Page 23 of Fated Wolf's Redemption

“I didn’t believe in fated mates,” she says.

I blink. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Her gaze stays forward. “Keep in mind I knew nothing about shifters. When I heard about it, I thought it was just some fairytale designed to keep she-wolves obedient and hopeful. Some biology-meets-romance nonsense that didn’t hold up in the real world.”

“But Ryder?—”

“I didn’t want him,” she cuts in. “Not at first. I fought it. I told myself it was a coincidence. That I was just drawn to his prowess in bed, not something deeper.”

I grin as I watch her closely, crossing my arms. “And now?”

She looks at me with a sly grin. “Now I know better.”

The wind rushes past us, tugging at my braid. I don’t answer right away, because I don’t want to admit how much her words hit me square in the chest.

Lucas is a pain in my ass. He’s cold and sharp and entirely too used to people falling in line. But I’ve never wanted to rip someone’s clothes off and punch them in the face in the same breath. No one has ever kissed me like that—like a claim of ownership, like I was about to be conquered, and I liked it.

“It makes little sense,” I mutter. “He and I… we’re built for different lives. He believes in territory, control, structure. I don’t even like staying in the same zip code for more than a month.”

Isabella shrugs. “Maybe that’s the point. Balance doesn’t come from finding someone who mirrors you. It comes from the one who can challenge your shadow without being swallowed by it—a counterweight, if you will.”

That’s bothersome; I stare down at the valley, my pulse thudding at the base of my throat.

“Have you told him?” she asks.

I snort. “Lucas? Please. He’d either laugh or have a heart attack.”

Isabella steps away from the rock, brushing her hands on her jeans. “Maybe. Or maybe he’d stop pretending he hasn’t already felt it.”

I shoot her a look. “You sound awfully confident.”

“Lucas might act like he believes in nothing and that life is just one big joke, but he’s not stupid. He knows something’s happening between you.” She hesitates, then adds, “Just be careful. The more you ignore it, the more it’ll control you.”

I want to argue. I want to tell her she’s wrong, that I have it under control. But the memory of his mouth on mine, the way he touched me like I belonged under his hands, steals the words before they form.

I nod instead. It’s the best I can do.

It’s past midnight when I head outside again. Restless. The lodge and other buildings are dark except for a few lanterns flickering near the main entrance. Fog blankets the woods beyond the training grounds, and the air tastes metallic, like ozone before lightning.

Lucas steps out from behind the tool shed like he’s been waiting for me.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asks, voice low.

I shake my head. “The forest is too quiet—almost like it’s holding its breath.”

He nods once, and we fall into step together, walking the perimeter like we’re both pretending we’re not here for the same reason.

Then we see it—the deer lies just beyond the tree line, its body contorted, legs twisted at unnatural angles. Something tore it open along the flank—deep gashes clawed through muscle and bone. What’s worse, the eyes are gone. Hollowed.

Lucas crouches beside the carcass, jaw tight. “Same markings as the scouts.”

“It’s a warning,” I whisper. “And it’s too damn close to the lodge.”

He looks up at me, golden eyes flashing. “We’re going after it.”

I nod, pulse jumping. “Together?”

“You up for that, Windrider?”

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