The smell of wood and rain still stuck to Natasha's skin as she stepped through the threshold of her family's home. The heat of the forest hadn't left her—not the burn of Jude's look, nor the phantom feel of his almost-touch.
But she didn't expect the figure waiting for her in the firelit hall—her father, Magnus Kingstone.
Alpha of the Silvermane Pack. Dominance in every line of his tall body. His golden eyes narrowed the moment he saw her.
"You disobeyed."
His voice was quiet. That was always worse.
Natasha didn't move. "I went for a run."
"You went into his woods." The word was said like acid, like rot. "Evergreen territory is forbidden."
"I had to," she said, chin rising, mouth tight. "You don't understand—"
"You think I don't know what happened?" His voice cracked like a whip. "That he found you? That he reject you? You're lucky you came back with your skin intact."
She didn't talk. Couldn't. Her throat burned.
Magnus stepped forward, his presence like a wall. "He doesn't want you, Natasha. He made that clear. The link might be real, but he denied it."
"He didn't mean it," she whispered.
Her father growled low, the sound shaking the walls. "Stop chasing shadows. If you go back—if you cross into Ever Green land again—I will drag you back and chain you here myself. You are not to see Jude Corbin."
Her wolf surged at that. Snarled.
And then—it howled.
Inside her thoughts, her wolf screamed in pure revolt. The pull to Jude was a fire in her blood. A link that wouldn't break, no matter how hard she tried to cut it.
"I can't ignore this," she choked. "You don't understand how it feels—like I'm dying by inches every hour he's away. Like—like part of me is missing—"
"You'll survive." His face was cut from stone. "We all survive rejection."
"But he hasn't rejected me, not truly."
The words left her before she realized what they meant. Her dog knew. Her wolf had seen his hesitation. Felt the fury in him when she left.
"He's fighting it," she said, her voice lowering, breaking. "He's trying to pretend it's not real."
"And you'll what?" Magnus sneered. "Save him? Fix him? You'll be another she-wolf thrown to the Evergreen dirt, forgotten when they find someone more convenient?"
She didn't answer. She couldn't. Because the truth was, she wanted to go back.
She would.
That night, long after her father's footsteps disappeared into the den's deeper halls, Natasha stood under the stars, her wolf pacing inside her, wild with need.
She was already planning her exit.
Across the forest, in the cold stone rooms of Ever Green's keep, Jude Corbin stood over a broken table.
Splinters of wood covered the floor where his hands had fallen moments ago.
"She was nothing," he growled. "A trespasser. That's all."
But no one in the room believed him.
The smell of doubt hung heavy in the air. Eyes moved. Mouths whispered. Warriors leaned against the walls, swapping looks behind their backs.
His Beta, Elias, stood by the broken frame of the table, arms crossed, face grim.
"It's spreading," Elias said. "They're saying you hesitated. That you felt the bond."
Jude's jaw flexed. "They're wrong."
"Are they?" Elias's speech was low but sharp. "Your wolf hasn't slept in days. You haven't hunted. You snapped a tree in half this morning just because it smelled like her."
Jude didn't answer.
"She's dangerous," Elias added, quieter. "Not just to your reputation—to you. She makes you weak. The pack sees it."
Something inside Jude snapped. He turned on Elias in a flash, taking his Beta by the collar and slamming him into the stone wall.
"I am not weak," he growled, nose inches from his Beta's.
Elias didn't move. "Then prove it. Let her go. Mark Lilith already—lock this down before the pack starts questioning your place."
But Jude's hands dropped, breath rough. The thought of Lilith made his stomach churn. Her scent didn't call to him. Her voice didn't ground him. Her touch felt like poison.
Natasha had been in his arms for barely a breath—and still, he couldn't stop smelling her on his skin.
His wolf fought behind his ribs, wanting to hunt, to run, to find her.
"She's mine," Jude mumbled to himself, like a confession pulled from the deepest part of his soul.
And the realization slammed into him like a falling tree.
No refusal would erase it. No lie could bury it.
The night sang with danger.
Natasha's boots sank into the grass as she crossed the outer edge of Silvermane land. Her breath puffed clouds in the cold air. The line was ahead, silent and holy.
But something in her knew he'd be there.
Her wolf nearly vibrated with anticipation, her limbs aching with the nearness of him. The pull was magnetic. Cosmic.
Then, like a shade melting out of deeper darkness, he appeared.
Jude stood beneath a crooked tree, arms bare, chest rising slowly. His eyes-those icy eyes—found hers through the dark, and time stopped.
Neither of them spoke.
Because they didn't need to.
Their dogs stepped forward from within—brushing, recognizing, claiming. It was unnoticeable to human eyes, but in their minds, it was a clash of fates.
Jude crossed the line first.
He stopped just in front of her. Close enough that the heat of his body wrapped around her like a second skin.
"I shouldn't be here," he rasped.
"Then go," she said, voice hoarse.
He didn't.
His hand twitched at his side. Then it rose—slow, reverent—and brushed the corner of her jaw.
Fire.
She sucked in a breath, trembling.
"I dreamt of you," he admitted, voice raw. "Every night. I tried to forget. I tried, Natasha."
"I didn't," she whispered. "I didn't want to forget."
He leaned down, forehead touching hers, and it was everything. Not even a kiss—just the touch of skin against skin—but it burned hotter than fire.
"You undo me," he said.
Her hands slid up his chest, timidly. Her voice cracked. "Then let me."
And she would've. Gods, she would've given every inch of herself right there under the blood moon— But the trees screamed.
A snarl cut through the air—feral, high-pitched, blood-hungry.
Rogues.
Natasha turned as shadows raced from the trees—three, maybe four, with snarling jaws and crimson-tipped claws.
Jude stepped in front of her in an instant, his body a wall of strength and anger.
"Stay behind me!" he yelled, his voice no longer soft. No longer unsure. The Alpha roared from within him.
One of the rogues lunged.
Jude caught the bastard mid-air, slamming him into the earth with a sound like cracking bone. Another leapt from the right, claws extended— Natasha shifted before she thought, golden fur flowing over her skin in a flash of light. Her wolf tore into the closest rogue, jaws locking around a throat, squeezing.
Blood misted in the air.
They fought together—her gold and his black hair against fang, strength against murder. They were smooth, flowing, deadly.
When the last rogue fell, choking on its blood, quiet returned.
Natasha shifted back, breathless, hurt, and wild.
Jude turned toward her.
There was blood on his chest. A slash down his side. But his eyes were burning—not with pain.
With possession.
"You shifted," he said, breath rough. "To protect me."
"I didn't think," she answered, shaking. "I just felt you in danger."
He stepped forward, every inch of him oozing heat and hunger and something more primal than lust.
He looked at her like he'd eat her.
And maybe she'd let him.
But all he did was reach out, slow and sure, and brush his blood-slicked fingers down the curve of her cheek.
"You're mine," he whispered, barely a sound.
She didn't move.
Then he stepped away.
Not far. Just enough.
Enough to leave her body hungry.
Enough to promise it would not be the last time.