Fenrir
The forest had grown smaller over the years.
Not in truth—the trees still stood taller than any wall, the rivers still cut their sharp lines through the land. But to me, nothing about it felt endless anymore. I had seen too much, fought too hard, to believe in the boundless freedom I once felt here.
Still, when my feet carried me to the meadow, I let myself pretend.
The grass whispered beneath my boots, just as it had when I was a boy chasing laughter. The wind carried the same wildflower scent, and for a heartbeat, I could almost hear her voice.
Catch me if you can!
My jaw tightened. That was years ago. We weren't children anymore.
The pack wouldn't forgive me for coming here—not now, not when I was nearly a man in their eyes. But I came anyway, as I always did. Because I wasn't the kind of wolf who could turn his back on promises, no matter how many teeth the years had buried in me.
And tonight, the meadow wasn't empty.
I heard her before I saw her. A soft intake of breath, the shift of grass beneath a light step. My heart stuttered, wild and reckless, the way it only ever did for her.
"Isolde."
Her name left my mouth like it had been waiting on my tongue for years.
She stood near the riverbank, the last light of sunset spilling across her hair. Older now, taller, but I would've known her anywhere. The meadow might've forgotten me, the world might've closed its jaws, but she hadn't changed.
Her eyes found mine, wide at first, then softening into something that made my chest ache.
"You came back," she whispered.
I wanted to say I always would. But the words caught in my throat, because they weren't the only truth anymore. She wasn't the only one I'd promised.
For a moment, neither of us moved. The world seemed to hold its breath, the rustle of the meadow fading into silence. She was just standing there, and yet it felt like every bone in my body was straining toward her.
I forced myself to stay still. Wolves weren't supposed to hesitate, but with her, I always did.
"You've grown," I said finally, my voice rougher than I meant.
She laughed softly, a sound that went straight to my chest. "So have you." Her gaze swept over me, lingering in a way that made heat climb the back of my neck. "You're… taller. Broader."
I smirked, trying to mask the sudden rush of nerves. "That's what happens when you feed a wolf."
Her smile faltered for a second, as if the reminder of what I was tugged at something inside her. Then she shook her head and closed the distance between us, and all I could think was gods, she's close.
"I wasn't sure you'd come," she admitted.
I swallowed hard. "I wasn't sure you'd still want me to."
The meadow was the same, but we weren't children anymore. We weren't three small fools daring the world to catch us. We were nearly adults now, carrying the weight of clans, packs, and laws that would sooner see us enemies than friends.
And yet, standing there, all I saw was the girl who had once pressed her dirt-streaked hand against mine and made me promise forever.
"I never stopped," she whispered.
My chest tightened, and before I knew it, I had reached for her hand. Her fingers slid into mine like they had never let go, like the years in between hadn't mattered.
The bond I'd buried roared back to life, wild and untamed. In that moment, nothing else mattered—not the pack, not the law, not the danger. Just her. Just us.
And the fire in my blood told me I'd burn the whole world down before I let anyone take her away again.
Her fingers were warm in mine, softer than I remembered. I didn't realize how tightly I was holding on until her breath caught and she gave me a look that was half-smile, half-warning.
I should've let go. I didn't.
"Fenrir…" she began, her voice low, hesitant. Whatever words came next—I'll never know.
Because the air shifted.
I felt it before I heard it—the unnatural stillness, the faint drop in temperature, the way the shadows of the trees seemed to stretch too far into the meadow. My instincts snarled to life, bristling beneath my skin.
"Let her go."
The voice was quiet, almost soft. But every syllable carried weight, enough to still the blood in my veins.
I turned, and there he was. Alaric stepped from the treeline like he'd been carved from the darkness itself. Taller now, sharper, his presence pressed down on the meadow the way storm clouds smother the sky. His black coat moved with the breeze, but his eyes—gods, those eyes—fixed on me like a blade poised to strike.
Isolde's hand trembled in mine, and I knew she felt it too.
"You're late," I said, forcing a smirk to cover the growl rising in my throat. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten our little tradition."
Alaric's gaze flicked down to our joined hands, then back up to mine. The corner of his mouth curved—not into a smile, but something colder. "Looks like I wasn't the only one who remembered."
For a heartbeat, it was just the three of us again. The meadow, the promise, the secret that should've stayed buried in childhood. But this wasn't childhood anymore.
And from the look in Alaric's eyes, I knew the world wouldn't let us pretend much longer.
The meadow had always felt too small for the three of us. Tonight, it felt like a cage.
Alaric took a step forward, every line of him taut with control. His eyes weren't on me anymore—they were on Isolde. Searching her face, her posture, her hand still clutched in mine.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, voice low, meant for her more than for me.
She lifted her chin. "Neither should you."
For a flicker of a moment, I wanted to laugh. Same Isolde—fearless even with a vampire's gaze locked on her. But Alaric wasn't a boy anymore. He didn't flinch, didn't soften. Instead, his eyes narrowed, and when he spoke again, it was like a knife pressed against both of us.
"They'll kill you if they find out. Both of you."
The words should've cut, but rage burned through me instead. "Then let them try."
Alaric's gaze slid back to me, cold and unyielding. "Always so reckless. You think promises from childhood make you invincible? They don't. They make you weak."
I felt Isolde tense beside me, caught between us. Her hand slipped from mine, and the loss of it hit harder than I expected.
She stepped forward, placing herself between us, her voice trembling but steady enough to carry. "Stop it. Please. We came here for each other, not to fight."
For a heartbeat, silence hung heavy. Just her standing between wolf and vampire, trying to hold us together with nothing but hope.
And then Alaric turned, his coat snapping in the wind as he started back toward the trees.
"This will end badly," he said without looking back. "For all of us."
His words lingered long after he was gone, heavier than any threat. Because the worst part was—I couldn't tell if he was warning us… or promising it.