Then he’d started using those doors to hide wolves.
Kids who’d been bitten and hadn’t gone feral. Women whose families were being dragged away for ‘containment.’ Men who’d done nothing wrong except survive the wrong kind of wound.
He’d joined the Accord while he was still human.
He’d paid for it in blood.
I’d paid for it too.
My gaze drifted back to Tamsin’s throat.
The mark there was healing fast. Already, it was less angry, the bruising fading into something that looked more like a shadow than a wound. My bite. My claim.
A strange ache tightened behind my ribs.
I’d fought my feelings for her for years.
Not the instinct to protect her; that had never been a fight at all. That had been as natural as breathing. Watching her back, stepping in front of danger for her, making sure she always made it home. I’d been doing that all her life.
No, it was the quieter feelings that had been harder.
The one that stirred when she laughed—really laughed—and the sound cut through the noise of everything broken and reminded me that joy was still possible. The one that tightened in my chest every time she walked straight into danger, chin lifted, confident that the world could be better and she would be the one to make it that way.
The one that crept up on me slowly as she grew, not all at once, until one day I realized she wasn’t the fierce girl with dirt under her nails and a knife too big for her handanymore, but awoman shaped by fire and loss and hope. A woman who carried grief without letting it hollow her out. A woman who could look at a ruined world and still believe it was worth saving.
A woman who’d taken the ashes of Skye and built something alive from them.
The Accord.
The two of us had started it in secret with some of the few survivors of Skye. It started with quiet meetings, coded messages, safehouses stitched together like patchwork. A network of people who believed the lie England told the world was exactly that: a lie. Not all wolves went feral. Not all bites were a death sentence. Wolves could live with humans. Wolveshadlived with humans, in places like Skye, until the British decided harmony was a threat that had to be controlled.
A soft sound left her throat, barely more than a breath.
My head snapped down.
Her lashes fluttered. Her brows drew together, like she was fighting a dream. A faint whimper escaped her lips, and my wolf surged forward, pressing against my skin like it wanted to climb into bed with her and wrap around her until nothing could touch her.
“Tam,” I murmured before I could stop myself.
Her breathing hitched.
For a second, I thought she’d wake.
She didn’t.
But her hand moved, just an inch, searching for someone, anyone, hopefully me. I caught it, wrapped my fingers around hers and held on like that could anchor her to me.
“Easy,” I whispered. “I’m here.”
Across the room, Elias moved just the slightest bit.
I felt his attention on me, calmly assessing. He exhaled through his nose.
“If I hadn’t bitten her, she’d be dead,” he said bluntly.
“I know and I appreciate that,” I answered quietly.
Elias stiffened at that, clearly expecting me to lash out instead. I finally looked up at him then and pulled in a breath of my own.
