-Asher-
The air rips past me as I run, paws tearing into Whisperwind's soft earth, moss and rain thick in my lungs. My wolf is out, claws slicing loam, breath steaming in the cool air as I push faster, harder, until the trees blur around me.
The bond pulses under my skin like a festering wound, a constant reminder of what I never want. Of what I can't escape. Her confusion, her guilt, the way she looks at Finn, the way she smiles at him after everything — I feel it all, each emotion sinking in like poison. It's not her fault. It's his. Finn, the brother I would bleed for, takes something that he shouldn't have claimed. It doesn't help that the wolf thinks she's ours, dragging at me, demanding, wanting what I refuse to take.
I let out a howl, raw and broken, tearing through the night as I fight the bond, fight the ache, fight the wolf's hunger for something I don't want. I never want this. I never like her. But the bond doesn't care. It tethers me to every look, every breath, every piece of her she's already given away without knowing what it means.
I crash through the underbrush, snapping branches, sending birds screaming into the sky, until I stumble into a clearing near the river, panting, foam at the edges of my muzzle. The moon slices through the treetops, cold and sharp, painting the world in silver I can't outrun. Her scent is everywhere. The bond is everywhere.
A rustle. A scent that is not hers, but familiar. Lyra, a packmate. She steps into the clearing, half-shifted, amber eyes glowing beneath the moon, her wolf just beneath the surface. Her hair is braided back, wearing only training pants, a sports bra, scars, and faintly glowing pack runes visible on her skin.
"Asher," she says softly, reading the storm in me.
"Leave." The word is a growl, barely human, rumbling from my chest. She doesn't. She steps closer, nostrils flaring, taking in the tension, the rage, the hunger I'm fighting. Her gaze flicks over me, lingering where claws flex against the dirt.
"She's not here," Lyra says, and I snap my gaze to her, snarling, but she doesn't flinch. "You're hurting."
I lunge before I know I've moved, pinning her to a tree, claws digging into the bark near her head. Muzzle inches from her throat, breath hot, the wolf wanting to rip, to mark, to take something, anything. Lyra doesn't fight. Her wolf submits, eyes wide but steady, breathing hard, scent sharp with adrenaline.
The bond pulses again, dragging Alexia's guilt, confusion, and the memory of her smile at Finn like glass across my mind. It breaks something in me. I shove away from Lyra with a roar, claws tearing furrows in the dirt.
"He has no right," I snarl, chest heaving, the words barely words at all.
Lyra's eyes soften. "He is your friend, almost a brother."
"He was." My voice cracks, claws curling into the earth. "Now she's tied to him. And I can't —" I choke on the rest, the wolf howling inside.
"She's not yours," Lyra whispers, calm as moonlight.
"I don't want her," I snap, but it's a lie, and we both know it. "I didn't ask for this."
Lyra steps forward, touching my jaw, careful, steady. "You can't choose the bond, Asher. But you can choose who is in it."
I snap my teeth near her hand, but she doesn't flinch. She just looks at me, seeing what no one else sees — the rage, the betrayal, the fear that I am losing everything, even myself.
"You can't take what she doesn't give," Lyra says, stepping back, leaving her scent on my fur.
I stand there, trembling, breath misting as the wolf snarls, wanting to run back, to drag Alexia into my arms, to demand she choose me, not him. But I can't, not like this. So I throw my head back and let out a howl that shakes the trees, calling to the moon, to the bond, to the universe that betrays me: a promise, a curse, a prayer. I don't want this bond at all and I will never bond with that witch.
-Alexia-
Sitting and joking with Kaia in our dorm room after the boys leave, I can't stop replaying everything. I don't understand if I do something to hurt them, but I know I don't want to. It's strange — how little I know them, yet it feels like I've known them all my life. Being around them, and Kaia too, makes me feel safe in a way I haven't since living on my mom's farm before she died.
Sometimes I wish I could just pack up, go back there, and leave Whisperwind — and all this magic — behind. But the thought of losing them, the boys and Kaia, hurts more than staying. Ever since that night at the bar, everything turns upside down, and I'm not sure I'm ready for all of it. But having them — and Zeus — makes it feel possible.
Kaia tosses a pillow at me, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I catch it, laughing, even if it feels a little shaky. She's good at that — reminding me it's okay to breathe, to be here, to want this life even when it's overwhelming.
When the room quiets again, I think of Finn's gentle steadiness, Jasper's teasing that hides genuine concern, and Soren's quiet watchfulness. They all leave with looks I don't know how to read, and part of me is terrified of letting them down. And then there's Asher. He isn't here. He never really is, not entirely. It shouldn't matter, but somehow it does.
I twist the bracelet on my wrist, the one my mom gave me, grounding myself in the memory of her voice, reminding me I'm stronger than I think. Whisperwind is changing me, and maybe that's okay. Kaia hums softly as she scrolls on her phone, Zeus shifting at my feet, the room warm and still — until a howl cuts through the night.
Low, raw, and so full of something, it pulls at me before I even realize what it is. It drifts through the open window, brushing against the part of me tied to the magic I still don't understand, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Kaia's eyes meet mine, both of us holding our breath. I know it's him. Asher.
I press a hand to my chest, the echo of that howl lingering inside me, stirring something I don't have a name for. I don't know what he's feeling out there in the dark, or why it hurts to hear it, but I can't shake the ache that settles in my bones. I close my eyes, taking a slow breath as I lean back against the bed. I don't know what's coming next, but for the first time, I'm sure of one thing: I don't want to run anymore.