Then—movement. Fast. Something dark cutting through the trees thirty yards ahead. I surge forward, keeping low, and tracking the disturbance through the underbrush.
Nova appears on my twelve, materializing from shadow like she’s made of it. She points—two fingers, sharp—toward a denser section of pines.
We converge from opposite angles. My pulse hammers in my ears. Not from exertion. From the hunt. From her proximity. From the memory of her mouth still fresh on mine.
I round a thick trunk, knife ready, and find—nothing.
Empty forest. Cold air. Disturbed earth where someone had stood moments before.
Nova appears at my side, her breath visible in small puffs. We scan the area, backs to each other, covering all angles. Her shoulder blade presses against mine through our jackets.
“Gone,” she says, voice flat.
I crouch, examining the ground. Boot prints. Heavy. Male from the size and depth. Deliberate in placement.
“Not gone. Pulled back.” I stand, scanning the tree line. “This wasn’t an accident. This was reconnaissance.”
“Testing perimeters.” Nova’s eyes narrow as she studies the darkness. “Checking response times.”
“Checking who responds.” The implication hangs between us. Who’d they see? What’d they see?
Silence stretches as we stand, alert for any return. But the forest remains empty. The watcher has retreated. For now.
I turn to face her. The kiss sits between us like a third presence. Unacknowledged. Unavoidable. Her lips are still slightly swollen, the only evidence that anything happened.
“We need to head back.” My voice comes out rougher than intended.
She nods once, all business. No trace of the heat that flared between us minutes ago. But I catch it—the slight acceleration of her pulse at her throat. The faint shift in her scent.
She feels it too. Whatever this is.
I slide my knife back into my boot sheath. She tucks hers into her belt. We stand across from each other like nothing just happened.
But I know better. My hand still remembers the curve of her hip. And that’s going to be a problem.
I keep three strides between us.
The forest thins as we approach the compound, pines giving way to frost-coated clearings. She walks with that silent glide—like her feet never fully commit to the ground. I focus on my breathing. Four counts in. Hold two. Six out. Military pattern. It’s not working.
Every breath still brings her scent. Pine and cold air, and that lingering trace of desire that shouldn’t be there. That needs to not be there.
I scan the perimeter instead. Looking for movement, for weaknesses, for anything that isn’t her. The compound lights glint through trees—security floods by the main gate and softer glows from cabins where wolves are moving in early morning routines. Pack life continuing while my control slips.
Her boot crunches ice. The sound cuts through the silence. Not an accident. She doesn’t make noise unless she means to.
I glance over. Mistake. Her profile is sharp in the pre-dawn light, jaw tight, eyes forward. A bruise forms at the corner of her mouth where I—
I snap my gaze ahead. Lock down that thought. Bury it.
“You’re bleeding,” she says.
I check my hands. Nothing. Then taste copper. My lip. Where she bit me.
“It’s fine.” My voice comes out rough. Wrong.
She doesn’t answer. Just keeps walking, face neutral, body language closed. But her pulse gives her away—too fast, too hard. I shouldn’t be able to hear it from three strides away.
We reach the edge of the trees. The compound spreads before us—still half-asleep, wolves moving between buildings, steam rising from the mess hall chimney. Someone’s shouting orders near the training yard. Normal morning. Nothing’s changed.
