Page 60 of When Two Worlds Collide

“Yours,” I breathe. “And you?—”

He smiles against my skin.

“—are mine, wolf.”

“Always was,” he admits, drawing me closer. “From the moment you bared your throat in that tent. Even when I didn’t want it. Even when I fought it. You were always mine.”

We stay like that for hours, letting the new bond settle. It feels like a second skin. Like breathing for the first time. Every emotion—his and mine—runs both directions now. No more hiding. No more distance.

We rise only when hunger pulls us from our haze. Still naked, still marked, we hunt together in human form, laughing when he trips over a root and cursing when I steal his kill.

Later, we return to the grove. We stand in silence beneath the rising moon, then shift together in perfect synchronization.

Wolf and panther.

This time, when we come together, it is different. Slower. Deeper. A dance, not a frenzy. I bare my throat, and he licks it in reverence. We move with purpose, the ancient rhythm of true mates echoing in every motion.

When it ends, we collapse together in a heap of fur and breath and heat.

I think I could sleep like this forever.

Until the wind shifts.

Zane lifts his head. A growl coils low in his chest. I scent it too—wolves. Not ours.

Marcus steps into the grove. Human. Armed. Wary.

“Alpha,” he says without looking directly at us. “Forgive the interruption. But it’s urgent.”

Zane shifts instantly, pulling me close as I follow suit.

“This had better be life or death.”

“It is.” Marcus looks up, face pale. “Ridge Stormcrow is coming. He leads a hundred bears. Armed. Marching for River’s Edge.”

My heart stops.

“How long?” Zane asks, already moving.

“By tomorrow night.”

I dress in the clothes Marcus offers, heart racing. My body aches from the bond, from the claiming, from everything—but there’s no time to recover. No time to rest.

Zane glances at me. I nod. We’re in this now.

Mate. Alpha. Warrior.

The third night should’ve been for completing the bond, for rest, for learning each other without the bloodthirst of our animal natures.

Instead, we’ll have to wage a war.

15

ZANE

The scent hits me first—bear musk, dried blood, and something else. Death. Not the clean death of a hunt, but the rancid sweetness of massacre.

Twenty wolves fan out behind me as we crest the ridge overlooking River’s Edge. Ember paces at my right shoulder, her fire-bright fur catching moonlight. Through our new bond, I feel her rage like a second heartbeat. The settlement below us should be sleeping. Instead, screams pierce the night air.

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