I knew the moment she crossed the boundary.
The forest reacted first – air tightening, instincts snapping awake, the pack's awareness rippling through the territory like a warning pulse beneath my skin. Something foreign had stepped onto land that did not belong to it.
Human.
That should have been enough to dismiss it.
Humans wandered too close sometimes. They took wrong turns, ignored signs, strayed where they didn't belong. We redirected them. We erased traces. We kept the law intact.
This was not that.
I felt her before I saw her.
A sharp, violent pull tore through my chest, stealing my breath as my wolf surged forward, unrestrained and furious.
Mine.
The word wasn't thought. It was instinct – ancient, absolute, unforgiving.
I crushed it down with everything I had.
By the time she stepped out of the car, I already knew something was wrong. Knew I should turn away. Knew I should have sent someone else in my place.
I didn't.
She smelled like rain and warmth and something dangerously alive. Human, yes – but threaded with a note that made my blood burn. My wolf pressed hard against the inside of my skull, snarling, demanding.
Claim.
I let myself feel it for exactly one second.
Then I locked it away.
I stepped out of the lodge before she could reach the door, placing myself between her and the heart of the territory. She stopped short when she saw me.
Good.
Awareness was safer than ignorance.
Her reaction hit me harder than it should have.
Fear would have been easier. Fear, I could control.
Instead, her pulse jumped, not from panic, but something else entirely. Curiosity. Heat. A traitorous response her body hadn't been able to hide.
My jaw clenched.
This was a mistake.
Not hers.
The Council's.
Every second she stood there was a violation of the law, of order, of everything I was responsible for and no one had told me she was human.
"You're late," I said, because if I didn't speak, my wolf would.
She argued. Humans always did. Normally it would have irritated me.
Now it only made the pull worse.
She held my gaze. Lifted her chin. Challenged me without realizing how dangerous that was.
My wolf liked it.
I hated that my wolf liked it.
When her breath caught, when her scent shifted, I nearly lost control. The instinct to step closer, to crowd her space, to press her back against the door and breathe her in until nothing else existed.
I stepped back instead.
The distance felt like tearing something out of my chest.
I made her follow me inside. Put walls between her and the forest, between her and the pack. Distance was the only thing holding this together.
She watched me when she thought I wasn't paying attention.
I felt it.
Every movement of hers registered too clearly. The sound of her breathing. The warmth she carried with her. The way the bond hummed under my skin – angry, restless, undeniable.
She gave me her name.
Mara.
The sound settled somewhere deep, wrong and inevitable.
I told her the rules. Harsh. Absolute. Necessary.
She pushed back.
Of course she did.
Humans always believed rules were negotiable. That was what made them dangerous to us and to themselves.
When my control slipped, just enough for her to glimpse what lived beneath the surface, her pulse spiked again.
Not fear.
Interest.
That was when I knew I was already losing.
"This was a mistake," I muttered, because saying her name again would have been worse.
She asked what was.
I told her the truth.
"You being here."
The bond flared sharp, wounded and my wolf recoiled, confused by the rejection, furious at the denial.
Good.
Pain was safer than surrender.
She challenged me again, about the contract, about who approved it.
I didn't answer.
Because the truth would destroy her.
The Council had approved it.
Signed off knowing exactly what they were allowing.
Just not what it would cost me.
I ended the conversation before I said something I couldn't take back. Sent her away. Promised a later discussion I had no intention of enjoying.
When she left the room, the silence slammed into me.
I braced my hands against the desk and bowed my head, breathing through the fire ripping through my veins. My wolf paced, furious and relentless.
Mate.
No.
Human.
Lawbreaker.
No.
Mine.
I drove my fist into the wood.
The door opened again moments later. My beta stepped inside without knocking.
Eren was older than me, broader, his presence steady where mine was coiled and volatile. His gaze flicked to my clenched hands, then to my face.
"She's human," he said quietly.
"I know."
"The Council didn't tell you?"
I shook my head once.
Eren went still. "Then this wasn't an oversight."
No.
It was a decision.
"That can't happen," he said at last.
"I know."
"She can't stay."
My wolf snarled, sharp and furious.
"She will," I said before I could stop myself.
Eren's brow furrowed. "Kael."
"She stays where I can see her," I said. "Where I can control the situation."
"And when the pack notices?"
"They already have."
The bond was too loud. Wolves felt shifts like this instinctively. Whispers would spread. Questions would follow.
Dangerous ones.
Eren studied me for a long moment. "You're playing with fire."
"I'm containing it."
"For how long?"
I didn't answer.
Because the truth was brutal.
As long as I could keep my hands off her.
As long as I could ignore the way my wolf leaned toward her presence.
As long as the bond didn't decide for me.
That night, long after the settlement went quiet, I stood at the edge of the forest and stared toward the east housing.
I could feel her there.
Warm. Alive. Too close.
My wolf pressed forward, insistent.
Soon.
I clenched my fists and turned away.
Because if the Council had sent her here knowing what she was,
then this had never been about employment.
It was about me.
And if I crossed that line
if I went to her
There would be no law strong enough to pull me back.