Prologue
Prologue — Valcan
The scent of sweat, earth, and iron hung thick in the clearing.
Valcan stood at the edge of the training grounds, arms folded behind his back, his gaze fixed on the wolves tearing across the churned dirt. Massive bodies collided, claws slashed, teeth snapped—controlled chaos. Exactly as it should be.
“Again,” he ordered, his voice low but carrying.
Two wolves broke apart, circling, muscles coiled. One hesitated—just for a second.
Valcan’s eyes narrowed. Weakness.
It was corrected quickly enough. The larger wolf lunged, forcing the other back into motion. Good. Hesitation got wolves killed. Or worse—others killed.
He inhaled slowly, measuring the rhythm of the pack, the discipline, the progress.
Better than last month.
Not enough.
Then— Something shifted. It wasn’t sound. Not scent. Not sight. A pull.
Subtle at first, like a thread brushing against his ribs. Then sharper. Insistent.
Valcan’s posture stiffened, his jaw tightening as the sensation pressed inward, demanding attention. Irritating.
His gaze flicked away from the sparring wolves toward the treeline.
A woman stepped into the clearing.
His irritation surfaced immediately—training was not a place for distractions. His pack knew that. They all knew that.
And yet she walked toward him anyway. The pull tightened. Recognition followed. Not instinctual. Not overwhelming.
Just… there. The mate link.
Valcan exhaled once, slow, controlled. The tension in his shoulders eased by a fraction—not from desire, but from understanding the source of the disruption.
Predictable. He did not move to meet her. He waited.
She approached with measured confidence, her steps unhurried despite the eyes beginning to drift toward them. Wolves noticed everything. Especially this.
Of course they did.
“Monica,” he said, his tone even, untouched by the shift in the air between them. “What brings you here?”
“I was looking for you.”
Her voice carried easily, smooth, practiced. There was a warmth in it—intentional.
Valcan’s gaze lingered on the training field for a second longer before returning to her.
“Why.”
A small smile curved her lips, unfazed.
“I thought you might need a break.”
“No.”
She let out a soft breath, almost amused, stepping a little closer into his space—close enough for the pull to sharpen again, brushing insistently against his senses.
“You’re always like this,” she said lightly. “Working, watching, correcting. Do you ever stop?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
Silence.
In the distance, a wolf yelped before being driven into the dirt. Valcan’s attention flicked briefly, assessing, then returned.
Monica tilted her head slightly, studying him.
“You could at least pretend to be glad to see me.”
“I don’t pretend.”
Her smile didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened, as if she expected nothing else.
“That’s fine,” she said. “I can carry enough enthusiasm for both of us.”
Valcan said nothing.
The pull lingered. Steady. Present. Unavoidable.
He ignored it.
Monica glanced toward the training wolves, watching them for a moment before speaking again.
“They’ve improved,” she noted.
“Yes.”
“You’ve been pushing them harder.”
“Yes.”
“Because of the border tensions?”
“Yes.”
She huffed a quiet breath through her nose, amused again.
“You really are going to make me do all the talking.”
“Yes.”
That earned a soft laugh.
It didn’t irritate him.
It didn’t please him either.
It simply… existed.
Monica shifted her weight, her gaze returning to him, sharper now beneath the charm.
“You felt it,” she said.
It wasn’t a question.
Valcan held her gaze.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Nothing.”
Her eyes flickered—briefly, something calculating passing beneath the surface.
“Nothing,” she repeated, softer this time. “That’s what you’re going with?”
“Yes.”
Another pause stretched between them, filled only by the distant snarls and thuds of training.
Monica stepped closer again. Close enough now that the space between them felt deliberate.
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“I’m not.”
“Most would be.”
“I’m not most.”
Her lips curved again, slower now.
“No,” she agreed. “You’re not.”
Valcan’s attention shifted back to the field.
A wolf faltered again.
“Enough,” he called out sharply.
The sparring pair froze.
“Reset.”
They obeyed instantly.
Silence settled briefly across the clearing.
Monica watched him as he watched them.
“You won’t ask me anything?” she said after a moment.
“No.”
“Not even how I feel about it?”
“No.”
That earned her another quiet laugh, softer this time.
“You’re a difficult man to be fated to.”
Valcan didn’t respond.
The pull remained.
Unwelcome.
Contained.
Monica exhaled slowly, then straightened slightly, her expression smoothing back into something composed, deliberate.
“That’s alright,” she said. “You don’t have to say anything yet.”
His gaze didn’t leave the training ground.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“I know.”
A beat passed.
Then, almost gently—
“I’ll wait.”
Valcan’s expression didn’t change.
“Don’t.”
Monica’s smile lingered anyway.
“We’ll see.”
