Dark Obsession

Blood is the only thing that’s ever made me feel real. Right now, there was enough of it soaking into the earth beneath me to remind me just how easily that feeling could disappear.

The battle had become a distant roar beneath the pounding of my pulse. Each heartbeat sent another wave of pain through my injured thigh, where a jagged slash had torn through flesh and muscle. I pressed my palm harder against the wound, but blood continued to seep between my fingers, warm and slick against my skin.

Around me, the northern forest burned. Flames climbed the trunks of ancient pines, casting an orange glow through the thickening smoke. Wolves tore into one another between the trees while soldiers too exhausted or injured to shift fought with whatever weapons they could still lift. Steel rang against steel, snarls echoed through the clearing, and the ground was littered with bodies belonging to both sides.

I should have shifted when the fighting turned against us. I should have listened to my instincts and gotten the hell out before the northern wolves surrounded our position. Instead, I’d pushed forward, convinced I could hold the line long enough for the remaining southern soldiers to retreat.

Now my leg was paying for it.

The same fucking leg that had betrayed me for years.

My father’s favorite weakness to exploit. He’d learned early that a hard enough twist could bring me to my knees, and he’d never hesitated to use it whenever I was too slow during training. Even after the worst of the damage healed, the weakness remained. My wolf was stronger than my human form, but shifting had never completely erased what he’d done.

I gritted my teeth and dragged myself behind a fallen tree, pressing my back against its charred bark. The movement sent a violent spasm through my thigh, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out. I’d fought through pain before. I’d survived broken bones, torn muscles, and training sessions that left me unable to stand without assistance.

I wasn’t about to die on northern soil.

A scream cut through the fighting, sharp enough to pull my attention toward the clearing. I knew that voice, and dread settled in my stomach before I even turned my head.

Kael.

He had been fighting beside me only minutes earlier, covering my blind side while we tried to force our way through the northern line. Now he was stumbling backward, his sword slipping from his hand as a massive black wolf lunged at him.

“Kael!” I shouted, struggling to push myself upright.

I was too late.

The creature’s jaws closed around his throat, and with one brutal movement, it tore him to the ground. Kael’s body jerked once before going still, his blood spreading across the leaves beneath him.

My breath caught. For a moment, I could only stare at the man who had fought beside me through more battles than I cared to remember. He’d survived everything our homeland had thrown at us, only to die here, miles from home, without anyone left to close his eyes.

The enormous wolf lifted its head.

It was larger than most of the wolves scattered across the battlefield, with thick black fur matted by blood and powerful muscles shifting beneath its coat. Even surrounded by the chaos of battle, there was something unnervingly deliberate about its movements. It didn’t lash out blindly or waste energy pursuing every enemy within reach. It watched, assessed, and struck with terrifying precision.

The beast turned, and its dark fur rippled as it began to shift. Bones cracked and rearranged beneath its skin, massive limbs shortening as thick fur receded into flesh. The transformation happened quickly, leaving a man standing where the wolf had been.

He was enormous.

Even in human form, he towered over the surrounding soldiers, his broad shoulders and heavily muscled frame making him look as though he’d been built for war. Blood streaked his chest and abdomen, most of it belonging to the men he’d killed. A long gash curved over his shoulder and down his ribs, though the edges were already beginning to close.

He didn’t seem particularly concerned about it.

His gaze swept the clearing, cold and assessing, before settling on the fallen tree where I sat.

On me.

A chill worked its way down my spine.

His eyes were slate gray, almost silver where the firelight caught them. There was nothing warm or remotely human in the way he looked at me. No triumph over the southern soldiers he’d slaughtered, no satisfaction at finding another enemy wounded and helpless.

Only calculation.

I recognized those eyes from the descriptions repeated during every briefing about the North. More importantly, I recognized the absolute authority with which the surrounding wolves moved aside for him.

Zacchaeus Thornton.

Alpha of the North.

The one enemy my father had warned me never to underestimate.

His instructions had been simple enough: If you see Zacchaeus Thornton, kill him. If you can’t, die trying.

Looking at the man who had just torn Kael’s throat open, I was beginning to think my father had been a little too optimistic about my chances.

Zacchaeus started toward me.

I grabbed the dagger strapped to my hip and forced myself to stand, using the fallen tree for support. My injured leg trembled beneath my weight, threatening to collapse before I’d even managed to straighten.

“Come on,” I muttered through clenched teeth. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

I managed half a step before my knee buckled.

Pain tore through my thigh, and I caught myself against the trunk with a strangled gasp. By the time I looked up, Zacchaeus had stopped only a few feet away.

His gaze dropped to my blood-soaked trousers.

“You’re bleeding out.”

His voice was deep and controlled, carrying easily over the dwindling sounds of battle. There was no concern in it, only the detached observation of someone stating an inconvenient fact.

“Not yet,” I managed.

He regarded me for a moment before lowering himself into a crouch. Up close, the sheer size of him was even more unsettling. I tightened my grip on the dagger, though we both knew I was in no condition to use it effectively.

“You shouldn’t still be conscious.”

“Disappointed?”

His eyes flicked toward the blade in my hand, then back to my face. Whatever he saw there didn’t seem to impress him.

Without warning, he caught my wrist.

I barely had time to react before he pulled me upright. My injured leg nearly folded beneath me, and I grabbed his shoulder to keep from falling, my fingers digging into skin still warm from his transformation.

“Get your fucking hands…”

The words died in my throat.

Something snapped into place inside me.

It wasn’t pain. I’d known enough pain to recognize the difference, and this was something else entirely. Heat surged through my chest, spreading beneath my ribs as an invisible force seemed to reach into the deepest part of me and pull.

My wolf stirred.

Not with the usual restless aggression that accompanied a threat, but with a sudden, overwhelming awareness that made my stomach drop.

I knew what this was. Every werewolf did.

The mate bond.

“No,” I whispered, staring at the hand wrapped around my wrist. “No, that’s not possible.”

Zacchaeus went completely still.

His fingers tightened for a fraction of a second, and when I forced myself to meet his gaze, I saw the recognition there. It was the first genuine emotion he’d shown since approaching me, though it vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.

His jaw flexed. His pupils widened, leaving only a thin ring of silver around the darkness.

He felt it too.

Of course he fucking did.

The Moon Goddess, in all her infinite wisdom, had apparently decided that the man responsible for slaughtering my soldiers would make the perfect mate for me.

Zacchaeus Thornton.

My enemy. The monster who had killed Kael.

My mate.

I jerked my wrist free, nearly falling when the movement sent another bolt of pain through my leg. Zacchaeus reached instinctively toward me before stopping himself, his expression hardening as though he resented the impulse.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

The bond continued to pulse beneath my skin, warm and persistent, demanding an acknowledgment I had absolutely no intention of giving it. Beyond us, the sounds of battle were beginning to fade as northern soldiers forced the remaining southern fighters to surrender.

I should have been relieved that the killing was ending. Instead, I found myself staring at the man in front of me, trying to understand how my entire life had managed to unravel in the space of a few seconds.

“I didn’t expect this,” Zacchaeus said finally.

A bitter laugh escaped me. “You think?”

His eyes narrowed.

“Neither did you, apparently.”

“No, I didn’t.” I shifted my weight onto my uninjured leg, trying to create some distance between us. “And I’d prefer to forget it happened.”

I managed one step before my thigh seized. My knee hit the ground hard enough to drive the air from my lungs, and I pressed a hand against the wound as fresh blood soaked through my fingers.

Zacchaeus watched me struggle, his expression unreadable.

“You’re injured.”

“No shit.”

“You won’t make it far like that.”

“Then I guess you won’t have to worry about me for very long.”

Something flickered across his face, though I couldn’t decide whether it was irritation or disbelief.

“I don’t leave what’s mine.”

My head snapped up.

“Excuse me?”

“The bond has already formed.” He spoke as if that explained everything. “Whether either of us likes it or not.”

“I’m not yours.”

“The bond says otherwise.”

“Then the bond can go fuck itself.”

His jaw tightened, and for the first time, a hint of anger edged into his voice.

“You think I wanted this?” He leaned closer, gray eyes pinning me in place. “You think I wanted a southern wolf bleeding at my feet, snarling threats she can barely stand long enough to carry out?”

I swallowed the retort rising in my throat.

Not because I was frightened of him, though I would have been a fool not to recognize the danger he presented. It was the sudden, vicious pull beneath my ribs that stole my concentration.

Every instinct I possessed wanted me to recognize him. To trust him.

The thought made me sick.

“I don’t care what the Moon Goddess intended,” I said. “I don’t want you.”

His expression closed off.

“That makes two of us.”

The words shouldn’t have hurt. I wanted them to be true, wanted him to hate this just as much as I did. But the bond reacted to his rejection with an unpleasant twist beneath my ribs, and I hated myself a little more for feeling it.

Zacchaeus looked toward the battlefield, where the last pockets of fighting were finally being brought under control. When he turned back, his attention settled on my injured leg before lifting to my face.

“I don’t know your name,” he said, “or what your Alpha was thinking when he sent you into this battle. But there’s something wrong with your blood.”

My stomach tightened.

“What?”

“When I caught its scent, I noticed something unusual.” His gaze sharpened. “There’s something beneath the wolf in you. Something I haven’t encountered before.”

I stared at him.

“You’re telling me you can smell something wrong with me?”

“I didn’t say wrong.”

“You literally just did.”

His expression remained unchanged.

“I said your blood was different. I intend to find out why.”

A strange uneasiness settled over me. I’d spent my entire life being told there was something defective about me, something that made me less capable than everyone around me. Hearing the same suspicion from a man I’d met only minutes earlier was the last thing I needed.

“Well, good luck with that,” I muttered. “I’m not particularly interested in being examined.”

Zacchaeus straightened, his attention already shifting toward the northern soldiers gathering near the edge of the clearing.

“Get up. We’re leaving.”

I looked at him incredulously.

“Did you miss the part where I told you I’m not going anywhere with you?”

“No. I heard you.”

“Then we understand each other.”

He looked down at me, entirely unimpressed.

“You can walk, or you can crawl. But you’re coming with me.”

“I’m not your prisoner.”

“No,” he replied, turning away. “You’re my problem.”

I stared after him, furious enough to consider throwing my dagger into his back.

Unfortunately, I had a sinking suspicion it would only make him angrier, and I wasn’t particularly interested in discovering what an angry Alpha could do to someone who couldn’t outrun a limping rabbit.

I forced myself upright and followed.

Every step was agony, but the alternative was being left alone among the bodies of my fallen soldiers, with northern wolves still prowling the battlefield. At least if I stayed close to Zacchaeus, I had a chance of surviving long enough to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do next.

We hadn’t gone far when one of his soldiers approached with a dark cloak. Zacchaeus accepted it and secured it around his waist without breaking stride, apparently unconcerned by the blood still drying across the rest of his body.

I kept my eyes forward.

The northern clearing opened ahead, revealing the surviving soldiers from both packs. Most of the southerners had been disarmed and gathered near the tree line, their faces bloodied and exhausted. Northern warriors surrounded them, watching closely while a handful of healers moved between the wounded.

And standing among the defeated soldiers, looking remarkably untouched by the massacre he’d ordered, was my father.

Alpha Calloway.

My stomach sank.

His silver-streaked hair was slicked away from his face, and his armor bore a few dents and splashes of blood. I doubted much of it belonged to him. My father preferred directing battles from the safety of the rear lines, where he could watch other men die for the causes he’d convinced them were worth fighting for.

His gaze found mine, traveling briefly over my blood-soaked leg before settling on Zacchaeus.

A smile touched his mouth.

It wasn’t relief.

It was satisfaction.

Zacchaeus stopped several feet away from him.

“She’s mine.”

The declaration carried across the clearing, drawing the attention of several nearby soldiers. Heat crept up my neck, but before I could object, my father’s smile widened.

“So I’ve heard.”

“She leaves with me.”

My father tilted his head, studying Zacchaeus with an ease that made my skin crawl.

“You’ve won the battle. My soldiers are defeated, and you’ve made your claim.” He spread his hands slightly. “I’m hardly in a position to argue.”

“Then you won’t.”

“No.” My father’s eyes flicked toward me. “Take her. I’ll withdraw what’s left of my men across the border.”

I looked between them, struggling to understand how either could discuss my future as though I weren’t standing directly in front of them.

Zacchaeus didn’t seem particularly impressed by the offer.

“You invaded my territory, threatened my council, and killed my people. Don’t mistake my willingness to let your survivors retreat for forgiveness.”

My father smiled.

“Of course not. But I imagine we’ve both gotten something out of this arrangement.”

A muscle jumped in Zacchaeus’s jaw.

I felt it then, a sudden shift in the tension between them. My father wasn’t speaking like a man who had just lost a war. He sounded almost pleased with himself, as though the outcome had been inconvenient but not entirely unexpected.

“That’s it?” I demanded.

Both men turned toward me.

My father raised an eyebrow.

“Is something wrong, Blakelynn?”

I almost laughed.

“Something wrong?” I repeated. “I nearly died out there. Half our soldiers are dead, Kael is dead, and you’re standing here discussing me like I’m part of the fucking surrender terms.”

His expression barely changed.

“Watch your tone.”

“No.” I took a painful step forward, my hands curling into fists. “You trained me to fight for this pack. You made sure I understood exactly what was expected of me, and I did everything you asked. I fought your wars. I followed your orders. And now you’re just going to hand me over?”

His gaze dropped briefly to my injured leg.

“You’ve been claimed by the northern Alpha. What exactly would you prefer I do?”

“Act like you give a damn!”

The words tore out of me before I could stop them.

For a moment, the clearing seemed unnaturally quiet. My father’s face hardened, and I recognized the familiar warning in his eyes, the one that had always preceded a punishment I would spend days recovering from.

Only this time, Zacchaeus stood beside me.

My father noticed it too.

Whatever anger had begun to surface disappeared beneath another cold smile.

“You were always meant for something beyond the Southern Pack,” he said. “This simply happened sooner than I anticipated.”

I stared at him.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He ignored the question.

Instead, he turned back to Zacchaeus.

“She’s yours. Do with her what you will.”

Something inside me seemed to crack.

I had spent years convincing myself that my father’s cruelty served some greater purpose. That if I trained harder, fought better, and became strong enough, he might eventually look at me as something other than a disappointment.

Yet he couldn’t even be bothered to pretend that losing me mattered.

Zacchaeus studied him for a long moment before turning away.

“Come.”

I didn’t move.

“Wait.”

He looked back, his expression darkening when he saw that my attention was still fixed on my father.

“I want to speak to him. Alone.”

For a moment, I thought he’d refuse. His gaze moved between us, lingering on my father’s face before returning to mine.

“Two minutes.”

He stepped away, stopping near a group of northern warriors. It was far enough to allow some privacy, though I doubted he was completely out of earshot.

My father watched him leave before turning his full attention toward me.

The pleasant expression vanished.

“Well,” he said dryly, “if I’d known being worthless would land you a mate like him, perhaps I would have crippled your other leg too.”

The words struck with familiar precision.

I hated that they still had the power to hurt me.

“I am your daughter.”

His lip curled.

“An unfortunate fact I’ve spent your entire life being reminded of.”

I swallowed hard.

“I did everything you asked.”

“And look how little it accomplished.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I spent years trying to carve something useful out of you, Blakelynn. Years correcting your weaknesses, forcing you to develop the instincts you should have been born with. And after all that effort, you’re still the same pathetic little girl who cried every time training became difficult.”

My hands trembled.

“You broke my leg.”

“You failed to defend yourself.”

“I was a child.”

“You were an Alpha’s daughter!” he snapped, his fangs beginning to descend. “You were supposed to be stronger than the worthless pups running around the village. Instead, I got a weak-legged disappointment with too much emotion and not enough sense to keep her mouth shut.”

I stared at him, fighting the familiar urge to shrink beneath his anger.

There had been a time when those words would have sent me scrambling for an apology. When I would have promised to do better, to train harder, to become whatever he needed me to be.

I wasn’t that little girl anymore.

At least, I didn’t want to be.

“I fought for you,” I said quietly. “I killed for you. How many times did I come home bleeding because you sent me somewhere no one else wanted to go?”

“As many times as necessary.”

“And that meant nothing?”

His expression flattened.

“You were a tool, Blakelynn. Nothing more.”

I felt the last of my anger begin to give way to something colder.

My father leaned closer.

“Your mother begged me to spare you before she died. Did you know that?”

The sudden mention of her caught me off guard.

“What?”

“She insisted there was something special about you. Claimed you were Moon-touched.” He gave a humorless laugh. “Can you imagine? She genuinely believed the Moon Goddess had blessed you.”

Moon-touched.

I’d never heard him use that word before.

“What does that mean?”

“It means your mother was a fool.” His gaze moved over me with undisguised contempt. “She wasted her final breaths begging me to protect you, and what did I get for honoring her wishes? A daughter who took everything she could and gave nothing worth remembering in return.”

My throat tightened.

He’d blamed me for my mother’s death for as long as I could remember. I’d grown up hearing that she would still be alive if I’d never been born, that every breath I took was one she should have been allowed to keep.

But he’d never told me she’d begged him to spare me.

Spare me from what?

I wanted to ask. Wanted to force him to explain what my mother had been so afraid of, but I knew the look on his face too well.

He wouldn’t tell me.

Not unless the answer could be used to hurt me.

“You sold me,” I whispered.

“I traded you,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“For what?”

His eyes drifted toward the northern soldiers.

“For an opportunity.”

My stomach turned.

“What opportunity?”

He smiled then, a small, unpleasant curve of his lips.

“One you’re in no position to understand.”

I felt a tear slip down my cheek before I could stop it.

His gaze followed its path with obvious disgust.

“Look at you. Still crying.” He shook his head. “That Alpha will eat you alive, and when he does, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

I wiped my cheek with the back of my hand.

For years, I’d wondered what it would take to make my father proud of me. How many battles I would have to survive, how much pain I would have to endure before he finally looked at me and saw someone worth loving.

Standing there, I understood that no amount of blood would ever be enough.

There would always be another weakness, another failure, another reason I wasn’t the daughter he’d wanted.

And I was so fucking tired of trying.

I turned away before he could see me cry again.

Zacchaeus was waiting where I’d left him, his arms crossed over his chest. His attention moved from my face to my father, and something hardened in his expression.

I didn’t know how much he’d heard.

I didn’t care enough to ask.

As I limped past him, I felt his gaze settle on my injured leg. He didn’t say anything, but he fell into step beside me rather than forcing me to follow behind.

It was a small consideration.

I resented him for it anyway.

Behind us, my father’s surviving soldiers were finally permitted to withdraw. Their weapons had been collected, and northern warriors escorted them toward the southern edge of the clearing. Some limped. Others supported comrades too injured to walk without assistance.

My father stood watching them, his posture straight and his face carefully composed.

Then he looked at me.

For one brief moment, his expression changed.

There was something in his eyes I recognized from every time he’d managed to bend a situation to his advantage. A quiet, calculating satisfaction that made the hairs along my arms rise.

He had lost soldiers. He had been forced to retreat. His attempt to take northern territory had ended in failure.

Yet he looked like a man who had just been handed exactly what he wanted.

An opportunity.

The word echoed unpleasantly in my head.

Had he known something about Zacchaeus? Had he expected this to happen, or was he simply finding a way to benefit from it now?

I couldn’t answer either question.

But as Zacchaeus led me away from the clearing, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my father hadn’t surrendered me because he’d lost.

He had let me go because there was something to gain.

And whatever it was, I had just become part of it.

The forest grew darker the farther we traveled into northern territory.

The trees were older here, their thick trunks rising toward a canopy so dense that only narrow streaks of fading daylight reached the ground. Moss clung to the bark, and tangled roots broke through the damp earth beneath our feet. The air carried the sharp scent of pine and wet leaves, a welcome change from the burning forest we’d left behind.

Unfortunately, the change in scenery did nothing for my leg.

One of the northern healers had insisted on examining the wound before we departed. I’d protested, naturally, but Zacchaeus had made it painfully clear that we weren’t leaving until someone stopped the bleeding.

The healer had cleaned away enough blood to inspect the damage before packing the wound and securing a tight bandage around my thigh. According to her, the blade had missed the major blood vessels, though I’d lost enough blood to make the journey dangerous if I continued pushing myself.

She’d also warned me not to put unnecessary weight on the leg until she’d had a chance to treat it properly.

I’d thanked her by immediately standing.

The look she’d given me suggested she thought I was an idiot.

She probably wasn’t wrong.

Now, with every step, the muscles beneath the bandage pulled painfully against the injury. My old weakness only made matters worse, sending an occasional tremor through my knee whenever the ground became uneven.

I kept walking anyway.

Zacchaeus moved ahead of me, his long strides carrying him over the uneven terrain with irritating ease. A fresh set of clothing had been brought to him before we left the clearing, and he’d exchanged the bloodstained cloak for dark trousers and a fitted black shirt.

The gash across his shoulder had nearly healed.

Of course it had.

Apparently, the Moon Goddess hadn’t considered making my mate the Alpha of the North punishment enough. She’d also given him the sort of stubborn determination that meant he could walk around with a serious injury and act as though nothing had happened.

I was still trying to decide what I’d done to deserve this when a woman’s voice drifted from the warriors following behind us.

“Why isn’t she restrained?”

“She’s Southern,” another answered.

“She drew a blade on the Alpha.”

“Did you see her leg? She can barely walk.”

A brief silence followed before someone spoke more quietly.

“He claimed her in front of the southern Alpha. You know what that means.”

“I don’t care what the bond says. She’s still one of them.”

I clenched my jaw.

It wasn’t as though I expected a warm welcome. I’d spent years fighting the very wolves surrounding me, and several of them had probably lost friends or family members in the battle we’d just survived.

But hearing them discuss me as though I were a rabid animal that might turn on them at any moment was beginning to wear on my already limited patience.

“She can hear you,” I called over my shoulder.

The conversation stopped.

I allowed myself a small, humorless smile.

At least that was something.

Zacchaeus slowed when the path narrowed, waiting until I drew closer before speaking.

“You’re dragging your leg.”

I glanced down.

“Wow. Nothing gets past you.”

He ignored the sarcasm.

“The healer told you to stay off it.”

“And yet here we are.”

“You won’t make it to the stronghold if you keep putting weight on that injury.”

“Then I guess you’d better hope it’s closer than it looks.”

His mouth tightened.

“Let me carry you.”

I looked at him.

For a moment, I genuinely thought I’d misheard.

“No.”

“Blakelynn.”

I stiffened at the sound of my name.

It was the first time he’d used it, and hearing it in that deep, controlled voice sent an unwanted shiver through the bond. I hated how naturally my wolf responded, how something inside me seemed to settle simply because he’d addressed me.

“Don’t.”

His brow furrowed.

“Don’t what?”

“Say my name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you have some right to it.”

He stared at me for a moment before exhaling through his nose.

“You’re being difficult.”

“And you’re being incredibly fucking annoying. Looks like we’re both having a terrible day.”

One of the warriors behind us made a choking sound that might have been an attempt to hide a laugh.

Zacchaeus didn’t look amused.

“You’re losing blood, you’re exhausted, and your leg can barely support you. Let me carry you before you make the injury worse.”

“I said no.”

“Why?”

The question irritated me more than it should have.

Because I didn’t want him touching me. Because every time he came close, the bond reacted like an eager, desperate thing, and I couldn’t stand the thought of my own body betraying me.

Because I’d spent my entire life being told that needing help made me weak.

And because the last thing I wanted was to owe anything to the man who’d killed Kael.

“I don’t want to owe you,” I said finally.

Something shifted in his expression.

“You wouldn’t.”

I almost laughed.

“Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.”

For several seconds, he looked as though he wanted to argue. Then his gaze dropped to my bandaged thigh, and he stepped aside.

“Fine.”

I blinked.

“Fine?”

“You insist on walking, so walk.” His eyes met mine. “But don’t mistake your stubbornness for strength.”

I glared at him as I limped past.

“Don’t mistake being an Alpha for having the right to lecture me.”

He didn’t respond.

Somehow, that irritated me even more.

We continued through the forest in tense silence. The northern warriors kept their distance, though I could feel their attention following me whenever I stumbled over a root or fell a few steps behind.

The journey stretched on, and I quickly lost track of how long we’d been walking. My injured leg had begun to throb with every heartbeat, and the earlier adrenaline that had kept me moving was finally wearing off.

I was cold despite the mild evening air.

That worried me more than I wanted to admit.

My fingers had started to tremble, and every time I lifted my head, the trees seemed to sway slightly around me. I knew enough about battlefield injuries to recognize the warning signs of blood loss and exhaustion.

I’d seen soldiers collapse after insisting they were fine.

Apparently, I was determined to join their ranks.

Zacchaeus slowed whenever I fell behind. He never made a show of it, never called attention to my worsening condition, but I noticed all the same.

Sometimes he’d stop to examine the surrounding trees. Other times he’d exchange a few quiet words with one of his soldiers, giving me just enough time to catch up without feeling as though he were waiting specifically for me.

I wasn’t stupid.

I knew what he was doing.

I just couldn’t decide whether I appreciated it or hated him more for making the effort.

Eventually, my boot caught beneath an exposed root.

I stumbled forward, reaching for the nearest tree, but my injured leg gave out before I could catch myself. Both knees struck the ground, and a sharp cry escaped me as pain tore through my thigh.

For a moment, I remained exactly where I’d fallen.

My palms pressed against the damp earth, my head hanging between my shoulders as I struggled to draw a full breath.

Footsteps approached.

“Blakelynn.”

I closed my eyes.

“Don’t.”

“You need to stop.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I’ve been worse.”

He crouched beside me, though he made no attempt to touch me.

“That doesn’t mean you’re fine now.”

I turned my head, glaring at him through the loose strands of hair that had fallen across my face.

“Why do you care?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

His gaze moved over me, taking in the trembling arms supporting my weight, the blood beginning to seep through the edge of my bandage, and the exhaustion I could no longer hide.

“Because I’ve seen what happens when people push themselves beyond what their bodies can endure,” he said finally. “And you’re getting dangerously close.”

A bitter laugh escaped me.

“Maybe that’s the point.”

His eyes narrowed.

“What?”

I looked away.

“Maybe if I finally break, everyone will stop expecting something from me.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

I regretted them immediately.

For years, I’d learned to keep thoughts like that buried, especially around people who might use them against me. Weakness was an invitation. Vulnerability was something other people exploited.

And I’d just handed both to a man who had every reason to despise me.

Zacchaeus was quiet for long enough that I finally looked at him.

His expression had changed.

The coldness was still there, but something else lingered beneath it. Something I couldn’t quite identify.

“Is that what you think this is?” he asked.

“What?”

“Freedom?”

I frowned.

He glanced briefly at the bandage around my thigh.

“Destroying yourself won’t undo what happened to you.”

My stomach tightened.

“You don’t know anything about what happened to me.”

“No,” he agreed. “I don’t.”

“Then stop acting like you do.”

His gaze held mine.

“I know enough to recognize someone who’s been taught that pain is the only thing she can control.”

The words struck harder than I wanted them to.

I looked away first.

“Well, congratulations. You’ve figured me out.”

He didn’t respond to the sarcasm.

Instead, he rose and offered me his hand.

I stared at it.

The same hand that had pulled me upright on the battlefield. The same hand whose touch had awakened a bond I desperately wanted to forget.

I didn’t take it.

After a moment, Zacchaeus lowered his arm.

“Get up if you can,” he said quietly. “But if you fall again, I’m carrying you. You can hate me for it when you’re conscious enough to argue.”

I almost smiled.

Almost.

Then I remembered Kael lying motionless in the clearing, and whatever fleeting amusement I’d felt disappeared.

I pushed myself upright using the tree, biting back a groan as my injured leg reluctantly accepted my weight.

Zacchaeus watched until I was steady before turning back toward the path.

We walked in silence after that.

I tried not to think about the bond, but it was impossible to ignore. It lingered beneath every breath, a persistent warmth that seemed to strengthen whenever Zacchaeus moved closer.

I hated it.

Hated that my wolf recognized him when everything rational inside me demanded that I keep my distance.

And I hated knowing that no matter how fiercely I rejected him, there was a part of me already reaching for something I didn’t want.

“The bond doesn’t break simply because you refuse to acknowledge it,” Zacchaeus said after a while.

I looked up sharply.

“Are you reading my mind now?”

“No.”

“Then how the hell did you know what I was thinking?”

His mouth twitched, though the expression disappeared before I could decide whether it had been amusement.

“You’ve been glaring at the back of my head for the past twenty minutes.”

“Maybe I just don’t like looking at you.”

“Then I suggest you find something else to look at.”

I rolled my eyes.

But his earlier words lingered.

The bond doesn’t break.

I’d grown up hearing stories about fated mates, about the Moon Goddess’s perfect pairings and the devotion that supposedly followed. I’d watched other wolves find their partners and become so consumed by one another that nothing else seemed to matter.

I’d never wanted that.

Especially not with someone who considered me his possession before he’d even learned my name.

“What if I refuse it?” I asked.

Zacchaeus glanced over his shoulder.

“The bond?”

“Yes.”

His expression grew serious.

“You can refuse me. You can fight what connects us. But pretending it isn’t there won’t make it disappear.”

I swallowed.

“That’s a comforting thought.”

“I wasn’t trying to comfort you.”

“Obviously.”

He turned back toward the path, leaving me to wrestle with the unpleasant realization that my life had somehow become even less my own than it had been that morning.

The final stretch of the journey passed in a haze.

The forest gradually thinned, the towering trees giving way to rocky ground as the path began to climb. I could hear water somewhere below us, a distant rush that grew louder as we approached the edge of a steep ridge.

My breaths had become shallow.

Every few steps, darkness crept along the edges of my vision before retreating again. I tried concentrating on the ground beneath my feet, counting each movement to keep myself upright.

One more step.

Then another.

Just make it to the stronghold.

I’d survived my father. I’d survived years of brutal training, punishments disguised as lessons, and battles I should never have been sent to fight.

I could survive a little more walking.

The trees finally parted.

Beyond the ridge, an enormous valley stretched beneath the fading evening light. Mountains rose in the distance, their peaks disappearing into low clouds, while a dark stone fortress stood against the northern cliffs.

Even through my exhaustion, I could see how heavily fortified it was. Towers rose above immense walls, and narrow bridges connected sections of the stronghold built directly into the mountainside. Fires burned along the battlements, their distant glow revealing the movement of guards patrolling the perimeter.

The northern stronghold.

Zacchaeus’s home.

My new prison, apparently.

I opened my mouth to make some bitter remark about his taste in architecture, but the words never came.

The ground shifted beneath my feet.

Or maybe I did.

My vision blurred, and an unpleasant ringing filled my ears. I tried to steady myself, reaching for a nearby tree, only to realize that it was farther away than I’d thought.

My injured leg buckled.

There was no time to brace myself.

One moment I was standing, and the next I was falling, the rocky ground rushing up toward my face.

Strong arms caught me before I hit.

Zacchaeus.

Of course it was Zacchaeus.

He lifted me with an ease that would have been insulting under different circumstances, one arm sliding beneath my knees while the other supported my back.

I wanted to fight him.

Wanted to tell him to put me down, that I didn’t need his help, that I would rather crawl the remaining distance than let him carry me through his territory like some helpless little thing he’d rescued.

But my body had finally decided it was finished listening.

My head fell against his chest, and I felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my cheek.

The bond responded immediately, warmth spreading through me despite the cold settling into my limbs.

I hated how safe it felt.

“I told you,” he murmured.

I tried to open my eyes.

“Go… fuck yourself.”

A low sound rumbled through his chest. It might have been a laugh, but I couldn’t be sure.

“Later. Right now, you’re going to stay alive.”

I wanted to argue.

Instead, my fingers curled weakly against his shirt as the world began to fade.

The last thing I registered was his hold tightening around me and the sound of his voice cutting through the darkness, sharp with an urgency I hadn’t heard from him before.

“Get the healer. Now.”

Then everything went black.