RIVEN POV:
The border was forbidden.
Every child in the pack knew that before they learned how to shift. Before they learned how to run. Before they learned fear.
It was carved into our stories, whispered into our lullabies, and etched into our bones long before we ever understood what danger truly meant. Elders spoke of it in hushed tones, their voices heavy with warnings. Mothers tightened their grips on their children whenever the topic came up. Fathers grew silent, jaws clenched, eyes distant—as if remembering something they wished they could forget.
Beyond the jagged line of ancient stones and twisted ironwood trees lay lands that didn't belong to us—lands soaked in old blood, old magic, and grudges that never died. Lands where treaties had failed and promises had rotted away. No patrol crossed it unless ordered. No wolf strayed there unless they had a death wish.
Yet that was exactly where my feet carried me.
Each step felt deliberate, even though my mind screamed at me to stop. The forest grew quieter the closer I got, as if the earth itself was holding its breath. Crickets fell silent. The wind thinned to nothing. Even the leaves seemed reluctant to move.
My jaw tightened as I pushed past the final marker stone.
It was larger than the others, cracked down the middle, etched with symbols so old no one remembered their meaning anymore. I hesitated for half a heartbeat, my hand brushing its cold surface.
Then I crossed.
A sharp pain lanced through my chest the moment I stepped over the line—not physical, not something I could clutch or breathe through. It struck deeper than flesh, deeper than bone.
Something old.
Something bound.
The bond.
Kael.
It snapped tight, like a chain yanked without warning.
I gasped, stumbling forward, my hand flying to my heart as if I could tear the sensation out of me. My knees almost buckled. For a split second, his presence slammed into me—cold, commanding, furious. It was overwhelming, like being submerged in icy water without warning.
"Where are you?"
His voice roared inside my head, sharp and demanding, layered with authority that no longer comforted me.
I shut him out.
For the first time since the moon ceremony that made me Luna in name only, I shut him out completely. I forced the walls up, ignoring the backlash that rippled through my chest. The bond strained, resisted, then dulled.
I didn't want to see him or talk to him.
I wanted silence.
I wanted space.
I wanted to think—about my life, about my son, about the way Kael had looked when he made a decision about our child without even glancing in my direction. Like I was nothing. Like my voice didn't matter.
The pain eased, replaced by a hollow ache that sat heavy in my chest.
Good.
Let him feel it.
Let him feel even a fraction of what I felt.
The forest on the other side was different. Darker. Thicker. The air felt heavier in my lungs, carrying a metallic tang that made my instincts twitch. Moonlight struggled to pierce the dense canopy, breaking through only in fractured beams that barely touched the forest floor. Shadows shifted where no wind blew, stretching and shrinking like living things.
Every instinct I had screamed at me to turn back.
But another part of me—the part that was tired of bowing, tired of swallowing pain—pushed me forward.
And I listened to that part.
I would rather face monsters than look at Kael again after what he did.
A low growl echoed from somewhere to my left.
My entire body froze.
The sound vibrated through the trees, deep and warning, sending a chill down my spine. Slowly, painfully aware of every breath I took, I turned.
A wolf stepped into the clearing.
Huge. Black as midnight. Its fur absorbed what little moonlight existed, making it seem like a living shadow. Its eyes burned red—sharp and knowing, like the blood moon itself.
Not from my pack.
Not from any pack I knew.
The scars along its flank were deep and jagged, some old, some newer. They told a story of battles survived, not avoided. Of strength earned the hard way.
I shifted my stance instinctively, grounding my feet despite the tremor in my legs.
"I won't fight," I said hoarsely, my voice rough from disuse. "I'm just passing through."
The wolf studied me.
Seconds stretched into something unbearable. Its gaze wasn't feral. It wasn't hungry. It was… searching.
Then it did something unexpected.
It growled.
Not an unfriendly growl. Not a threat.
It was low, resonant—filled with something that made my chest tighten.
Longing.
And then I felt it.
A second heartbeat.
It echoed against mine, close but separate, familiar yet completely foreign. A pull tugged deep within me, curling around my soul in a way that made my breath hitch.
I had never felt anything like it before.
Mate.
The word slammed into my mind.
"What?" I whispered, spinning around wildly, my heart pounding as I searched the clearing. "Who said that?"
There was no one else.
Only the strange wolf, still staring straight into my soul.
Mate.
The voice came again, clearer this time—deep, male, filled with disbelief and something dangerously close to hope.
The world tilted.
My legs gave out beneath me as the weight of it crashed down, and I fell hard to the ground, palms scraping against dirt and leaves. My breath came in sharp, uneven gasps as my mind reeled.
This wasn't possible.
It couldn't be.
The wolf whined softly and took a cautious step closer, head lowered.
"Don't come any closer!" I shouted, panic flooding my voice as I scrambled backward.
My heart hammered violently in my chest. I had to be hallucinating. Exhaustion. Stress. The bond backlash.
Anything but this.
"Look," I said quickly, forcing the words out as I pushed myself to my feet, backing away step by step. "I know I'm not supposed to be here, and I'm sorry for trespassing. But I have a mate and a son who would be worried sick about me."
The words tasted bitter.
"I really need to get back to him. Please."
The wolf stopped.
Slowly, it lowered itself to the ground, resting on its haunches, eyes never leaving mine. It didn't advance. Didn't growl.
It was like he was giving me assurance.
That he wasn't going to hurt me.
That made it worse.
Without looking back a second time, I turned and ran.
Branches tore at my skin. Roots tried to trip me. My lungs burned as I pushed myself harder, faster, desperate to put distance between us.
Between what I felt.
Between what I didn't understand.
And with every breath I took as I ran, I felt his eyes on me—steady, unwavering, imprinted into my back like a brand.
And deep down inside me, beneath fear and denial and confusion, I knew the truth.
This wouldn't be the last time I would see him
"The patrols are stretched thin."
The words landed heavily in the council chamber, echoing against cold stone walls.
Every pair of eyes turned toward me—elders, warriors, sentinels—waiting.
Waiting for my decision.
"The western ridge has gone quiet," Elder Varek continued, his voice low but edged with unease.
"Too quiet. No scouts. No movement. That is never a good sign."
I leaned back in my chair, fingers steepled, jaw tight. Silence in borderlands was more dangerous than open hostility. Silence meant planning.
"And the southern border?" I asked.
"Stable," another elder replied. "For now."
For now.
I hated those words.
Nightfall Pack had survived long enough to know that peace was fragile. Borders were lines drawn in blood, not ink. The forbidden forest—the land beyond ancient stones and twisted ironwood—was especially volatile.
No pack claimed it, yet every pack feared it.
"Increase patrols," I ordered. "Double them near the markers. No one crosses unless I give the command."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the chamber.
"But Alpha," Varek hesitated, "if something stirs beyond the border—"
"I will handle it," I cut in.
The room fell silent.
They bowed their heads, the meeting ending as swiftly as it began. One by one, they filed out, leaving me alone with the weight of leadership pressing against my spine.
I exhaled slowly.
That was when it started.
A pressure bloomed in my chest—subtle at first, like a distant echo. My wolf stirred, lifting his head inside me, ears pricked.
Something's wrong, he growled.
I frowned, pushing back from the table. "We just discussed what's wrong."
But the feeling didn't fade.
It deepened.
Not danger. Not threat.
Recognition.
My breath hitched as a sharp pulse ripped through me, stealing the air from my lungs. I staggered slightly, gripping the edge of the stone table as my heartbeat thundered in my ears.
"What—" I muttered.
The sensation flared again, stronger this time, raw and undeniable.
My wolf surged forward violently.
Mate.
The word exploded through my mind like a breaking dam.
I froze.
That was impossible.
I had lived my entire life without feeling it—not once. I had accepted it as fate. Some alphas were never given mates. I had made peace with that truth.
Yet my chest burned now, the bond screaming awake as if it had only been sleeping.
Alive.
Close.
And pulling me east.
Toward the forbidden forest.
I didn't think.
I didn't question.
Instinct took over.
I shifted before I even reached the edge of the pack grounds, bones snapping, muscles stretching as fur erupted across my skin. The world sharpened into scent and sound and urgency.
I ran.
Trees blurred past me as I tore through the forest, paws pounding into earth that seemed to hum beneath me. The closer I got to the border, the louder the pull became—aching, demanding, relentless.
The ancient stones loomed ahead.
I crossed without slowing.
The land changed instantly.
The air grew heavier, thick with old magic that curled against my senses. My wolf growled low, not in fear, but in awareness.
This land remembered blood. Remembered wars. Remembered broken bonds.
Then I smelled her.
My heart slammed violently against my ribs.
Moonlight. Rain. Fear.
And something that felt like home.
I slowed as I entered the clearing—and there she was. Her red long hair scattering round her face.
She stood rigid, eyes wide, jaw tight with defiance she clearly didn't feel. Smaller than I imagined, yet carrying a weight that bent the bond painfully tight between us.
She was beautiful.
Not in the soft way songs described—but in the way storms were beautiful. Dangerous.
Alive.
The bond snapped fully into place.
I growled.
Not a threat.
Not a warning.
Longing.
Recognition.
She stiffened instantly, panic flooding her scent as she spun, searching for the source. When the bond spoke—when mate echoed between us—I felt her stagger.
She fell.
My chest clenched violently.
I took a step forward without thinking, a soft whine slipping from my throat as instinct screamed to comfort, to protect.
She shouted.
Fear sharp and raw.
I stopped immediately.
She scrambled backward, eyes wild, disbelief pouring off her in waves. She spoke quickly, desperately—of trespassing, of leaving, of another mate.
Each word struck hard.
Then she said it.
A son.
My wolf snarled, furious, confused, unwilling to accept it. The bond flared painfully, stretching but not breaking.
She was mine.
No matter what stood between us.
When she pleaded, when she begged me not to follow, I forced myself to lower my massive frame, resting on my haunches in submission.
I would not frighten her.
I would not claim her like a beast.
She turned and ran.
I stayed.
Watched her disappear into the trees, memorizing the sound of her heartbeat fading, the scent she left behind burning itself into my soul.
The bond hummed, aching but alive.
My wolf rumbled softly.
She's bound elsewhere, he said. But she's ours.
"Yes," I whispered, lifting my head toward the moon.
"And she will return."
Because bonds like this did not awaken by accident.
And the forbidden forest did not call without reason.