The forest felt different at night—like a living thing, breath hot and heavy through the trees. Ava kept her flashlight trained on the path, but the beam barely cut through the darkness, as if the shadows were swallowing it whole.
"Stay close," Alexander muttered, his voice low. He'd shifted into a defensive stance, shoulders squared, head tilted like he was listening for something only he could hear.
"Any idea where we're going?" Ava asked, tripping over a root.
He caught her arm, steadying her. "The attack happened three miles from here. Same area as the others. Whatever's doing this has a pattern."
Ava pulled her arm away, but his touch lingered, warm even through her jacket. "You think it's another wolf?"
"Not a normal one. The tracks are… wrong. Too big. Too chaotic." He paused, nose twitching. "And there's a scent. Metallic. Like rot."
She shivered. "Great. Just what I wanted to hear at 3 a.m."
They walked in silence for a while, the only sounds their boots crunching on leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. Ava's mind kept replaying Lorenzo's words—a human who can make an Alpha kneel—and Alexander's reaction, how quickly he'd lost control.
"You and Lorenzo," she said, breaking the silence. "There's history there."
Alexander's jaw tightened. "We were kids. Raised together. He's always been… jealous."
"Of what? Your fancy title?"
"Of the bond. Alphas are born, not made. He thinks I stole something that should've been his." He glanced at her. "Why? You interested in my family drama?"
"Just trying to figure out who wants me dead."
He stopped, turning to face her. The moonlight caught his profile, sharp and angular, and for a second, she saw the wolf in him—the predatory tilt of his head, the intensity in his eyes.
"No one's going to hurt you," he said, and for once, she believed him.
A low growl rumbled through the trees.
Alexander tensed. "Get behind me."
Ava didn't argue. She ducked behind him, heart hammering, as three figures stepped into the clearing.
Not wolves. Men. But there was something off about them—their eyes glowed yellow in the dark, nails elongated into claws, faces twisted with a feral hunger.
"Rogues," Alexander snarled. "Turned without a pack. No control."
The tallest one lunged, claws slashing at Alexander's throat. He dodged, grabbing the rogue's arm and twisting it until there was a sickening crack. The rogue howled, collapsing to the ground.
The other two attacked at once. Alexander fought like a storm—fists flying, teeth bared, moving so fast he was a blur of dark hair and muscle. But they kept coming, relentless, their growls echoing through the woods.
Ava fumbled for her pepper spray, but her hands were shaking too hard. One of the rogues broke free from Alexander, turning toward her, saliva dripping from its jaws.
She stumbled back, tripping over a log, and hit the ground hard. The rogue loomed over her, claws raised.
This is it, she thought. This is how I die.
Then—something happened.
A warmth spread through her chest, starting at her heart and spreading to her fingertips, her toes, her very bones. It was like sunlight breaking through clouds, bright and hot and alive.
"Stop," she said, her voice steady, stronger than she felt.
The rogue froze. Its claws lowered, its growl fading into a whimper. It stared at her, yellow eyes wide, as if confused.
Alexander took advantage of the distraction, slamming into the rogue and knocking it unconscious. He turned to the last one, but it was already backing away, tail between its legs, before bolting into the trees.
Silence fell.
Alexander stared at her, chest heaving, eyes wide. "What… what did you do?"
Ava sat up, rubbing her chest. The warmth was fading, leaving a faint tingle. "I don't know. I just… told it to stop."
He dropped to his knees in front of her, grabbing her shoulders. "That's not possible. Rogues don't stop. They don't listen to anyone."
"I didn't do anything special." But even as she said it, she thought of Eleanor's locket, of the blood binding them, of Lorenzo's words—your blood calms us.
Alexander's thumb brushed her cheek, his touch urgent. "Your eyes. They're glowing. Just like—"
"Like what?"
He shook his head, jaw tight. "Nothing. C'mon. We need to go before more show up."
He helped her stand, but his gaze kept drifting to her face, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
Ava picked up her flashlight, noticing a silver chain lying on the ground where the rogue had stood. She bent to pick it up, her fingers brushing something sticky—blood. Not human blood, she realized, as the metallic scent hit her nose. Wolf blood.
The chain had a pendant: a small, twisted cross, etched with a symbol she recognized from her research—the mark of the Blackwood pack.
"Alexander," she said, holding it out. "This was on one of them."
His face darkened. "That's not possible. Our pack doesn't use rogues. We put them down."
"Then why is one wearing your symbol?"
He took the pendant, turning it over in his hand. "Because someone's framing us. Someone who wants the council to think we're losing control."
"Lorenzo," Ava said.
"Maybe. Or someone else." He pocketed the pendant. "We need to get this to the council. Prove it's a setup."
"Wait—you said the council would kill me. Now you want to march me in front of them?"
"I'll protect you." He met her eyes, voice fierce. "I swear it."
Ava thought of the rogue, frozen under her gaze. Of the warmth in her chest. Of Eleanor's words, the blood binds us.
"Okay," she said.
They started walking back, but this time, Alexander stayed close, his arm brushing hers every few steps.
"Earlier," she said, "you were going to say my eyes glowed like who?"
He hesitated. "Like Eleanor. In the stories. They say on the full moon, her eyes would glow silver. That's how she controlled the pack."
Ava's breath hitched. "Controlled them? Or protected them?"
"Same thing, sometimes." He smiled faintly. "You're a lot like her, you know. Stubborn. Too curious for your own good."
"Is that a compliment?"
"Depends on who you ask."
They reached her car ten minutes later. Alexander opened the door for her, but before she could get in, he pulled her close, his hand cupping the back of her neck.
"Thank you," he said, his voice rough. "For not running."
Ava's pulse raced. "Don't get used to it."
He laughed, a low, rich sound that sent shivers down her spine. Then he kissed her, soft this time, gentle, like he was afraid to break her.
Ava closed her eyes, letting herself sink into it—into the taste of him, the feel of his hands, the way her blood sang in her veins when he touched her.
When he pulled away, his forehead pressed to hers, he whispered, "Full moon's in three days. We'll need to be ready."
"Ready for what?"
"For whatever's coming. And for you." He brushed his thumb over her lower lip. "For what you're becoming."
Ava got in the car, but she didn't drive away right away. She watched Alexander walk into the woods, his figure blending into the darkness, and thought of Eleanor, of Thomas, of all the secrets buried in their blood.
Whatever was coming, she wasn't afraid.
She was ready.
And deep down, she knew Alexander was too.
Together, they might just stand a chance.