Page 29 of Collar Me Crazy
"That's just wishful thinking."
"Is it? Because I've seen you gentle with frightened animals, risking yourself to save lost hikers, building something beautiful and necessary out of nothing but compassion." She pulled off her gloves and framed his face with her bare hands. "You’re not a prophecy. You’re a man choosing, every day."
The warmth of her skin against his made his wolf rumble with contentment, and for a moment, he let himself believe she might be right. That maybe he wasn't destined to be the monster everyone feared.
"You do not know what you're asking," he said softly.
"I'm asking you to please trust me. To trust us." Her thumbs traced the angles of his cheekbones. "I'm asking you to believe that some things are worth the risk."
"Sonya—"
"Stop thinking," she whispered, leaning closer. "Just for a minute, stop analyzing and planning and worrying. Be here with me."
The space between them disappeared as she rose on her toes, bringing their lips together in a kiss that was soft and tentative and absolutely perfect. For a heartbeat, Ryker's mind went blank, overwhelmed by the sensation of finally, finallytouching her the way his wolf had been demanding since that first moment by the lake.
When she started to pull back, he caught her face in his hands and deepened the kiss, pouring years of loneliness and longing into the connection between them. She tasted like cinnamon and magic, like coming home after a lifetime of wandering.
His wolf sang with recognition and triumph, flooding him with certainty that this woman, this moment, was exactly what they'd been waiting for. The prophecy, the fear, the careful distance he'd maintained—none of it mattered when she was in his arms, warm and willing and absolutely perfect.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Sonya rested her forehead against his.
"See?" she said softly. "The world didn't end."
"Give it time," he replied, but there was no real heat in the words.
"Pessimist."
"Realist."
"Same thing, with you." She smiled, and the expression transformed her face into something luminous. "But I'm willing to work on that."
Above them, stars wheeled across the clear November sky, and somewhere in the distance, the festival continued without them. But here by the lake, with Sonya's warmth seeping into his bones and her scent surrounding him like a promise, Ryker felt something shift inside him.
Maybe she was right. Maybe he did get to choose what kind of wolf he became.
And for the first time since boyhood, the weight of the prophecy didn’t feel quite so heavy.
17
SONYA
The visions started the morning after the festival, hitting Sonya while she was brushing her teeth at the Hearth & Hollow Inn. One moment she was looking at her reflection, still feeling the warmth of Ryker's kiss on her lips, and the next she was somewhere else entirely.
Hollow Oak at twilight, but wrong. The buildings stood like hollow shells, their windows dark and empty. The protective wards that usually hummed with gentle energy sparked and failed, sending cascades of dying magic into the air like falling stars. And beneath it all, something vast and hungry stirred, feeding on the chaos.
She came back to herself gripping the sink so hard her knuckles had gone white, toothpaste foam dripping from her mouth. The vision had lasted maybe ten seconds, but the dread it left behind clung to her like smoke.
But as she finished her morning routine, more flashes came. Brief glimpses of magical energy bleeding away like water through broken glass. The seven mated pairs standing in the town square, their bonds glowing with desperate light as theytried to hold something together that was determined to fall apart.
By the time she made it downstairs, Sonya felt like she'd been running a marathon.
She spent the morning helping Freya at the apothecary, hoping that focusing on practical tasks would quiet the visions. It didn't work. Every few minutes, another flash would hit—glimpses of shadows pouring through cracks in reality, of familiar faces twisted with fear, of Ryker standing alone while chaos raged around him.
"Okay, spill," Freya said around noon, setting down the mortar and pestle she'd been using to grind herbs. "You've been jumping at shadows all morning, and you look like you haven't slept in a week."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're a wreck." Freya crossed her arms, her green eyes sharp with concern.
