Lena stared into eyes that felt familiar — like a memory she'd never lived, or a dream that refused to fade.
Amber. Wild. Watchful.
Not quite human.
"Are you alright?" the man asked, voice low and rough, like gravel softened by years of restraint.
She tried to speak, but the words lodged in her throat. His hand was still on her arm — steady, gentle but firm, like he knew how easily she could fall.
She swallowed. "Yes. I... I think so."
He released her slowly. Too slowly. As if his body didn't want to let go.
"You shouldn't be in these woods alone," he said. "It's easy to get lost."
Lena's eyes narrowed. "Do you live around here?"
"In a way," he said.
The stranger was tall — broad-shouldered but quiet in his stance. Like the forest moved for him. Not out of fear, but respect. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and there was something unusual in the way he watched her — like he was both searching for her and guarding himself from what he might find.
"Lena?"
She blinked.
Ethan's voice.
She turned, spotting him on the forest path a few meters away. His tie was loose, shirt untucked — work-call frustration written across his face. When he reached her side, his gaze darted to the stranger. He stood straighter.
"Everything okay here?" Ethan asked.
Lena nodded slowly, though her heart hadn't quite caught up. "Yeah. I tripped. He helped."
"Thanks," Ethan said, clipped.
The stranger nodded once, but didn't look away from Lena. "Be careful," he told her softly. "The forest remembers."
Lena shivered.
And with that, he turned and disappeared into the trees — as soundless as wind.
Ethan exhaled. "Jesus. People out here don't understand personal space."
Lena didn't answer. Her pulse was still rattling. Her wrist still warm. Her thoughts still echoing—the forest remembers.
She didn't ask why that felt true.
She already knew.
Killian was halfway through his run when he felt it.
Not physically. Not in scent or sight.
But in the bond.
He gritted his teeth and pushed harder, feet pounding over soil and roots and stone. His wolf snarled beneath his skin—restless and awake in a way it hadn't been in years.
Marcus had been right.
She was a warning.
And a promise.
And a wound that refused to close.
He reached the ridge, sweat slicking his back, breath sharp. The view below stretched across the valley — shadows, mountains, quiet rooftops. All still trapped in the illusion of peace.
But he could feel it fracturing.
Because she was here.
Because he could no longer ignore the bond.
There, on the edge of the trees, his wolf demanded answers. Demanded to run to her. To claim. To tear apart anything that stood in the way.
Killian forced himself still, fists clenching until blood broke the surface of his palms.
He wasn't a monster.
He wouldn't break again.
He closed his eyes — and the past flared like open flame.
Flashback
Snow fell in quiet sheets that night. The world outside the pack house was white, pure, untouched — a cruel contrast.
Killian had been on the floor, cradling her.
Alina's hair was wet with melted flakes, her lips pale.
"Killian…" Her voice was barely a trembling breath.
"Don't speak," he had begged. "Help is coming."
But she had shaken her head.
"No, you came. That's what matters."
She had smiled, and it was the softest kind of ruin. Her hand brushed his cheek, and his wolf howled inside him, wild and powerless.
"They'll look to you," she whispered. "Lead them. Don't… forget who you are."
He wanted to argue. Wanted to shake her, demand she stay.
But he could only hold her, feeling her life slip through his fingers like sand.
Her last words echoed even now:
"The moon still needs you, Killian."
Everything after that was a blur — the wails of his pack, the shattering of his heart, the silence that swallowed him.
The memory ended with a gasp.
Killian opened his eyes.
The wind carried a new scent.
Not Alina's.
Lena's.
His chest tightened, and the wolf surged forward—demanding, aching.
He turned away from the ridge, forcing his feet to move. He had to go back. Had to warn the pack.
Had to protect what was left of his sanity.
He was halfway down the slope when he stopped.
Marcus stood by the edge of the trees, arms folded.
"You felt it?" Marcus asked.
Killian nodded once. "She's… awake."
Marcus's eyes darkened. "And you're losing control."
"I'm not," Killian snapped.
"You are. You just can't see it anymore. Look at you, Killian. You're running like prey. Five years ago you would've torn down the world for answers."
Killian stepped in close, voice cold. "Five years ago, I wasn't already dead."
Marcus stared at him, no pity in his gaze. "Then why's your heart beating like it wants to live again?"
Silence.
Thick enough to drown in.
Marcus spoke again, softer. "What do you want me to do?"
Killian didn't answer for a long time.
Then: "Keep your distance from her. But keep your eyes open. If she's danger, we deal with it. If she's… something else, we'll decide then."
Marcus nodded. "And Ethan?"
Killian looked down the hill — past the fog, past the trees, toward the human who had no idea what kind of storm was circling his soon-to-be bride.
Killian's voice was low. Resolve and regret in every word.
"He stays out of it. If he steps in…" the wolf broke through, his voice edged like a growl, "I won't be able to protect him."
Killian ran a hand through his hair, chest rising and falling like he'd just been through war.
Maybe he had.
Maybe he always would.
He turned back toward the ridge.
The bond pulsed beneath his skin, pulsing in rhythm with hers.
And he whispered into the dying wind:
"This isn't a return."
"It's a reckoning."
Killian stared at the desk, jaw clenched. Marcus watched him with a weariness that came from seeing a man break more than once.
"You never healed," Marcus said quietly. "You buried it. That's not the same."
Killian's eyes flicked up, glowing faintly.
"And now Lena…" Marcus continued, "is pulling it all up again."
Killian paced. "She didn't mean to."
"No. But your wolf doesn't care about intent."
Killian's knuckles tightened around the chair he'd abandoned earlier.
"I won't hurt her. I won't even go near her again."
Marcus scoffed. "Lies you tell me… or lies you tell yourself?"
He didn't answer.
Because the truth stretched out between them in silence:
He couldn't stay away.
Later that night, Killian found himself outside her door.
He shouldn't be there. Every step down that hall defied his logic, his duty, everything he swore in Alina's memory.
But his wolf disregarded all of it. Instinct, desire — whatever it was — drew him.
He could hear her inside. Soft breathing. Asleep, unaware of the storm coiling outside her room.
He leaned his forehead against the frame, breathing her in. Human. Warm. Too familiar.
His fingers curled with restraint.
Leave.
He forced himself back — step by brutal step — until he turned the corner and vanished into the dark.
But he knew then:
This wasn't going away.
And next time… he might not stop at the door.