Silas had never laid eyes on anything like her. Not in this lifetime, anyway.
The girl—wait, wolf?—was sprawled out in front of him, all tangled hair and sweat-slick skin, her chest rising and falling so damn shallow he almost missed it. Moonlight turned her skin silver, and her eyes, holy hell, they were alight. Gold, burning, wild. She looked like she'd crawled straight out of the heart of the woods, fierce and half-broken.
"Don't move," Silas muttered, pushing a wet lock of hair off her face. He kept his voice low, like he used to for the dying on the battlefield, except this? This wasn't war. It felt bigger.
Sacred, almost. Weird thing to think, but there it was.
Hardly anything—her pulse, just this weak flutter, barely holding on beneath his fingertips.
"Hey. No way. Not letting you do this," he stammered, voice all torn up, clutching her like some desperate idiot. Like if he let go, she'd just slip right out of the world. "Nope. Don't you dare. Not now—not when I just found you."
His own wolf was losing its mind inside him. Prowling, snapping, howling at the moon. Mate. Save her. Ours.
He ripped off his cloak, wrapped her up tight. She was burning up and freezing at the same time. Not a great combo, honestly. Her breath hitched, and for one godawful second, he thought she'd slipped away.
"Hold on," he growled, more to himself than her.
He scooped her up—fluid, instinctive. Her head lolled against his chest, heartbeat a weak thud against his ribs, and he just ran. Didn't think. Trees whipped past, roots tried to trip him, but he barreled through, eyes locked on the glow of the campfire up ahead.
"Silas?" Hann called, voice sharp and worried. He burst into the camp and the rogues—tough bastards, most of them—swarmed in.
Hann was at his side before he even stopped moving, hair stuck to her neck, eyes wide. "Who the hell is that?"
Silas's voice came out rough. "I don't know. She's mine."
That shut everybody up. Rogues didn't talk about mates, didn't claim, didn't do any of that pack-bonding stuff. But this—yeah, this was different.
"Blankets. Boil water. Now," he barked. People jumped.
Drew was already digging out his ragged bag of supplies.
"She shifted," Silas told them, laying her out by the fire. "Not like any shift I've seen. Her wolf—red. Blood-red."
Drew's eyebrows shot up. "Red? Like… the—?"
"The prophecy," Hann finished, voice low.
Silas ignored them, hand hovering over her chest, tracking every shaky beat. She was slipping again.
"She needs rest," Drew said, crouching down. "But it's not just exhaustion. Her heart's… wrong. Like it's always been weak."
Silas bit down on his own frustration. "Then she'll get stronger. I'll make damn sure of it."
Next morning, the world was all gray mist and damp air. Evangeline snapped her eyes open, instantly regretting it when the firelight danced all over the tent like some kind of rude spotlight. Ugh. Every inch of her body ached—like someone had pulled her apart piece by piece and stuck her back together with hot glue and maybe a little spite. Her heart still ached, but—stranger still—there was a new throb in her chest. Stronger.
She tried to sit up. Bad idea.
"Easy," someone said. Deep voice. Calm.
She turned her head—too fast, stupid—and winced. Guy sitting next to her bed. Dark skin, built like a tank, eyes forest-green and serious. He looked wild, but safe. Weird combo, but there it was.
Her voice scraped out. "Where am I?"
"You're safe," he said, gentle. "You shifted. I found you in the woods."
Suddenly, it crashed back—Kieran, the rejection, the pain, the shift, the blood-red fur, this stranger's arms…
"Your eyes," she whispered, not sure why that mattered, but it did.
He just watched her. "What about them?"
"They glowed when you touched me."
His face didn't move, but his voice dropped. "That's 'cause you're my mate."
Her heart stuttered. Not from pain, but—well, something else.
"No," she blurted. "No, that's… my mate rejected me last night."
He just shrugged, like it was obvious. "Then he's a moron."
She opened her mouth, but words just… fizzled out.
"I'm Silas," he said. "Leader of this merry band of misfits. And you—never seen a wolf like that before. Your shift shook the damn ground."
She stared at her hands. "Never shifted before. Not till last night."
"Your wolf's rare," he said, almost like he was telling her a secret. "Old story says a red wolf, born with a busted heart, will rise after she's rejected and lead the lost into power."
Evangeline snorted. "Please. I've been called a lot of things. 'Destined' ain't one of 'em."
He watched her, real quiet, like he was trying to figure out if she'd vanish if he blinked. For the first time, Evangeline actually noticed the crowd drifting through the camp—men, women, all of them rogues, but, honestly? They looked more like tired travelers than whatever monsters her pack used to rant about. A few snuck in curious glances. She tried not to shrink under the attention.
"You were pretty much dead when I found you," Silas finally said, voice low, almost like he was embarrassed to admit it. "Didn't expect to see those eyes pop open, honestly."
She clutched the cloak like it might save her, knuckles white, breath coming way too fast. No way she was looking up at him.
"I'm not strong," she muttered, barely a whisper. "Never was."
"So, you're still breathing, huh?" He just gave this lazy shrug, like that was some deep answer. "Hey, that's more than most folks get, you know?"
Yeah, she didn't buy it, not really. But a tiny, reckless part of her wanted to.
Later, everyone gathered around this bonfire that looked like it'd been burning for centuries. Evangeline perched on a rock, wrapped in a scratchy old blanket, still running on half-charged batteries. Felt weird—she was the outsider, but nobody shot her dirty looks. Not enemies, just… people.
Drew lobbed another log into the fire, sparks popping. "So, what do we call her? Red girl? Firehead?"
She cleared her throat. "It's Evangeline."
Hann slid down beside her, grinning sideways. "That's a nice name. Anyone ever tell you your eyes do this weird glowy thing when you're pissed?"
She snorted. "Not angry."
"Yet," Hann shot back, all teeth.
Silas sat across from her, quiet as always, letting the firelight paint him half-shadow. He could look dangerous and safe at the same time—didn't seem fair, honestly.
"We've been rogues forever, fighting, stealing, just—surviving," he said. "But maybe, with you here, we could finally be something better."
Evangeline raised a brow. "Better, how?"
He shrugged. "Packs banish us. Say we're cursed, rabid, whatever. But you, you're the red wolf. The prophecy's all about you, says you'll pull us together."
She laughed, and yeah, it was bitter. "I couldn't even keep my mate from walking away."
"Forget him," Hann snapped, not even pretending to be polite. "He tossed you out. We won't."
Silas nodded. "We're not building this new pack on fancy blood or old names. Just—survival. Loyalty. The stuff that actually matters. RedHowl Pack."
Evangeline looked around at them—these so-called monsters. All she saw were survivors. Maybe even family.
She caught Silas's gaze, steady and warm.
"Fine," she said, voice stronger. "Make me your Luna."
The flames jumped up, like the fire itself approved. And somewhere out there, deep in the woods, the MoonClaw Pack felt the ground shift. Something was waking up, and it had her name all over it.