The scent of herbs clung to the healer's den, thick and pungent, pressing into Eve's skin and hair as if determined to stay with her forever. She had never stepped into a place that felt so ancient, so alive with things unsaid. The walls were crowded with shelves groaning under the weight of jars, bundles of roots, powders sealed tight with wax, and tinctures whose colors shifted when the candlelight hit them. Dried sprigs of lavender and sage hung from the rafters, their brittle shadows dancing on the walls, whispering like watchful guardians. The warmth of a banked hearth in the corner wrapped around her shoulders, yet it did little to settle the chill winding through her blood.
She hadn't come here of her own accord. Rowan had led her down the narrow corridor of the lodge, his expression softer than usual, though his voice had been firm. You need answers, Eve. You can't keep stumbling blind through this. He had stopped before the weathered wooden door and tapped once before pushing it open. He'd told her he would wait outside, that she'd be safe here. But the moment she crossed the threshold, Eve had felt anything but safe.
The healer stood by the fire, her back turned. At first glance, she seemed ordinary, small-framed, her shoulders slightly stooped, but when she turned, Eve caught the weight of her presence like a sudden gust of cold air. Her hair, streaked with silver and raven black, fell loose and long, and her eyes—clear, gray, unflinching—seemed to strip Eve bare without a single word.
For several long seconds, the woman simply studied her. No greeting, no warmth, only silence so thick it pressed against Eve's ribs. Finally, she gestured toward the low stool by the hearth.
"Sit," the healer said. Her voice rasped, textured by smoke and years.
Eve obeyed, sitting rigidly, her hands knotted in her lap. The fire popped, releasing the sharp scent of resin. She forced herself to look at the woman again, though every instinct screamed at her to lower her gaze.
"You've felt it," the healer said at last. Not a question. A statement.
Eve's throat tightened. "I… I don't know what I've felt."
The healer's mouth curved faintly, not quite a smile. "You do. Your skin carries his storms. Your pulse trips where it should flow steady. You're tethered, girl. The bond is on you, and it's burning its mark."
The words, spoken with such certainty, sank like stones. Eve shifted, her palms damp. "I didn't ask for this."
"Few do." The healer's gaze flicked back to the fire. "The Moon chooses. The Moon binds. Choice rarely comes into it."
Eve's breath caught. "Then tell me. Please. Everyone whispers about bonds, about fate, but no one tells me what it means. What is happening to me?"
The healer did not answer at once. Instead, she reached for a stone mortar, grinding a dark root with practiced motions. The crunch of pestle against stone echoed in the small space. Only after a long pause did she set it aside and crouch before the fire. She stirred the embers until sparks danced up, her lined face glowing red and gold.
"The lore is older than these mountains," she said, her tone low, deliberate. "Older than Blackridge, older than any pack that still walks. The Moon, in her wisdom, wove mates to balance the wildness of the wolf. Two halves of one soul, bound by threads no blade can sever. Wolf to wolf, the bond is strength. It tempers rage, deepens loyalty, sharpens the Alpha's focus. It roots the pack. But wolf to human…" She paused, her eyes lifting, piercing. "That is rare. And dangerous."
The words scraped down Eve's spine. "Why dangerous?"
"Because humans are not forged in the fire of the wolf." The healer's voice carried the certainty of a truth told too many times. "Your blood does not carry the Moon's mark. Your body was not shaped to carry the storms of another. When the bond takes root, it burns you, little by little. You feel what is not yours. You bear burdens meant for creatures not of your kind. Some endure. Many do not."
Eve's heart stumbled in her chest. "And if…" She swallowed, her throat tight. "If it's rejected?"
The healer's expression hardened, the lines of her face cut deeper by the fire's glow. She sat back on the stool opposite Eve, folding her thin hands in her lap. "Rejection is a wound deeper than flesh. For wolves, it scars the soul, leaves them hollow, broken. For humans…" She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper sharp as steel. "It can shatter the mind. Leave you mad, lost. Or it severs your thread entirely, and death comes quick, like a candle blown out."
Eve gripped her knees until her nails bit into the fabric of her pants. Madness. Death. The words rang in her head, louder than the fire's crackle, louder than her own breathing. She had wanted answers, but these answers tasted like poison.
"So I don't have a choice." Her voice shook. "Either I live with this bond, or I…"
"Or you pay the price." The healer's eyes were unflinching. "The Moon does not ask permission."
The silence after was suffocating. Eve stared at the floor, watching shadows twist across the stone, trying to anchor herself against the rising wave of panic. The bond wasn't just a chain tying her to Kaelen. It was a blade pressed to her throat, controlled by hands not her own.
Her voice was a whisper, barely audible. "Has it ever worked? A wolf and a human?"
The healer did not answer immediately. She studied Eve, eyes narrowing as if measuring her worth, her will. At last, she sighed, a sound heavy with years. "Rarely. When it works, it demands more than most can give. The human must learn to shoulder a storm never meant for them. The wolf must guard them fiercely, for the bond makes them the wolf's heart outside the body. And if either falters, if trust is broken, the thread frays. And when it frays, there is no mending."
Eve pressed her nails deeper into her palms until pain cut through the panic. She wanted to believe she was strong enough. But the memory of Kaelen's storms hitting her, raw and unfiltered—the pain, the rage, the loneliness ripping through her chest as if it were her own—made her doubt.
The healer leaned closer, her voice dropping lower still. "Do not mistake this for romance spun in stories. This is not choice, nor gentle tether. It is command, ancient as the Moon. You cannot unmake it. You cannot outrun it. You are already bound, little one. And your life, your breath, your very sanity—" She tapped her chest with one bony finger. "—now rest in the Alpha's hands."
The words struck like a blow. Eve lurched to her feet, the stool scraping hard against the stone floor. Her breaths came fast and shallow, her vision swimming. She couldn't stay, couldn't breathe in this place filled with smoke and truth too sharp to bear.
She stumbled toward the door, gripping the frame for balance before wrenching it open.
Rowan straightened immediately. He had been leaning casually against the wall, but one look at her ashen face and trembling hands, and his easy posture vanished. Concern carved deep lines into his features. "Eve? What did she tell you?"
Eve shook her head, words tangled in her throat. She couldn't answer, not yet. She pushed past him, her only thought to reach air, open sky, anything but these walls.
The corridor blurred as she hurried, her feet carrying her through the lodge until finally the door gave way to night. Cold air slammed into her lungs, sharp and biting. She staggered into the clearing, gulping the chill like water after drought.
Above, the Moon loomed full and silver, spilling light across the trees, across the lodge's timber walls, across her upturned face. She stared at it, chest heaving, fury and despair coiling together inside her.
My life isn't mine anymore, she thought, bitter as ash. It's tied to him. To Kaelen. To whatever fate the Moon decided. Whether I want it or not.
The Moon offered no answer, no comfort. Only silence, and its cold, relentless light, as if mocking her with the truth she could not escape.