The first pull came without warning.
Mira felt it while standing alone on the eastern balcony of the Silverfang stronghold. The morning air was cold, sharp with mountain frost. Below her, the valley stretched wide and gray, fog clinging to the trees like a living thing. From here, the world looked quiet. Too quiet.
Her wrists were free now. The chains had been removed days ago, replaced with an unspoken rule: she was not to leave the inner walls. Guards still watched her, but from a distance. A courtesy. Or a cage with wider bars.
Mira rested her hands on the stone railing and breathed slowly, counting each breath the way her grandmother had taught her when fear turns dangerous, one, two, three.
Her wolf stirred beneath her skin, restless but calm. Too calm.
That should have warned her.
The pull struck like a hook buried deep in her chest.
Mira gasped, fingers tightening on the stone as a sharp pressure yanked inward, not painful at first—just sudden, strong, and wrong. It felt as if something inside her had turned and tugged hard, as if an invisible thread had gone tight.
"What" Her breath hitched.
Her wolf surged up in alarm, claws scraping inside her bones. Mate.
The word echoed through her mind before she could stop it.
"No," she whispered aloud. "No, not now."
The pull came again, stronger this time.
Her knees buckled. Mira barely caught herself before she fell, one hand flying to her chest. Heat spread under her skin, low and insistent, like embers waking in ash.
This wasn't the crushing pain she had felt when the bond first revealed itself. This was different.
Her head snapped up.
Without meaning to, her gaze turned toward the inner keep—the Alpha's wing.
Ryker.
The shocking truth stunned her, stealing her breath.
She hadn't been thinking about him. Hadn't been near him, hadn't touched him. The bond should have been quiet, dormant, locked behind choice and resistance.
So why, the pull tightened again, unmistakable now. Not a suggestion. A demand.
Her body leaned forward on its own.
"Stop," she hissed, digging her heels into the stone floor. "I didn't agree to this."
The bond did not care.
It flared, heat curling low in her stomach, spreading outward through her limbs. Her wolf pressed close to the surface, uneasy, confused, drawn.
This is not right, her wolf growled.
Mira agreed.
She forced herself upright and turned away from the keep, putting her back to it as if that might break the invisible line between them.
For a heartbeat, the pull eased.
Then it snapped back harder.
Mira cried out as the world tilted. The balcony blurred. Stone, sky, and fog smeared together as her balance vanished.
She didn't fall.
Strong hands caught her.
"Mira."
Ryker's voice was low, sharp with alarm, right beside her ear.
Her body reacted before her mind could catch up.
The bond detonated.
Heat surged through her like wildfire, sudden and overwhelming. Her wolf slammed forward with a startled snarl, pressing against Ryker's presence with instinct and hunger and rage all tangled tight.
Mira gasped, fingers clutching at his forearms as if she were drowning.
"Don't..." she tried to say, but the word broke apart.
Ryker froze.
She felt his shock, his confusion, the instant tightening of his control. His grip did not tighten, did not pull her closer. He held her steady, solid, as if anchoring her to the world.
"What did you feel?" he asked quietly.
She couldn't answer.
The pull was still there, buzzing and bright, a live wire sounding between them. Her skin burned where it brushed his, even through cloth.
This was wrong.
This was too much.
She shoved at his chest with shaking hands. "Let go."
Ryker released her instantly, stepping back as if burned.
The space between them snapped taut.
The pull did not stop.
Mira staggered, heart racing, breath shallow. "What did you do?"
"I didn't touch the bond," Ryker said, voice tight. "I swear it."
"You were across the courtyard," she snapped. "I felt you before you were even near me."
His eyes darkened. "I felt you too."
That sent a chill through her.
She straightened, forcing her hands to stop shaking. "That's not how this works."
"No," he agreed. "It isn't."
They stared at each other, the air between them charged and uneasy.
Slowly, Ryker glanced at the balcony doors behind him. Guards stood at a respectful distance, pretending not to watch, pretending not to feel the strange shift in the air.
"This wasn't intentional," he said at last. "Was it?"
Mira shook her head. "I was standing here. Alone."
Ryker exhaled through his nose, jaw tight. "I was in the council chamber."
Her eyes narrowed. "With who?"
"The elders," he said. "And the seer."
That made her stomach drop.
"What were they doing?" she demanded.
"Arguing," he replied. "About you."
Of course they were.
"And during that argument," she said slowly, "the bond decided to wake up on its own?"
Ryker didn't answer right away.
His gaze shifted, distant now, focused inward. She sensed him listening to something she could not hear.
Finally, he spoke. "The seer said the bond has entered a volatile phase."
Mira's pulse quickened. "Define volatile."
"She believes," he said carefully, "that resistance from both sides is causing pressure."
Her mouth went dry. "Pressure for what?"
"For alignment."
She laughed, short and humorless. "That's a nice word for control."
Ryker's eyes flicked back to hers. "I don't disagree."
The pull pulsed again, softer now but still present, like a reminder.
Mira hugged herself, anger rising to cover the unease curling in her gut. "Fix it."
"If I could," Ryker said, "I would."
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "This cannot happen again. Not in public. Not ever."
His gaze dropped to the space between them, to the invisible tension humming there. "Agreed."
"And if it does?" she pressed.
Ryker met her eyes. "Then we'll know something is very wrong."
The words settled heavily between them.
A horn sounded in the distance—short, sharp. An internal signal.
Ryker stiffened. "I have to go."
"Of course you do," Mira said bitterly.
He hesitated, then added, "Stay inside today."
She bristled. "I won't be ordered..."
"This isn't an order," he interrupted. "It's caution."
She searched his face, then looked away. "I don't need your concern."
"I know," he said quietly. "But you have it anyway."
He turned and left before she could reply.
The moment he crossed the threshold, the pull eased.
Not gone.
Just quieter.
Mira sagged against the railing, breath coming hard.
What in the Moon's name just happened?
The second pull came that night.
Mira woke with a sharp inhale, sitting bolt upright in bed, sheets twisted around her legs. Darkness pressed in on all sides, broken only by moonlight through the barred window.
Her heart was already racing.
She felt it immediately.
The pull.
Stronger than before.
It dragged at her from deep inside, urgent and restless, pulling her awareness outward, away from herself.
Her wolf surged, not alarmed this time, but alert. Curious.
No.
Mira swung her legs over the side of the bed, grounding herself on the cold stone floor. "This is not happening," she muttered.
The pull is answered by tightening.
Images flickered at the edge of her mind—firelight, stone walls, the echo of raised voices. Ryker's presence brushed against her senses, not thoughts, not memories, but proximity.
He's awake.
The realization sent a jolt through her.
She pressed her palms to her temples. "Get out of my head."
The bond did not respond to anger.
It pulled.
Mira stood, drawn step by step toward the door. Each movement felt both chosen and stolen, her body responding to something her mind rejected.
She reached the door before she realized what she was doing.
Her hand hovered over the latch.
This is wrong.
Her wolf did not argue but it did not resist either.
Mira's chest tightened.
Slowly, deliberately, she stepped back.
The pull protested, flaring hot and sharp.
She gasped, dropping to one knee as pain lanced through her side not unbearable, but clear.
A warning.
"So this is how it works," she whispered. "You hurt me if I don't listen."
The bond hummed, neither confirming nor denying.
Footsteps sounded outside.
Mira froze.
The door opened.
Ryker stood there, fully dressed, tension carved into every line of his body. His eyes locked onto hers instantly.
"You felt it too," she said.
"Yes."
Neither of them moved.
The pull between them surged, no longer subtle, no longer quiet. It filled the space like a living thing, pressing them closer without a single touch.
Ryker took one careful step into the room. "You shouldn't be alone right now."
Her laugh was shaky. "Funny. I was thinking the same about you."
He stopped several feet away, jaw tight. "This isn't desire."
"Don't insult me," she snapped. "I know the difference, do you think I feel anything for you?"
"So do I," he said. "And this feels… off."
The pull twisted again, sharper this time, dragging at both of them.
Mira clenched her fists. "Then stop standing there and do something."
Ryker looked torn, anger and restraint warring in his expression. "If I get closer..."
"...It might get worse," she finished.
"Yes."
They stood in silence, the bond thrumming louder with each second.
Then, without warning, Mira felt a second presence. Thin, cold. Watching.
Her head snapped up. "Do you feel that?"
Ryker's eyes narrowed. "Feel what?"
The pull spiked—then twisted sideways, yanked not toward Ryker, but somewhere else entirely.
Mira cried out as pain ripped through her chest, white-hot and sudden. She collapsed forward, catching herself on the bed.
Ryker crossed the room in two strides and caught her shoulders, steadying her.
"This isn't me," he said sharply. "This isn't coming from me."
She gasped, clutching his arm. "Someone is touching the bond."
The words hung in the air.
Ryker's face went cold.
"That's impossible," he said.
Mira looked up at him, fear burning through the pain. "Then explain why it feels like someone just pulled us both like strings."
The pull tightened once more harder, crueler—then vanished entirely.
The silence that followed was worse.
Ryker released her slowly, his hands shaking just slightly. "No one should be able to interfere."
"But someone did," Mira said.
They stared at each other, the truth settling between them like a crack in stone.
Somewhere in the stronghold, far below, a door creaked open.
And from the darkness, a voice whispered a single word-soft, satisfied, and full of promise. "Good."