s nothing tentative about it. She kisses like she fights—all in, no hesitation. Her tongue pushes into my mouth, claiming, demanding. I grip her hips, fingers digging hard enough to bruise, and back her against the table. The mug crashes to the floor, forgotten.
