The mountains held their breath in the hour before dawn, when darkness still clung to the ancient pines like a lover reluctant to let go. Kieran stood at the edge of the cliff, his lean frame silhouetted against the bruised purple sky, and let the wind carry a thousand scents to him-pine resin, damp earth, the mineral tang of granite, and something else.
Something that made the beast within him stir with an interest that bordered on alarm.
Werewolf.
But not just any werewolf.
This scent was different from the others he'd encountered in his careful, solitary existence. Where most pack wolves carried the musk of hierarchy and submission, of group dynamics and territorial markers, this scent sang of pure, undiluted power.
It was moonlight distilled into essence, sharp and clean and utterly commanding. And it was getting closer.
Kieran closed his eyes and forced his breathing to remain steady, though every instinct screamed at him to run. Not from fear-Lycans feared very little, least of all werewolves-but from the desperate need for self-preservation.
For three years, he had lived in these mountains, keeping to himself, hiding what he was.
The last thing he needed was a powerful werewolf sniffing around, asking questions he couldn't answer without revealing the truth.
The truth that would likely get him killed.
He heard her before he saw her-the almost silent displacement of air, the whisper of fabric against skin, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat that pulsed with preternatural strength. When she emerged from the tree line, the first rays of dawn caught her hair, turning it into molten silver that cascaded past her shoulders in thick waves. She was tall, perhaps five-ten, with the kind of build that spoke of lean muscle and deadly grace. Her features were striking rather than conventionally beautiful-high cheekbones, a strong jaw, eyes the color of amber that seemed to glow with their own internal light.
Those eyes found him immediately, pinning him in place with an intensity that made his pulse quicken despite himself.
''You're on my territory,'' she said, her voice low and rough, like honey poured over gravel.
It wasn't a question. It was a statement of someone who had never been challenged and won every time she was.
Kieran turned slowly, deliberately casual, and offered her what he hoped was a disarming smile. ''I apologize. I didn't realize these mountains were claimed.'' He kept his tone light, friendly even, though his senses were on high alert.
Every fiber of his being was attuned to her-the way she held herself, the subtle flex of her fingers, the minute shift in her stance that suggested she could attack at any moment.
Her eyes narrowed, and she took a step closer, her nostrils flaring delicately. She was scenting him, he realized, trying to categorize him, to fit him into the neat boxes that werewolves used to organize their world.
Human. Werewolf. Other.
But Lycans occupied a space between those boxes, gray area that most werewolves couldn't even perceive.
To her, he would smell human-mostly.
There would be something off about his scent, something wild and untamed, but nothing that would immediately mark him as other than human.
Lycans had evolved that way, had learned to mask themselves among both humans and werewolves, predator hiding in plain sight.
''Everything for fifty miles in any direction is claimed,'' she said, moving closer still. She moved like water, fluid and inexorable, and Kieran had to resist the urge to take a step back. ''By me. Selene Nightshade, Alpha of the Silvercrest Pack.'' She paused, her head titling slightly. ''And you are?''
''Kieran.'' He didn't offer a last name. Lycans rarely used them. ''Kieran Ashwood,'' he added, improvising. ''I'm a writer. I came up here looking for solitude, inspiration. I have a cabin about two miles east.'' He gestured vaguely in that direction. ''I've been here for a few weeks. I honestly had no idea there was a pack in the area.''
It was a lie wrapped in truth-he did have a cabin, and he had been seeking solitude, though not for the reasons he implied. And he had known, of course, that there were werewolves in these mountains. He'd spent weeks studying their patterns, learning their territories, finding the gaps where a Lycan might exist unnoticed.
He hadn't counted on the Alpha herself coming to investigate.
Selene studied him with those unsettling amber eyes, and Kieran had the distinct impression she was looking through him, past the carefully constructed facade, searching for something hidden.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The sun was rising now, painting the sky in shades of rose and gold, and the morning birds had begun their symphony.
''A writer,'' she repeated, her tone suggesting she found this explanation lacking. ''What do you write?''
''Thrillers, mostly. Horror.'' Another truth wrapped in misdirection. He had written, before he'd been forced to run, to hide. ''The kind of stories that keep people up at night. There's something about these mountains-the isolation, the wildness-that feeds that kind of creativity.''
Her expression shifted, softened almost imperceptibly. ''I know these mountains,'' she said, her voice taking on a different quality, something almost wistful, ''Every tree, every stream, every hidden valley. They are wild, yes. And dangerous. You should be careful, Kieran Ashwood. Not everything in these woods is what it seems.''
The irony of her statement wasn't lost on him. ''I appreciate the warning,'' he said, meaning it. ''And I apologize again for trespassing. I'll make sure to keep to the immediate area around my cabin.''
Selene regarded him for another long moment, then nodded once, a sharp, decisive movement. ''See that you do. And Kieran?'' She took a step closer, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from her body, could see the flecks of gold in her amber eyes. ''If I find out you're lying to me about why you're here, if I discover you're a threat to my pack in any way, these mountains will become your grave. Am I clear?''
''Crystals,'' Kieran said, holding her gaze despite every instinct telling him to look away, to show submission.
But he wasn't a werewolf, bound by their hierarchies and instincts, and looking away would only raise her suspicions.
Something flickered in her eyes-surprise, perhaps, or interest-and then she stepped back, the moment breaking like a spell.
''Welcome to the mountains, then. Try not to get yourself killed.''
And then she was gone, melting back into the forest with the same silent grace with which she'd arrived, leaving Kieran alone with the sunrise and the hammering of his own heart.
He waited until her scent had faded, until he was certain she was truly gone, before allowing himself to exhale.
That had been too close. Too dangerous.
Selene Nightshade was exactly the kind of complication he'd been trying to avoid-powerful, perceptive, and far too interested in the stranger who'd appeared in her territory.
But as he made his way back to his cabin, following the narrow deer trail through the dense undergrowth, Kieran found his thoughts returning to her again and again.
To the way the sunrise had lit her silver hair like a crown of light. To the predatory grace of her movements. To the intelligence in those amber eyes, the power that radiated from her like heat from a forge.
She was magnificent. And she was dangerous.
And despite every logical reason to pack up and leave, to find some other remote corner of the world to hide in, Kieran knew he wasn't going anywhere.
The cabin came into view, a small structure of weathered logs nestled against the mountainside, nearly invisible among the towering pines.
He'd chosen it specifically for its isolation, for the way it seemed to crouch in the landscape rather than dominate it. The previous owner had been a recluse, someone who'd died years ago, leaving the property to molder until Kieran had found it and made it his own.
Inside, the cabin was sparse but comfortable-a single room dominated by a stone fireplace, a bed in one corner, a desk by the window where he could write and watch the forest. Books lined makeshift shelves, and maps covered one wall, tracking the movements of the Silvercrest Pack, plotting safe routes through their territory.
He'd have to burn those maps now.
If Selene came back-and he had a feeling she would-he couldn't risk, her seeing them.
Kieran moved to the window and looked out at the forest, at the morning light filtering through the canopy, and allowed himself to wonder what would happen next.
In his experience, werewolf Alphas didn't make casual visit to stranger in their territory.
They sent subordinates, betas or enforcers, to do the investigating.
The fact that Selene had come herself suggested one of two things: either she was incredibly hands-on with her territory, or she'd sensed something about him that demanded her personal attention.
Neither option was particularly comforting.
He spent the rest of the day as he normally did-writing, reading, existing in the careful routine he established to maintain his cover. But his mind kept drifting back to Selene, to the encounter on the cliff, and as the sun set and darkness reclaimed the mountains, Kieran found himself standing at the window again, staring out into the forest.
Somewhere out there, she was running with her pack, hunting beneath the moon that was still days from full. He could almost picture her-silver fur streaming in the night wind, eyes glowing with predatory joy, leading her wolves through the ancient forest with the confidence of a creature that had never known defeat.
And despite the danger, despite the risk, Kieran felt something stir in his chest that he hadn't felt in years.
Interest. Curiosity.
And something else, something he didn't dare name.
The moon rose higher, painting the forest in silver light, and Kieran finally turned away from the window.
Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, its own dangers.
For tonight, he would rest, and dream, and try not to think about amber eyes and moonlit hair.
But even as sleep claimed him, he knew it was futile.
Selene Nightshade had walked into his carefully constructed solitude and shattered it as easily as breaking glass.
And nothing, he suspected, would ever be the same again.