The wind from the north carried the faintest trace of grief.
It was not the kind born of loss or battle, but something older—soul-deep and raw.
He caught it before the storm swallowed the scent, and his wolf went still.
Kael Thorn, Alpha of the Blackridge Pack, stood on the ridge overlooking the river that split their lands from Silvercrest. His coat, dark as the pines below, bristled against the cold. Every instinct he owned, every sense honed by years of command, fixed on that distant pain that didn't belong to him—yet somehow did.
He had felt it three nights ago.
A sudden, cutting pulse through the bond he had long believed broken beyond reach.
It had woken him from sleep, heart hammering, breath ragged.
Now, it pulsed again—fainter, but alive.
His wolf prowled beneath his skin. She breathes.
Kael's jaw tightened. "You're certain?"
Would I not know her?
He didn't answer. The thought of her—a forgotten presence his wolf had whispered about for years—was something he'd buried long ago. Bonds like that didn't survive without reason. The Moon's choices were cruel, and fate even crueler.
And yet…
He looked toward the river's curve. The fog there thinned with the rising wind, revealing the faint glimmer of lanterns from the opposite bank. Silvercrest territory.
He could almost feel her heartbeat through the distance. Unsteady. Searching.
She didn't know what stirred in him when her soul broke.
He had sworn never to cross this border again. His pack had bled enough for peace that never lasted. But something inside him—something ancient and tethered to the moon's pull—was unraveling.
Behind him, footsteps crunched over frost.
"Alpha," said his Beta, Ryden. "You've been out here since dawn."
Kael didn't turn. "I could say the same about you."
Ryden's smile was grim. "You sense it again."
Kael's silence was answer enough.
The younger wolf folded his arms. "You think she's from Silvercrest?"
"She is Silvercrest," Kael said quietly. "The scent carries their mark. And something else."
"Something else?"
Kael's eyes flicked toward the river again. "Fate."
Ryden frowned. "You don't still believe—"
"I believe what I feel." His tone was calm, but there was steel beneath it. "And what I feel isn't dying. It's awakening."
The Beta hesitated, reading the warning in his Alpha's voice. "You can't cross their line. Alpha Damon will take it as an act of war."
Kael's gaze darkened. "Then he should pray I don't."
For a long moment, the two men stood in silence, the river's roar filling the space between them.
Finally, Ryden exhaled. "If it's really her… what do you intend to do?"
Kael's hand tightened at his side. The memories came unbidden: a moonlit clearing years ago, a flash of silver eyes that had haunted him ever since. He'd searched for that connection once—only to be met with silence. The bond had gone dormant, like a flame trapped under ice.
Until now.
"I intend to wait," he said. "If she lives, she'll find her strength. If fate means to draw her to me again, I won't need to chase."
His wolf snarled softly. We've waited long enough.
Kael ignored it. "Patience," he murmured. "The Moon doesn't make mistakes—it makes wars to correct them."
He turned from the ridge, cloak sweeping the frost behind him. The pack's mountain fortress loomed in the distance, its black stone walls cutting against the dawn. As he descended, his wolves lowered their heads in silent acknowledgment, the weight of his aura settling like a storm over the camp.
Inside his quarters, the air was warm and heavy with the scent of cedar. He poured a measure of dark liquor, the liquid catching the faint light from the hearth.
But even the burn in his throat couldn't drown the echo of her heartbeat that thrummed faintly against his chest.
He set the glass down and looked toward the window, where the horizon bled into pale gray.
Whoever hurt you, his wolf whispered, will learn what it means to touch what is ours.
Kael's eyes narrowed. "If the Moon has brought her back, it's not for vengeance."
Then why do you shake like this?
He didn't answer.
Outside, thunder rolled far off across the peaks. The world was shifting—the air alive with the scent of something coming. He felt it in his bones, the way predators feel a hunt long before the prey knows it's been chosen.
He closed his eyes, and the faint image of a woman appeared behind them.
Dark hair tangled in moonlight.
A heart too gentle for the cage she lived in.
Eyes that once, even for a heartbeat, had looked at him like she knew.
Elara.
His hands curled against the edge of the desk.
"Soon," he murmured, voice low and rough. "When the river calls again—I'll answer."
And somewhere across that river, under the same moon, her wolf stirred.