The First Pull
The safehouse was nothing more than an abandoned loft above an old steel workshop, lit only by the thin glow of moonlight squeezing through broken windows. Dust floated in the air like silver mist. Aria paced, adrenaline still humming under her skin from the attack, while Lysander leaned against the far wall, watching her with an intensity that made her breath tangle.
She could feel his gaze.
Not just on her—in her.
Like his eyes reached places no one had touched before.
Finally, she stopped. "You're staring again."
"I'm making sure you're not injured," he said, voice low. "You ran into a wall back there."
She crossed her arms. "I was running from a monster!"
Lysander pushed off the wall and moved toward her with a slow, deliberate grace. "Feral wolves are monsters. I am not."
Aria snorted. "Debatable."
His lips twitched—not quite a smile, but something close enough to make her heart skip.
Then he stopped in front of her, so close she had to tilt her chin to look up at him.
"Aria," he said, his voice suddenly deeper, edged with something primal. "They weren't hunting you by accident."
A chill crawled up her spine. "What do you mean?"
He reached for her sleeve and gently brushed it back, revealing her bare forearm. His fingers didn't touch her skin—but they hovered close, like he was restraining himself.
"When the feral attacked," he whispered, "something flared from you. Magic. Old magic."
She blinked. "I—I don't have magic."
"You do."
His gaze lifted to hers, burning.
"And it called to every wolf within ten miles."
Aria shook her head. "But I've never—"
"Do you remember what I told you?" he murmured, stepping closer. "My wolf recognized you the moment you breathed. You were born with a tether. A bond. You are… marked."
"By you?" she asked softly.
A muscle in his jaw tightened. "It's complicated."
Her pulse quickened. "Explain it."
He exhaled slowly, fighting some invisible battle inside himself. "In our world, the Moon chooses pairs. Soul-bound, in ways we don't always understand. I felt it the moment I saw you. But I didn't expect your magic to awaken this early. Or this violently."
"My magic awakened because of you," she whispered.
"Because of us," he corrected.
"You being near me… it accelerates everything."
The air thickened—heavy, electric, intimate.
Aria took a step back, trying to gather her thoughts, but Lysander followed with a predatory softness, as if drawn by instinct.
"Why does it feel like this?" she asked, her voice barely steady. "Like the air changes when you get close?"
"Because it does," he answered.
"Your body is responding to the bond. So is mine."
Her breath caught.
He raised a hand, hesitating inches from her cheek. "If you don't want me close, say it. I'll keep the distance."
She didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Lysander's resolve cracked just a little.
He let his knuckles graze her cheek.
The touch was feather-light—yet it sent a ripple down her spine so sharp her knees weakened.
He inhaled. "You have no idea what you do to me."
Aria's heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
Then—
The floor vibrated.
Both of them froze.
Not a growl.
Not an intruder.
A pulse of magic, radiating out from her, like a heartbeat.
Lysander grabbed her shoulders gently but firmly.
"Aria. Look at me."
She did.
His eyes were glowing again—silver bright, wolf-bright.
"You're transforming," he said. "Your power is responding to mine. If we don't ground it, it could tear through this building."
"What do I do?" she whispered, terrified.
"You anchor it," he said softly, "to me."
"How?"
His answer came in a whisper that was both dangerous and necessary:
"Let me hold you."
Aria's chest tightened. "Is that—"
"It's not about romance," he said, though his voice trembled slightly. "It's instinct. It's magic. It's survival."
The pulse of magic inside her trembled again—bigger, harder, like a second heartbeat breaking free.
Aria nodded.
Lysander's arms wrapped around her in a single, fluid motion. Strong. Warm. Protective.
But when her magic surged—
He shuddered like the force hit him too.
Their bodies pressed close, their breaths mingling.
The pulse steadied.
Slowly.
Slowly.
Lysander groaned softly, his forehead pressing against her temple.
"Aria… you're stronger than you know."
She clung to him, grounding herself in his heat, in the power surrounding him, in the quiet, strained restraint in every line of his body.
When the last wave faded, the room fell silent.
Aria swallowed. "Did… did it work?"
Lysander didn't let go.
"It worked," he murmured. "But it also proved something."
She looked up at him.
"What?"
His eyes darkened with truth and hunger and fear all tangled together.
"That bond between us?" he said.
"It's real. And it's awakening faster than either of us can control."
Her pulse thundered.
And then he whispered—
"Aria… you're mine."