Page 6 of Shifting Hearts 1
I stand, bloodied and beaten, my father’s cold eyes burning holes in me. He doesn’t say I have failed. He doesn’t need to. I walk into the woods and don’t look back.
The memory curdles in my stomach like sour milk. I stare into the fire, my jaw tight, and hands fisted. I swore I’d never crawl for anyone again. Not Maddox. Not the pack. Not fate.
And now? Now she’s lying in my bed, broken and bleeding, her scent tangled with mine, the bond gnawing at my soul.
The Goddess is cruel. I never asked for this.
But as I glance at her, at the faint flutter of her lashes, at the rise and fall of her chest beneath my blankets, I know one truth with a certainty that chills me.
If she dies, I die with her.
And no matter how much I hate it, no matter how much I want to run, I can’t. She’s mine. Even if it kills me.
THREE
Only One Bed
Paris
The first thing I notice when I wake is warmth.
Real warmth. Not the brittle heat of fever or the biting burn of rejection, but something steady. Heavy quilts weigh down on me, the air thick with the scent of woodsmoke, pine, and… something else.
Him. Ranger.
My lashes flutter open and for a moment, the world blurs. Shadows ripple across rough-hewn walls, the orange glow of firelight painting everything in gold. A low creak of wood answers the hiss of flames.
I blink until the cabin comes into focus.
A small room. Four walls of timber, the seams chinked with resin. A woodstove crackles in the corner. A battered table, two chairs, a stack of split logs by the door. And the bed - broad, hand-carved, and its frame scarred by age but sturdy. The mattress sags beneath me, piled with quilts that smell of cedar and smoke.
And him.
He sits in the lone chair, half-shadowed, elbows on his knees. His dark hair falls loose around his face, his jaw rough with stubble. His eyes, stormy and unreadable, are fixed on me like he’s been watching for hours.
Maybe he has.
“You’re awake.” His voice is low, rough.
My throat is dry, my lips cracked. I manage a whisper. “Where…?”
“You’re in my cabin.”
I shift slightly, the quilts heavy, the fabric scratchy against my skin. Pain throbs deep in my chest, but it’s muted, dulled by exhaustion.
“Why?”
“You’d be dead if I left you.” His answer is simple. Flat. But his eyes burn, even if the rest of him doesn’t move.
I swallow hard, my gaze flicking around the room again. The reality settles like a stone in my gut. There’s no second bed. No couch. No pile of furs on the floor. Just this.
My cheeks heat.
Only one bed.
And I’m in it.
He notices the way my eyes linger. His jaw flexes, and he leans back in the chair, deliberately putting space between us.
