BITTEN UNDER THE RAINBOW

CHAPTER 1

Kael

The treaty grounds smelled like old blood and damp pine.

I shut the door of the black SUV harder than necessary. The heavy thud rang out across the clearing. A second later, Soren’s boots hit the gravel, exactly one pace off my left shoulder where he always stood. Beside us, two of my senior warriors—Brant and Vane—fell into position as our immediate escort. The rest of the Ironfang contingent followed in silence. None of us had come unarmed.

The neutral valley sat between our territories like an ugly scar. Ironfang to the west, Neon to the east. In the center sat the old timber hall, looking as if it had been rotting away while waiting for this meeting longer than any of us had been alive. Torches flickered along the perimeter path under a dying, rust-colored sky, and above the mountain ridge to the east, a near-full gibbous moon was already riding high—barely two nights shy of its absolute peak.

My wolf paced beneath my skin, clawing at my ribs. It hated being this close to Neon territory. It hated the idea of sitting across a table from wolves we had fought for generations. But more than anything, it hated that a band of rogues had managed to force our hand.

Three coordinated strikes in under a month. Supply lines cut clean. Two outer patrols wiped out without a single survivor left to give a warning. Whoever was running them wasn't just another exiled feral—he was strategic, patient, and intent on bleeding both packs dry.

I adjusted my cuffs, taking a steadying breath before heading toward the hall.

Inside, the heat was suffocating. Woodsmoke, polished leather, and the heavy, overlapping scents of two populations that hated sharing the same air. Ironfang carried the sharp, cold smell of pine and iron. Neon smelled entirely different—ozone, wet pavement, something charged and electric that set my teeth on edge.

The long oak table split the room down the middle. Our side on the left, theirs on the right.

Elder Marrow took his seat with the slow, rigid dignity of a man who believed the world still answered to traditional pack law. The rest of the council fell in line. I stayed standing a second longer, scanning the room out of habit—noting the rear exits, the guard placements, and the fastest lines of sight.

Then Neon arrived.

They didn't march in formation like my men. They moved as a loose, chaotic unit, led by one man who walked like he owned the floorboards beneath his boots.

Riven Cross.

I’d reviewed the intelligence files and memorized his dossier, but none of it captured the sheer weight of his presence.

Silver-white hair fell past his jaw, looking untamed yet deliberate. He was built lighter than me, structured for agility rather than raw strength, moving with the careless ease of someone who knew he was faster than anyone else in the room. A black sleeveless shirt exposed a crescent moon inked into the side of his neck. His eyes were a vivid, unnatural green.

What caught me wasn't his look, though. It was the way his pack watched him. They didn't stare with rigid military discipline; they watched him like a live wire.

Those green eyes swept our side of the table once, completely unimpressed, before landing directly on me. A slow, mocking smirk touched his lips—the kind that made it clear he found the whole room, and me along with it, mildly amusing.

I didn't smile back. I let him read every ounce of cold authority I had.

"You brought a whole honor guard just to talk, Thorne?" Riven said, his voice easily cutting through the low murmur of the room. "I’m flattered."

"It’s security, Cross," I replied coldly. "Though I can see why a Neon wolf might mistake basic preparation for grandstanding."

Behind him, a couple of Neon fighters shifted onto their back feet. Soren didn't move a muscle, but his posture hardened. The atmosphere tightened instantly.

Riven kept his eyes on mine, his smirk widening just a fraction.

Then my wolf went dead quiet. Not calm—deadly silent, the way a predator freezes when it locks eyes on its target.

And then, a single word echoed through my chest, heavy and absolute:

Mine.

A sudden, terrifying heat tore through my lungs. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard my jaw ached. Every sense flared out of control until the room dissolved into a single, overwhelming scent.

Ozone. Rain on hot stone. Something dark and sweet underneath.

No.

The realization hit a second later, cold and sickening.

Mate

.

The bond didn't make mistakes like this. It couldn't possibly pair an Ironfang Alpha with the head of Neon. It was impossible.

My wolf didn't care about pack law. It surged forward, trying to break through my control. I gripped the edge of the heavy table so hard the wood groaned, forcing my claws to stay retracted under my skin.

Across the table, Riven froze.

The smirk vanished. His pupils dilated until the green in his eyes was almost entirely swallowed by black. A harsh, choked sound caught in his throat. His right hand twitched toward me before he caught himself and clamped it into a fist.

He felt it too.

Lyra Kane, his Beta, took a fast step toward his shoulder, whispering something low. Riven ignored her. He forced his gaze away from mine, and the sudden loss of contact felt like a physical tear across my collarbone.

I forced myself to sit down, using the solid weight of the chair to keep my hands from shaking. I folded my arms over the table to hide the tension in my shoulders.

Elder Marrow cleared his throat, opening his parchment folder.

"We are here because this rogue situation can no longer be contained by isolated patrols," Marrow said, his voice dry as parchment. "Three coordinated attacks. Supply lines severed. The leader calls himself Torren Black, and he operates with military precision."

"Let's skip the history lesson, Elder," Riven interrupted, his tone sharper now, rough around the edges. "We know who he is. We're here because if we don't handle him together, he's going to burn both our territories to the ground."

"Then we agree on the threat," I said, keeping my voice clipped and flat.

We spent the next hour hashing out logistics—patrol schedules, border buffer zones, shared intelligence reports. Every time Riven spoke, the bond tugged at my chest, demand battling against every instinct I had built over years.

As the sun dipped below the mountains and the bright gibbous moon became clearer through the high windows, Marrow leaned forward.

"There is one final protocol," Marrow announced. "Given Torren's track record of high-value targeted strikes, both pack councils agreed prior to this session that the two Alphas will remain on neutral ground tonight under a combined guard. A fortified cabin has been secured half a mile south."

Silence fell over the room.

Riven leaned back, his green eyes flashing. "You're putting us in the same house?"

"It is a secure facility with continuous joint watch," Marrow said smoothly. "If Torren strikes tonight, splitting you up makes you easy targets. The arrangement stands until negotiations resume at dawn."

My wolf practically purred at the prospect of proximity. I crushed the reaction instantly, keeping my face entirely blank.

"Understood," I said.

Riven shot me a look that burned with frustration, but he didn't push back further. "Fine. But if any of your wolves step across the hall divider, the treaty is off before sunrise."

"The same rule applies to yours," I replied.

The walk to the cabin was brief and suffocating. Brant and Vane from my guard, alongside two of Riven’s fighters, formed our tight outer perimeter. The cabin itself was solid oak and fieldstone, built for defense.

Before I stepped inside, Soren caught my arm, his dark eyes filled with unspoken questions. I gave him a subtle, sharp shake of my head. Not now.

Riven crossed the threshold first, and I followed, shutting the thick wooden door behind us. Outside, Brant, Vane, and the two Neon guards settled into their perimeter positions. The iron latch dropped into place with a heavy click.

The main room was small—a stone hearth with a crackling fire, a rough-hewn table, and two closed doors leading to separate bedrooms.

For a long minute, neither of us moved. The air in the room was thick with smoke, pine, and the unmistakable, intoxicating scent of Riven's skin.

Riven stood near the hearth, his back to me, his shoulders rigid. The firelight glinted off his silver hair.

"This layout is a nightmare," Riven muttered, his voice low and tight. He didn't turn around. "And whatever just happened back in that hall... it changes nothing."

I looked at the tense line of his shoulders, feeling the bond pull at me like an anchor drag.

"It changes everything, Cross," I said softly. "Which is why we're going to pretend it didn't happen until we figure a way out of it."

I turned, walked into the left-hand bedroom, and pulled the door shut between us.