Page 64 of When Two Worlds Collide

I feel Zane’s spike of protectiveness through the bond. “Yes,” I answer before he can. “And as someone who understands both worlds, I’m telling you to accept his help.”

Thorne studies me for a long moment, then nods. “I’ll organize the evacuation.”

As he moves away, Zane’s fingers brush mine—the briefest contact, yet it sends relief coursing through my system. The bond aches for physical connection, for time to stabilize properly.

“You need rest,” he murmurs, his voice pitched for my ears alone. “The strain of the incomplete bond?—”

“Will have to wait,” I finish, though every part of me craves his touch. “There’s too much to do.”

His silver eyes darken with concern. “I feel it too, wildfire. The hollowness. The pain.”

“Later,” I promise, though we both know the timeline for completing a bond ritual can’t simply be extended. What was interrupted remains fragile. “How are your warriors?”

“Mourning our dead. Treating our wounded.” Grief shimmers through the bond. “Three lost. Seven injured badly enough to need recovery time.”

I reach for his hand again, this time gripping it tightly. The contact sends immediate relief through our connection, easing the raw edges. “They died defending innocents. It matters, Zane.”

“It matters,” he agrees, then adds through our mental link: But was it worth it?

Before I can answer, a commotion erupts outside themeetinghouse. Zane tenses, every sense alert, but I recognize the voices. My heart sinks.

“Haven’s Heart,” I mutter. “The council must have sent forces when they got word of the attack.”

Zane’s expression hardens. “Perfect timing, as always. After the battle’s done.”

We exit the meetinghouse to find a contingent of Haven’s Heart guards forming a perimeter around the settlement square. At their center stands Councilor Fletcher, flanked by Alliance representatives—a vampire and a dragon in human form. All three wear expressions of calculated outrage.

“Ambassador Steelclaw,” Fletcher calls, his voice carrying across the square. “Explain this disaster.”

I straighten my spine, absurdly conscious of my appearance—borrowed clothes too large for my frame, dried blood under my fingernails, hair matted with sweat and ash. I feel Zane’s fierce pride pulse through our bond, and it steadies me.

“Mountain Bear clan attacked just after midnight,” I reply, projecting my voice with diplomatic clarity. “The Shadow Wolf pack responded to defend the settlement. Without their intervention, the death toll would have been catastrophic.”

Fletcher’s eyes narrow as Zane steps to my side. “And why was a wild clan in a position to ‘respond’ so conveniently? After all, our intelligence suggests coordination between emerging territories?”

“Because I brought them,” I state flatly. “When our scouts reported bear movements, I requested Shadow Wolf’s assistance based on our treaty.”

A ripple of surprise moves through both guards and settlers. The treaty that Zane and I sealed with blood before our claiming isn’t public knowledge yet.

The vampire representative steps forward. “What treaty? The Alliance has authorized no such arrangement.”

“Haven’s Heart has,” I counter, drawing on diplomatic training to keep my voice steady despite exhaustion. “A formal recognition of Shadow Wolf territorial rights in exchange for defensive cooperation against hostile clans.”

Fletcher’s face reddens. “That’s impossible. The council would never?—”

“Check the records,” I interrupt. “The treaty was filed yesterday at dawn. Properly witnessed and sealed.”

Zane’s hand brushes my lower back—support and warning combined. Through our bond, I sense his concern. The council representatives won’t accept this easily.

“Regardless of paperwork,” the dragon representative says, “this settlement has clearly been attacked by wild shifters. The Alliance containment protocol must proceed.”

“Look around you,” I gesture to the wounded settlers being tended by Shadow Wolf healers. “The wolves you want to contain just bled to protect your people. Three died. Seven more wounded. Is that the behavior of enemies?”

An elderly settler woman approaches, leaning heavily on a cane. She stops before the council representatives, her weathered face set with determination.

“I’ve lived in River’s Edge for sixty-seven years,” she says, voice quavering but clear. “Feared wild shifters all my life. But I saw with my own eyes what happened here last night. I saw the fire lady—” she points to me “—stand between the bear warriors and our children. I saw wolf shifters fall defending my grandchildren. The beasts who attacked us weren’t Shadow Wolves.”

Murmurs of agreement rise from the gathered settlers. I feel a surge of hope—this is what we needed, voices from their own communities supporting our alliance.

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