Chapter 2: The Intruder Revealed
Adrian's POV
We were tearing through the woods, wind ripping past my fur, every muscle singing with the pure high of the run. Then it hit me—a scent so sharp and sweet it cut straight through the pine and earth. Vanilla. Warm frosting. A trace of dark chocolate underneath.
"Willow," I said inside my head. "You smell that?"
His ears pricked. "Yeah… smells good. Really good."
"Let me up front."
He gave a low, playful growl. "You already promised me two hours, remember? My turn."
I let it go for a second, but the pull was getting stronger, insistent. We slowed, then stopped altogether when the scent thickened into something I could almost taste. There, maybe thirty yards ahead in a patch of moonlight, stood a light gray wolf. Small. Lean. Rogue. No pack scent on her at all.
The guards fanned out instantly, low growls rolling through the trees. Daniel shot me a quick look—ready.
"Easy," I told them through the link. "We're not charging in blind."
But Willow was already vibrating. That's her. That's the one.
We moved. Not a full sprint, more like a controlled push, herding without crowding. She bolted, fast and smart, dodging low branches, cutting sharp turns. Every time she tried to break left or right, one of us was there, nudging her back on course. She was good—damn good—but we knew these woods better.
Eventually the trees opened onto that granite overhang. Dead end. She skidded, claws scraping rock, spun to face us with teeth bared and a growl that said she'd go down swinging.
We shifted back. One by one the others followed. Naked, breathing hard, we stood in a loose semicircle.
And then I really saw her.
She shifted too—slow at first, reluctant, like she was fighting it. When the gray fur receded, there was a girl on her knees in the dirt. Maybe five-four. Long orange hair spilling over her shoulders, catching the moonlight like fire. Skin pale and perfect despite the dirt and scratches. Eyes the same blazing color as her hair, rimmed with yellow, wide and fierce and scared all at once. Her body… curves that made my brain short-circuit for a second.
"Mate," Willow and I said at the same time, the word ripping out of us.
"She's ours," he howled inside my skull, tail thumping like a drum.
I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. The whole world had narrowed to her face, her scent, the way her chest rose and fell too fast.
Daniel stepped forward. "Seize her."
"No." My voice came out sharper than I meant. "Careful. Hands off until I say."
"Yes, my prince," they muttered, backing up a step.
I couldn't look away from her. She was staring right back, chin up, trembling but refusing to drop her gaze. Brave. Stupidly brave.
Back at the palace I burst through the doors, still half-wild from the run.
"Mother!"
She appeared at the top of the stairs, robe pulled tight. "Adrian? What happened?"
"We found the intruder. She's in the holding cells."
"She?" Her eyes went wide. "You're sure it's a woman?"
"I'm sure." I swallowed. "And… I think she's my mate."
The color drained from her face, then rushed back. "Your mate. The rogue we've been hunting for two weeks is your mate?"
"Yeah."
She pressed a hand to her mouth, then dropped it. "We need your father. Now."
When we told him, he just stared for a long second.
"Let me get this straight," he said slowly. "The intruder is female… and your fated mate?"
"Yes, sir."
He exhaled hard through his nose. "Take me to her. We need answers."
"Father—"
"No arguments, Adrian. Mate or not, she crossed our border. We don't know why. We don't know who sent her. Pack safety comes first. Always."
He put a hand on my shoulder, firm but not unkind. "You know that."
I did. But it didn't stop the knot in my gut from twisting tighter.
Liana's POV
Everything narrowed to green blur and black shadow. My lungs burned. My paws—Alia's paws—felt shredded with every slap against the ground. Their pine-soaked territory coated my tongue like guilt. I'd been careless. Chased a deer too far. Crossed the invisible line without noticing. Now I was paying for it.
Left! Alia snarled in my head.
I veered hard, claws tearing moss. A growl exploded behind me, so close I felt the heat of it on my tail. They weren't even trying to catch me yet. They were playing. Pushing. Herding.
The trees fell away. Moonlight slammed down, bright and merciless. Ahead: a sheer granite wall, curved like a trap made just for me.
I slid to a stop, stones flying. Turned. Bared teeth. The growl that came out of me was all fury, no fear left to hide behind.
They stepped into the clearing. Four wolves. Big. Coordinated. My eyes darted—russet, black, gray—but locked on the leader. Massive silver-gray. Power rolled off him in waves, pressing the air against my ribs. He took one step and I braced for the lunge.
He didn't lunge.
He lifted his head. Nostrils flared. Drew in a long breath.
And froze.
The tension in his shoulders melted. Those amber eyes flickered, shock replacing hunger. A confused whine came from the russet beside him. The whole pack went still, waiting.
What the hell?
Then the gray wolf shifted. Smooth. Controlled. One heartbeat a beast, the next a man kneeling in the dirt. He stood.
Tall. Six feet at least. Broad shoulders, old scars across his chest, face carved from stone. But his eyes—blue now, stormy and deep—locked on me like I was the only thing in the world.
He took a step. Hand up. Open. Not threatening.
"Shift."
The word cracked in the middle. Raw. Awestruck.
Something inside me cracked open too.
Heat bloomed in my chest, golden, unstoppable. A pull so strong it felt like gravity had changed direction. Alia went quiet, then sang one clear note: Mate.
The word hit like a fist. My legs shook. The fight bled out of me. I shifted before I could think better of it—bones grinding, fur sliding away, skin prickling in the cold night air. I collapsed to my knees, arms wrapped around myself, suddenly tiny and naked and terrified.
I forced my head up.
He was staring. Breath gone. Eyes tracing every inch of me like he was memorizing.
"Adrian?" someone—the russet, now human—asked from the side.
He didn't answer. Just crossed the distance in three strides and dropped to one knee in front of me. His scent wrapped around me—snow, cedar, iron, wilderness. It smelled like safety. It smelled like the enemy.
His gaze burned. Soft. Fierce. Devastated.
"You," he whispered. A prayer. A wound.
His hand rose, fingers shaking, reaching for my cheek.
I flinched.
Just a twitch. But it was enough.
Storm clouds rolled through his eyes—rage, grief, guilt, tenderness so big it hurt to look at. His hand curled into a fist. Dropped. Jaw flexed hard.
When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, meant only for me.
"You." He said it like a promise this time. Like a question he was afraid to hear the answer to. "What have we done?"
I had nothing. No words. The chase was over. The cliff wasn't the trap anymore.
He was.