They came to kill her.
At least ten of them, stepping from the shadowed ridges with practiced silence. Their eyes glinted like mirrors in the moonlight, claws extended, muscles coiled.
Each one a death sentence.
Lyra stood frozen beside Torin, her body still recovering from the strange heat coursing through her veins — the mark still glowing faintly beneath her collarbone.
The bond.
She barely understood what had happened. One moment she was bleeding, the next— her blood, his tongue, and the magic sparked. Now her skin tingled with a new kind of awareness. She could feel him, standing a step away.
Feel his pulse.
His breath.
His tension.
But the wolves advancing didn't care about any of that.
"Alpha or not," snarled the one in front, "you've sealed your fate."
Torin's voice was low, but full of warning. "Step back, Garren. She's under my protection now."
The lead wolf's lip curled. "You've bonded with the blood-drinker. That's treason."
"She didn't choose it," Torin snapped. "Neither did I."
"Doesn't matter."
Garren took a step forward. So did the others.
Lyra's breath caught.
Her hand found the hilt of her dagger again, but she knew it wouldn't help — not against this many. They would be on her before she could blink.
Her instincts screamed to run.
Her logic screamed it would be suicide.
Then she felt it — not in her body, but in her mind. A tether. Thin. Pulling.
Torin.
He was afraid. Not for himself — for her. And through that strange, new connection, she felt the heavy burden of his decision.
He wasn't going to run either.
Torin moved fast.
In a blink, he was in front of her, arms wide, facing his own pack like a shield.
"You strike her," he growled, "you strike me."
Garren scoffed. "Then die with her."
---
The first wolf leapt.
Torin met him mid-air with a roar that shook the rocks.
They clashed like titans — claws against claws, muscle against rage. The others fanned out.
Lyra backed toward the wrecked carriage. Her breath trembled in her throat.
Two wolves circled.
They weren't watching Torin.
They were watching her.
She threw her dagger — it sunk into one's throat. The other pounced.
But this time, she was ready.
She ducked low, twisted, and yanked the second wolf's arm backward at the elbow — hard enough to crack bone. He screamed, and she didn't hesitate to drive her boot into his temple.
Too slow.
A third shape tackled her from the side.
They rolled, her head smashing into hard stone. For a split second, she saw stars.
Pain flared through her skull.
Then — silver.
Her teeth.
She bit hard into the wolf's neck. Hot blood filled her mouth. Not to feed. To wound.
The wolf howled and pulled back.
She scrambled to her feet again.
Behind her, Torin slammed Garren into a boulder, cracking it clean down the middle.
More wolves were coming.
They needed to leave. Now.
---
"Torin!" she shouted.
He twisted around, blood on his face, breathing hard.
Her voice cut through the chaos. "We won't survive this!"
He hesitated for a second—just one—but it was enough.
Another wolf lunged.
Lyra saw it before he did. Her instincts kicked in.
Move. Now.
She sprinted toward him and threw herself into the attacker's path. They collided mid-air. Her shoulder cracked. She hit the ground with the wolf on top of her, its claws inches from her throat.
And then — nothing.
The wolf froze. Eyes wide.
Then something wrenched it backward like an invisible hand.
Torin.
His eyes blazed silver as he stood above her, breathing like a storm, his entire body pulsing with power.
He hadn't touched the wolf.
The bond had.
And somehow, it listened.
The attacker whimpered. Then bolted.
The others started to hesitate.
Something had changed.
Not just fear.
Something older.
Respect?
Or awe?
---
"We need to go," Torin muttered, grabbing her arm.
She winced. "You think?"
They ran — side by side — deeper into the Wastes. The wolves didn't follow.
Not yet.
---
***
They didn't speak until the moon was nearly gone and the rocky horizon bled into bleak dawn. Lyra's head pounded. Her shoulder ached. But they kept moving — over rocks, down dry riverbeds, through dead forests turned to ash.
Torin finally slowed by a cave, half-hidden behind stone.
He sniffed the air. "Empty. Safe."
She collapsed inside, back against the wall. Every part of her hurt.
Still, she didn't let herself rest.
She stared at him. "Tell me what happened."
He didn't look at her.
"You know what happened," he said. "You felt it."
"That doesn't mean I understand it."
He finally turned.
His eyes had lost their wolfish glow — but not their intensity.
"You bled," he said. "I tasted your blood. It triggered the bond."
"Why? We're not even the same species."
He sat across from her, resting his forearms on his knees. "There are… stories. Old ones. Long before the Council. Before the packs. About a time when blood didn't care about species. Just connection. Need. Fate."
She frowned. "You're telling me this is fate?"
"I'm saying it's a curse."
She didn't argue. Couldn't.
Her skin still tingled. She could still feel him — not just physically, but emotionally. Like they shared the same heartbeat.
She hated it.
"Is it permanent?"
"Yes."
"No way to undo it?"
His jaw clenched. "Not unless one of us dies."
They stared at each other for a long moment.
The thought sat between them — ugly, tempting.
She looked away first.
---
Minutes passed in heavy silence.
Then, Lyra spoke again. "Your own wolves tried to kill you."
"I disobeyed sacred law."
"You protected me."
He didn't reply.
But in that quiet space, the bond thrummed between them. Neither of them had chosen it, but it was there. Alive. And it would not be ignored.
---
Lyra didn't sleep.
She watched the sunrise for the first time in years — not because she wanted to, but because she couldn't stop thinking.
This bond… It was more than a curse.
It was a sentence.
They were enemies. They were supposed to hate each other. But now…
Every time she breathed, she felt him breathe too.
Every time her heartbeat skipped, she knew his did too.
If she was hurt — would he feel it?
If he died…
She didn't finish the thought.
Instead, she asked, "Why were you even there?"
Torin's voice was hoarse. "I wasn't supposed to be."
"So why were you?"
He hesitated. Then: "I was tracking the Council's scouts. I knew they were moving through the Wastes again. I wanted to know why."
She narrowed her eyes. "And when you found out it was me?"
"I didn't know it was you until I was already saving you."
He looked at her then — and it wasn't an expression she expected.
Regret.
"Would you have let me die if you knew?" she asked.
A long pause.
"Yes."
Brutal. Honest. Respectful in its own way.
"But I didn't," he added.
"You regret it."
He didn't deny it.
---
They sat in silence again.
But it was different now.
He had saved her. And in doing so, he'd cursed them both.
---
Lyra finally stood, brushing off dirt.
"So, what now?"
"We keep moving," he said. "We're both wanted now."
She nodded. "Then we don't go back. Not to the Courts. Not to the Packs."
"We don't have a home anymore."
"Then we make one."
He looked at her, skeptical. "You want to build something? From nothing?"
She turned to the mouth of the cave, where the sun touched the world in red-gold light.
"No," she said. "I want to start a war."
---