Killian moved through the trees like a ghost—silent, disturbed only by instinct and scent. His wolf raged within him, a torrent of snarls and clawing demands that scraped the inside of his chest raw. He hadn't felt this alive—this close to the edge—in five years.
It was unbearable.
It was intoxicating.
Her scent led him here—through thick forest, over lichen-covered stones, down the old hunting path that ran parallel to Moonwood Line. That scent. It clung to the air like a memory and a spell. Wild lilies after rain. Soft skin warmed by sunlight. With something... new. Something sharp and bright. Human—yet not.
Something that shouldn't exist.
She shouldn't exist.
And yet—
Killian froze.
There. Ahead.
A soft voice carried through the foliage. Words too low to decipher. A heartbeat—quick, nervous. Too fast for a wolf. Too slow for prey. But rhythmic. Human.
He took another step, crouching low. The branches parted.
A girl.
Standing at the forest's edge, a few feet from the boundary line every wolf in Blackthorn Ridge knew not to cross.
Killian watched her.
She was not his mate.
She couldn't be.
Her hair was a dark chestnut, loosely captured in a braid that trailed down her shoulder. The wind lifted a few strands around her face. She had no markings, no crescent scar over her collarbone, no wolf-etched bondmark on her neck. And yet—his wolf growled, a low vibrating sound that hadn't come from him. It rattled in his bones.
Mate.
Killian staggered back against a tree as the word ripped through him. No. No. The bond was dead. Alina was dead.
But his wolf didn't care about death.
The girl moved.
She stepped forward, just barely into the line of trees.
Her shoe cracked a twig.
The sound splintered through the forest. Her heartbeat faltered. She turned sharply in his direction.
And her eyes—
Autumn brown, wide but steady—met his.
She hadn't expected to find someone there. She definitely hadn't expected him.
Lena Marshall stilled. She didn't scream. Didn't ask who he was. She just stared, caught in a moment that stretched longer than anything she'd known. The man before her looked like he was carved out of shadow and fury. Tall, broad, with night-dark hair and eyes so cold they seemed sculpted by winter.
But behind that coldness—
Something blazed.
Something primal. Raw. And directed squarely at her.
She blinked, breath hitching, nearly stumbling backward. Her skin tingled. Her heart pulsed wrong. Like it was trying to sync to something outside her body. Something alive and waiting.
"Um..." she breathed.
Killian didn't answer. Couldn't.
His wolf was tearing at him from the inside, claws out, roaring its claim. He clenched his fists, forcing himself not to shift, not to lunge. The pain was like molten steel threading through his veins. His bones itched for transformation. His jaw trembled.
Control. Control. Control.
His breath came heavy through bared teeth.
Lena's brows drew together. "Are you… okay?"
She took a hesitant step toward him.
The air crackled.
Killian's hand shot out. Not to touch her—never that—but to brace himself against the trunk behind him. His eyes flared. His breath hitched. It took everything in him not to move, not to shift, not to answer the wolf howling for her.
She gasped softly, stepping back instinctively.
And something inside her—something ancient and wild, something she didn't understand—thrummed in response.
A single leaf detached from the tree between them, twirling lazily as it fell.
As if signaling an end.
She turned away.
"Sorry," she said, voice small, almost embarrassed. "Didn't mean to bother you."
She began walking, unsure of why her entire body was humming like a live wire.
Killian closed his eyes.
Her scent lingered.
Her steps faded.
But the bond—impossible, broken, dead bond—burned through him like a brand that had just been struck red-hot again.
His wolf howled.
Killian's eyes snapped open.
Not Alina.
Someone else.
But with a scent made of hers—so painfully, beautifully familiar his heart couldn't tell the difference.
No.
This wasn't rebirth.
This was war.
And it had just begun.
–
Lena didn't dare look back until she reached the cabin door.
Even then, she didn't feel safe.
Not because she was afraid.
But because deep down…
Something in her didn't want to be safe.
She leaned against the doorframe, clutching at her chest. Her heart was pounding. No—thundering. Her hands shook so violently she could barely fit the key into the lock.
"Lena?" Ethan's voice came from inside. "Everything okay?"
She opened her mouth.
And nothing came out.
She didn't know what to say.
She didn't know what she'd just felt.
Or who that stranger was in the forest—whose eyes looked at her like she was the beginning of a storm.
But she knew one thing:
Blackthorn Ridge had just changed something in her.
Something she wasn't ready for.