The forest breathed with her.
Morning sunlight draped the valley in pale gold, threading through the trembling leaves and silver-tipped grasses. Mist still clung to the hollows, lifting in delicate veils as the first warmth of day stirred it loose. Sapphire stood barefoot at the edge of the training field, the earth cool beneath her toes, eyes half-closed as the scent of pine, damp soil, and wildflowers filled her lungs. For one perfect moment, everything was still—the world, the wind, her heart.
Peace was rare among wolves. She knew it wouldn't last.
Her wolf—restless, intuitive, always whispering from the depths of her mind—paced just under her skin. Something's changing, it murmured. Something comes.
Sapphire exhaled slowly, shaking off the unease. "You always say that," she whispered to herself. "And half the time, it's just a thunderstorm."
Still, she couldn't shake the feeling. The air held a weight to it, a kind of hum she'd only ever felt before the worst moments in her life—the day her father died, the night she first saw blood soak into the soil of her packlands. Yet here, now, the fields were alive with laughter. Children chased each other near the fence line, a few young wolves practicing their first shifts. Her mother's voice—Marge, the Luna who'd taken her in when she'd had no one—floated from the house beyond the grove, warm and commanding, as she scolded the pups for tracking mud into the kitchen.
Sapphire smiled faintly, wiping sweat from her brow and pushing a loose strand of hair from her face. Her hair caught the sunlight like liquid honey, cascading down her back in loose waves. When she glanced toward the horizon, she saw the ridge where their territory ended—the border that marked safety on one side and chaos on the other. Rumors had been spreading about unrest in the neighboring lands: rogue wolves, disappearances, the kind of quiet war that started long before anyone dared call it one.
Her wolf stirred again, uneasy. Storm's close.
Sapphire brushed off the thought and turned toward the sound of footsteps behind her.
Cain emerged from the treeline, his grin wide, his dark hair damp with sweat. "You're up early again. Training before breakfast?"
She arched a brow. "Unlike you, I don't need sleep to function."
He laughed, tossing her a towel. "You say that now, but one of these days, your mate's going to keep you up all night, and then we'll see who's running laps before dawn."
She threw the towel back at him, laughing. "As if I'd let anyone tell me when to sleep."
Her smile faltered slightly. The word mate still made something twist in her chest. Every wolf had a destined other half, but hers hadn't appeared—at least, not yet. She'd learned to tell herself she was fine with that, but deep down, she wondered if fate had simply forgotten her.
"Come on," Cain said, nudging her shoulder. "Breakfast. Mom made pancakes."
Sapphire followed him back toward the house, her gaze lingering on the forest as a faint breeze swept through, bringing with it a scent she didn't recognize—metallic, cold, and distant, like rain over steel. It vanished a heartbeat later, leaving only the whisper of leaves.
⸻
The kitchen smelled like cinnamon and warmth.
Marge was at the counter, humming softly as she poured syrup over a towering stack of pancakes. Her auburn hair was tied back in a messy bun, streaked with gray at the temples. Her smile was tired but kind.
"Morning, sweetheart," she greeted Sapphire, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You're up early again."
"Couldn't sleep." Sapphire slid into a chair. "Felt... off, I guess. Like the air's too heavy."
Marge's brow creased slightly. "You felt that too?"
Sapphire blinked. "You mean it's not just me?"
Her adoptive mother hesitated, then sighed. "No, it's not just you. The elders say the Peace Fighters are moving through nearby sectors. There's talk of an attack somewhere east."
Sapphire's appetite faded instantly. "Peace Fighters? Here?"
"Not here. But close enough."
She'd heard of them, of course—soldiers without mercy, trained to suppress emotion and enforce supernatural law. The stories made them sound more machine than man. They were said to be heartless, incapable of love or pity. A Peace Fighter could slit your throat and never feel a thing.
Sapphire tried to laugh, but it came out hollow. "Guess that explains the tension in the air."
Marge smiled faintly, though her eyes didn't match the expression. "Maybe so. But don't let the talk get to you, darling. Today's a good day. There's work to do and sunlight to enjoy."
"Right," Sapphire said softly. "Sunlight to enjoy."
Later that afternoon, Sapphire walked the edge of the ridge where the wildflowers grew thick. The petals brushed her legs as she moved, their scent sweet and dizzying. The wind tugged at her shawl, teasing it loose until she caught it and wrapped it tighter around her shoulders.
You shouldn't go this far alone, her wolf warned.
"I'm not afraid," Sapphire whispered.
That's not the same as being safe.
She paused at the overlook. From here, she could see the valley stretching below—fields of green and gold, streams flashing like mirrors in the light. Beyond them, the dark smudge of distant woods marked the start of another pack's territory.
Something shimmered in the air—a flicker of movement near the treeline far below.
Sapphire frowned, narrowing her eyes. At first she thought it was sunlight on metal. Then the light shifted, revealing a convoy of black vehicles gliding silently along the dirt road. The insignia on their doors caught the sunlight: a silver crescent enclosed by twin blades.
Peace Fighters.
Her pulse quickened.
There weren't many reasons for them to come this close to pack lands, and none of them were good.
Night fell quietly, but the unease remained.
Sapphire sat outside under the stars, her knees pulled to her chest as the cicadas sang. The scent of pine and smoke filled the air from the distant firepit where Cain and a few others laughed over drinks. It should have felt like home. Instead, it felt like waiting.
Her wolf was pacing again, restless and alert. He's coming, it whispered.
"Who?" Sapphire murmured.
No answer—only the faint pull deep in her chest, like gravity shifting direction.
And then she felt it.
A ripple across the bond she didn't yet know existed. Something ancient stirred in her blood, hot and cold all at once. The world seemed to narrow, sound fading until all she could hear was her heartbeat. The air thickened with a scent—smoke, rain, steel, and something darkly male.
Her breath caught.
Somewhere beyond the treeline, a figure was watching her.
The silhouette stepped out of the trees.
He moved like the night itself—fluid, precise, each motion deliberate. The faint moonlight gleamed against the black of his uniform, catching on the twin-blade insignia pressed to his shoulder. His eyes, though, were what held her. Icy blue, almost silver, cold enough to freeze the air between them.
For a heartbeat, neither spoke.
Sapphire's wolf went utterly still. Her pulse raced; her skin tingled where his gaze met hers. The stories she'd heard about Peace Fighters never mentioned how alive they looked—how contained danger could look almost divine.
Then his voice cut through the silence, low and even.
"You're trespassing close to the border."
"I live here," she replied, forcing steel into her voice though her heart thundered.
Something flickered in his eyes—a moment of surprise, quickly buried beneath that controlled calm. He was unreadable, every emotion neatly locked away.
"I wasn't aware this ridge belonged to anyone," he said. "The maps show it unclaimed."
"They're wrong." She lifted her chin. "Everything from the stream to the birch line belongs to the Silver Hollow Pack."
He studied her a moment longer, then inclined his head slightly, as if weighing whether to argue. "Noted."
When he turned to leave, something in her chest pulled tight, an ache deep and unfamiliar. "Wait—who are you?" she asked before she could stop herself.
He looked back over his shoulder, the moon catching the faint scar that traced down his left cheek. "Dominic Vale. Peace Fighter, Division Seven."
Her breath hitched at the name—foreign and dangerous, yet it hummed through her like a chord struck deep within her bones.
"Stay on your side of the line, Miss ..." He paused.
"Sapphire," she said.
A faint muscle in his jaw moved, like he was memorizing the word. Then he turned and vanished into the shadows.
For a long time, Sapphire stood frozen, staring after him, feeling the pull between them hum like a live wire. Her wolf whispered softly inside her, voice trembling with wonder. Mate.
She stumbled back a step, shaking her head. "No. No, that's impossible."
But the echo of his scent—smoke, iron, and storm—lingered in the air long after he was gone.
⸻
By the time she returned to the house, the lights were dim and quiet. Cain had already gone to bed, and Marge was tidying the kitchen. Sapphire slipped in silently, still dazed.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Marge murmured, glancing up.
Sapphire swallowed hard. "Something like that."
The Luna studied her for a long moment but said nothing, only brushed a hand over Sapphire's hair before turning back to the sink. "Get some rest, sweetheart. You'll need it."
Sapphire nodded, though she doubted she'd sleep at all.
She dreamed of eyes the color of lightning over snow.
When she woke, dawn was bleeding across the horizon, and her heart was still pounding like it was trying to break free from her ribs. She pressed a hand to her chest and whispered to herself, "It was just a dream."
But she could still feel the pull, faint and electric, somewhere deep beneath her skin.
Dominic
The air tasted of rain and wolf magic.
Dominic stood at the ridge long after she'd gone, scanning the distant house lights flickering through the trees. His unit had moved on hours ago, but he couldn't. Something about that girl—her scent, her eyes, her defiance—had lodged under his skin like a splinter he couldn't remove.
He shouldn't care. Peace Fighters didn't feel; their emotions were locked, tempered, trained out of them until all that remained was focus and obedience. Yet for the first time in years, his heartbeat didn't feel mechanical. It felt... real.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath.
When the wind shifted, it carried her scent again—wildflowers and fire. A shiver traced down his spine.
He turned away sharply, forcing his breathing back into rhythm. "Control it, Vale," he whispered. "You're a Peace Fighter."
But in the hollow of his chest, his wolf stirred for the first time in a decade, whispering a single forbidden truth.
Mate.
Dominic's hands clenched into fists. "No," he said aloud, as if denial could silence it. "I don't have a mate."
Yet even as he said it, his pulse betrayed him. And far across the valley, the girl with sunlight in her hair felt her heart answer the same unspoken call.