The area had fallen silent, the bodies of the rogues cooling in blood-slick grass. Moonlight streamed through the trees in soft shards, haloing Natasha's damaged frame. Her shift back to human form had left her shaking and bare, cuts lining her arms, bruises growing beneath her ribs.
Jude's look swallowed every mark.
He knelt before her, pulling off his outer jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders—slow, careful, as if she might break if he moved too fast. His fingers brushed her skin, and every touch sent shivers through her bones.
"You shouldn't have come," he said, voice low and rough.
Her lips opened. "You say that every time."
"And you never listen."
She gave a gasping laugh, wincing when the action pulled at the gash above her hip.
Jude's jaw clenched. His hand slipped around her waist, steadying her. The other lingered over the cut, not yet touching—not yet.
"Let me see it," he said, already pulling the blood-soaked cloth away.
Natasha bit her lip as his fingers ghosted over her skin. His touch was careful, respectful, yet it sparked heat that pooled low in her belly. She could smell the shift in his scent—amber and smoke—his wolf rising beneath the surface.
The wound wasn't deep, but it was angry and raw.
"This is what happens," he mumbled, "when you don't listen."
"And yet… here you are."
Jude's icy look met hers, full of storm and need. "Don't push me, Natasha."
But she wanted to. Wanted to press every button until he snapped.
She leaned closer, breath brushing his ear. "What are you angry about? That I got hurt—or that you couldn't stop yourself from protecting me?"
He breathed sharply.
Her skin tingled as he reached into his bag and pulled out a small flask of moonroot liquid. "This will sting."
She didn't move. "Do it."
The moment the liquid touched her cut, pain flared bright and immediate—but so did the feel of his palm against her bare thigh, grounding her.
She hissed, nails digging into the earth. Jude didn't look away.
"You were reckless," he whispered. "You could've died."
"But I didn't." Her voice trembled as his fingers traced along her hip, pressing gauze gently into place. "Because you were there."
His hand stayed longer than necessary. She could feel the tremor in him—how close he was to breaking.
"You're not helping," he grumbled.
"With what?"
"With staying away."
Her hand caught his wrist.
"I don't want you to stay away."
That broke something. A flash of something raw crossed his face—desire, agony, the edge of submission. But before he could move—before she could close the gap, they heard it.
A breath too loud. A twig snapping.
And the link turned cold.
Lilith stood half-shrouded by the shadows of an old pine, her silver hair glowing in the moonlight like a blade drawn from its sheath. Her eyes narrowed, green and sparkling like poison in candlelight.
She had followed Jude the moment she sensed his haste.
She expected blood. Maybe a wild hunt. Maybe a rebellion.
She hadn't expected her.
Natasha, wrapped in his jacket. Her body leaned into Jude's touch like it was hers to claim. And Jude—her cold, untouchable Alpha—tending to her with shaky hands.
Lilith's stomach twisted with something sharp and hungry. Jealousy grew like rot in her chest.
"You pathetic little bitch," she whispered under her breath, her voice too soft to carry.
She watched Jude's fingers linger on Natasha's skin, saw the way his body curved around hers like reflex. As if he were already claiming her, just not out loud.
Not yet.
But Lilith saw it.
And she would end it.
This wasn't love. It was a weakness. It was doom wearing golden skin.
Her nails bit into her hands as she melted back into the dark, mind already spinning.
If Jude wouldn't cut Natasha out, she would.
Natasha had only just started to relax, her head lying on Jude's shoulder beneath the broken branches of a fallen tree. His scent—stormy, grounding—wrapped around her, easing the ache in her limbs.
Then the growl came.
Low. Furious. Familiar.
"Get your fucking hands off my sister."
She jolted upright as her brother, Rowan, stepped into the clearing. He was all muscle and anger, his eyes wild with rage, his wolf coiled beneath his skin.
Jude stood instantly, body taut, protective.
Rowan stalked forward. "What the hell are you doing here, Natasha?"
She didn't answer.
"I told you to stay out of this," he snapped. "Father told you."
"And I told him I couldn't," she said, raising her head. "You don't understand—"
"I understand plenty. I understand you're making a fool of yourself over a wolf who doesn't give a damn about you."
Jude's eyes flared with anger, but he didn't speak. Not yet.
Rowan turned his glare on him. "You think you can keep dragging her out here, touching her, confusing her? You rejected her. Act like it."
"I didn't ask her to come," Jude said, voice flat with reserve.
"But you didn't stop her, did you?" Rowan spat.
"I protected her."
"From a fight you brought to your fucking doorstep!"
Jude took a step forward, bigger, wider, darker. "Watch your mouth."
Rowan's wolf surged behind his eyes. "You want to challenge me, Corbin? You want to see what happens when someone touches what's mine?"
"She's not yours," Jude said, and there was steel in it now.
"She's not yours either."
Natasha stepped between them before the trees could catch fire from the sparks. "Enough! Both of you."
Rowan's voice broke. "Tasha, you don't see it. He's using you. He'll ruin you."
She shook her head, tears threatening. "He already did."
Jude's breath hitched.
Rowan reached for her wrist. "We're going home. Now."
She turned to Jude, eyes begging.
And for a moment—just a moment—he considered stopping it.
He could grab her hand. Pull her back. Declare her his in front of the stars.
But he didn't move.
Not even as she was pulled away, naked and hurt, the jacket slipping from her shoulders.
He watched her go.
Like a man already bleeding.
The forest swallowed her smell within minutes.
Jude stood in the clearing, motionless. Then he moved—slow, methodical—toward the nearest tree.
And punched it.
Again.
And again.
The bark ripped beneath his knuckles, blood slicking his fingers. He didn't stop. Couldn't. The pain was dull compared to the fire in his chest.
She was gone.
He let her go.
He let her be taken.
His wolf howled within him, a sound so full of loss it felt like breaking bones.
He tilted his head back and let it out—his real voice, his Alpha soul—howling into the sky, her name carried in the sound.
"Natasha…"
The moon listened.
The trees held their breath.
And far away, though she couldn't hear him, she felt it.