The twilight air in the Inuzuka lands tasted of frost and betrayal.
Tsume Inuzuka, twenty-five years old and already weary of human frailty, moved through the trees on all fours. She didn't need the Four Legs Technique to run like a beast; it was in her blood.
She tore through the "Earth Garden," her hands and feet gripping the sculpted mounds of grassy terrain. The landscape rose and fell like the breathing of a sleeping beast, but Tsume was the only thing breathing hard tonight.
Her nails scrabbled for purchase on the roots—scritch-scrape—tearing through the moss and into the cold, damp soil beneath.
He ran, she thought, a growl vibrating deep in her chest. The bastard actually ran.
Her husband. The father of her children. He had packed a bag while she was feeding Kiba and slipped out the back window like a thief.
She could still smell his cologne on the breeze—cheap cedar and fear—fading with every second he put between them.
He hadn't been able to handle the clan. He hadn't been able to handle her.
She skidded to a halt near a patch of purple corydalis flowers, their petals crushed under her sandals. The scent was sharp and peppery, masking the smell of the wet earth.
Back at the burrow, six-year-old Hana was watching two-year-old Kiba. They were alone.
He left them, Tsume realized, her nails digging into the dirt. He left runts in the den without a sire.
She stood up, brushing the dirt from her knees. The white birch trees surrounded her, their pale, black-scarred trunks glowing like ghostly pillars in the fading light.
The black scars on the bark looked like unblinking eyes watching her from every angle, judging her failure.
The forest usually comforted her, but tonight it felt like a cage.
She was going to find him. And she was going to—
Snap.
Tsume froze.
It wasn't the sound of a fleeing coward. A coward runs heavy, stumbling over roots.
This was the sound of a predator shifting its weight.
"Who's there?" Tsume barked, her chakra flaring.
A shadow detached itself from the white trees.
A massive wolf walked into the clearing.
He was huge—shouler-height to a man. His fur was pitch black with a stark white underside, contrasting perfectly with the birch forest. He moved with a liquid, rolling gait, his paws making no sound on the packed mud.
A twig snapped under his weight—crack—but the sound was muffled, as if the forest itself was suppressing the noise to hide him.
But he was battle-scarred. He was missing his left ear. A jagged scar ran down his right eye, which was covered by a leather patch.
Tsume bared her teeth. She didn't recognize this ninken. He wasn't one of the clan's registered dogs. He was wild.
"Are you looking for a fight, mongrel?" Tsume growled, reaching for her kunai.
The wolf stopped. He didn't bristle. He didn't snarl. He looked at her with his one good eye, which held a terrifyingly human intelligence.
"I have watched this land for years, pup," the wolf rumbled. His voice was deep, gravelly, and ancient.
He began to pace horizontally, moving behind the thin birch trees. The visual trickery of the forest made him flicker—now you see him, now you don't.
The air shimmered around him, distorting the light like heat haze on asphalt, making Tsume blink to clear her vision.
"You trample into this sacred land," the wolf's voice echoed from the left, "as if it is yours and yours alone."
He vanished behind a wide trunk.
"It is mine!" Tsume yelled, tracking the movement. "This is Inuzuka territory! Show yourself!"
A crow cawed loudly overhead—caw-caw—startling her, its cry echoing lonely and harsh in the twilight.
The shadow moved from behind the tree.
But the wolf didn't emerge.
A man did.
Tsume's breath hitched.
He was tall. Lean but broad-shouldered. He had thick, long black hair tied up into a high, wild ponytail that whipped in the wind.
The silk of his kimono rustled softly—swish-swish—a sound of refined elegance that clashed with the savage setting.
Like the wolf, he was missing his left ear, and a black eyepatch covered his right eye.
He looked like a samurai from a storybook, but darker. Dangerous. A young wolf transformed to warrior, myth come to life in the Konoha woods.
He was wearing a montsuki—a formal black kimono emblazoned with family crests. But Tsume didn't recognize the symbol. It wasn't the Inuzuka Fang. It was a stylized, ancient depiction of a howling beast.
The Wolf Mother, Tsume's mind supplied, recalling the old myths. The crest of the Lost Domain.
He wore the formal clothes as if he were attending a ceremony. As if this meeting wasn't an accident, but an appointment.
At his hip, tucked into the sash of his hakama, was a black lacquer scabbard. But there was no sword handle protruding from it.
The lacquer gleamed in the low light, reflecting the moon like a dark mirror.
He's unarmed, Tsume realized. Or he thinks he doesn't need a blade to deal with me.
The stranger stopped ten paces away. He looked her up and down, his single eye assessing her not as a threat, but as a curiosity.
"Where did the wolf go?" Tsume demanded, though her heart was hammering against her ribs for a completely different reason now. Why is he so hot?
"The wolf is always here," the man said smoothly. "The question is, Tsume of the Inuzuka... are you the hunter, or the prey?"
"I'm the Alpha," Tsume snarled.
She didn't wait for him to taunt her further. She didn't care that he was handsome. She cared that he was trespassing, and she was overflowing with rage at the male gender.
She launched herself.
She came in low, a blur of speed and fury. She aimed a feral claw-strike at his chest, intending to knock him winded.
He didn't dodge.
He stepped into the attack.
Click.
He drew the scabbard from his belt—empty, hollow wood—and brought it up. He caught her wrist with the blunt wooden edge, deflecting her force upward.
The wood made a dull thwack against her bone, sending a jolt of pain up her forearm that made her teeth rattle.
"Too angry," he critiqued, spinning out of her range.
Tsume landed in a crouch and spun, sweeping his legs.
He hopped over the sweep, his hakama swirling around him like smoke.
"You fight like a storm," he said, his voice calm, infuriatingly steady. "No direction. Just noise."
"Shut up!" Tsume roared.
She drove her shoulder into his solar plexus. This time, it connected.
He grunted, sliding back through the dirt.
Tsume didn't let up. She was the blade. Sharp. Violent. Unrelenting. She pressed the advantage, driving him back against one of the white birch trees. She kicked the empty scabbard out of his hand. It clattered against the roots.
It bounced once—clack—before settling into the dead leaves with a finality that signaled the end of the warmup.
He let it go. He raised his hands, catching her wrists as she lunged for his throat.
They grappled. Strength against strength.
He was strong—stronger than any human man she had ever touched. But he wasn't fighting to hurt her. He was holding her. He was absorbing the impact of her rage.
Tsume twisted her hips, hooked her leg behind his, and slammed him into the ground.
Thud.
She landed on top of him, straddling his chest. She pinned his wrists to the earth with her knees. She drew a kunai and pressed the cold steel against his jugular.
She could feel his pulse hammering against the blade—thump-thump-thump—steady and powerful, matching the rhythm of her own.
Heavy silence fell over the forest.
Both of them were breathing hard. The smell of crushed purple flowers and adrenaline filled the small space between them.
His breath hitched—a small, ragged sound—as her weight settled fully onto him, pressing the air from his lungs.
Kuromaru didn't flinch. He didn't look afraid. He looked up at her with his one good eye, and a slow, feral smirk touched his lips.
"Now," Tsume hissed, leaning her face close to his, until their noses were almost touching. "Who's in charge?"
Kuromaru looked at the kunai at his throat. He looked at the fire in her eyes. He didn't see a woman who had been abandoned. He saw a weapon that had finally found a hand strong enough to hold it.
"You are, Tsume," Kuromaru whispered, the growl returning to his voice.
Tsume stared at him. The rage evaporated, replaced by a sudden, terrifying clarity. She wasn't going to chase the coward. The coward was gone.
She looked at the wolf beneath her.
She sheathed her kunai, but she didn't get up.
"Good," she murmured. "Don't forget it."