Page 75 of When Two Worlds Collide

But looking at her—my mate, my equal, my perfect contradiction—I find myself anticipating the challenge. We are something new, she and I. Neither tame nor wild, but both.

In a world where barriers crumble and old ways die, something new might be exactly what survival requires.

EPILOGUE - EMBER

Three Months Later

The scent of pine smoke and brewing coffee mingles with something uniquely mine—burnt sugar and ozone, the smell of barely controlled fire. I stand at the window of what we’ve taken to calling the Mediation Center, though it’s really just a collection of rough-hewn buildings straddling the border between wild and civilized territories.

“The Frost Lynx delegation is getting restless,” Maya, my assistant, says from the doorway. She’s one of Marcus’s exiles who returned last month, drawn by reports of what we’re building here.

“Let them wait.” I don’t turn from the window where I watch Zane teaching a mixed group of young shifters—wild and settlement-born—how to track prey. “The Red Claws aren’t here yet, and Senna needs to learn patience if these accords are going to work.”

Through our bond, I feel Zane’s amusement at something one of the cubs says. The connection hums between us now, seamless and constant, a warmth that never fades.His thoughts brush mine:Stop micromanaging and come down here.

Someone has to keep the Lynx from eating the bears,I reply, but I’m already moving.

The main hall holds an impossible gathering. Six months ago, these clans would have killed each other on sight. Now they share space, wary but working toward something unprecedented. Frost Lynx perch elegantly on benches, their pale beauty ethereal in morning light. Red Claw coyotes pace the perimeter, unable to fully settle. And in the corner, taking up more space than seems possible, Ridge Stormcrow himself sits with two of his lieutenants.

That negotiation took a month and nearly cost three lives, but the Mountain Bears now hold recognized territory with defined boundaries. Amazing what becomes possible when you nearly burn someone’s fur off, then offer them exclusive rights to the best salmon runs.

“Ambassador,” Stormcrow rumbles as I pass. He never uses my name, but the title holds respect now rather than mockery.

“Chief Stormcrow.” I incline my head. “The agreements for the eastern valley?”

“My bears have marked the boundaries as discussed. No settlements were harmed.” His scarred face attempts what might be a smile. “Your influence spreads, fire-touched one. Even my warriors speak of cooperation now.”

“Survival requires adaptation,” I reply, but warmth spreads through my chest at the progress.

I make my way through the crowd, greeting representatives, smoothing conflicts, being the bridge I’ve chosen to become. But halfway across the room, a wave of nausea hits. I grip the nearest table, breathing through it.

Ember?Zane’s concern spikes through our bond.

I’m fine,I lie, but he’s already moving. I feel him excuse himself from the training session, his long strides eating up the distance between us.

He appears at my elbow just as the nausea passes, his hand finding my lower back with practiced ease. To observers, it looks like casual mate contact. Through our bond, I feel him scanning for threats, for illness, for anything that might harm me.

“You need to eat,” he murmurs. “You skipped breakfast again.”

“I was reviewing the southern border proposals?—”

“Eat.” He steers me toward a quiet corner where someone—probably him—has left a plate of meat and bread. “The accords can wait five minutes.”

I want to argue, but another wave of dizziness makes the decision for me. I sink into a chair, accepting the food while he hovers protectively.

“You’re worse today,” he observes, crouching beside me so we’re eye level. “The healers?—”

“I saw Mira this morning.” I take a careful bite of bread, testing my stomach’s cooperation. “She confirmed what we suspected.”

His whole body goes still. Through our bond, I feel the storm of emotions—joy, terror, fierce protectiveness, and wonder all tangled together.

“Confirmed?” His voice comes out rough.

I place his hand on my still-flat stomach. “Three weeks, maybe four. Early yet, but...” I smile at his expression. “We’re having a cub.”

The mental explosion of his joy nearly knocks me over. He pulls me against him, burying his face in my hair, and I feel him trembling.

“Cubs,” he corrects after a moment. “Mira heard twodistinct heartbeats.”

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