Far beyond the usual routine, time slipped by while Sage stayed near Rhett's tents. Not long after arrival, each sunrise brought quiet steps through dust and voices low at dusk.
Firelight flickered through the night, then came again the next, while she lay atop thick bear hides. Jerky, tough as old leather, filled her mouth those two long days, washed down with cold sips from a stony creek. Each breath seemed slower, each movement heavier, as if her bones were learning how to hold her once more.
Now the wolfsbane's job showed clear. Out it flowed, slow as seawater dragging off sand, uncovering places worn thin beneath the burn lines. Worst at the wrists. Silver traces stayed fixed there - two ridged rings of pale skin circling tight, like unwanted gifts pressed upon her long ago.
For years after that, sleeves always covered her arms. Her skin stayed hidden beneath fabric, every day the same.
Failing didn't stop Crimson Howl from trying. Perhaps she'd carry those scars like honors instead. Or maybe just leave them be.
Still unsure, she held back from choosing.
It struck her how odd Rhett seemed. That thought settled deep. Not loud, just clear - he didn't fit. Something off in the way he moved, spoke. The quiet certainty grew: yes, strange was the word.
A wolf living solo in the wildest part of the land - that's odd. Not because it feels threatening. Nothing eerie about it either. Simply off, like something doesn't fit. Alone out there, where chaos rules, yet calm somehow. Out of place without trying to be.
Out here, things had their spots. Neatness showed in how he kept camp - everything lined up just so, nothing left to chance. Wood for burning sat cut and counted, row after straight row. Traps appeared where animals would pass; three of them she spotted, each one built like it knew what it was doing. Medicine gear surprised her - fuller than kits carried by pros who hike in supplies.
This wasn't some wild outlaw running loose.
A wolf raised under rules once followed strict order every day. Exiled now still moves like ranks matter more than freedom.
Still, he always managed to be thoughtful - in a way that sometimes felt irritating.
Outside the lean-to was where he chose to sleep, so she'd have the covered spot. Food appeared near her, placed within reach even if she stayed seated.
His touch during bandage checks stayed precise, each motion done with quiet attention - twice daily, no more, never drifting beyond what needed doing.
Her skin stayed untouched except where the medicine needed it.
Each moment he came near, Sage's wolf erupted into chaos. When his presence neared, a wild frenzy took hold beneath her skin. The instant proximity sharpened, instincts roared without warning. Nearness triggered something raw, uncontrollable each instance. Every approach lit a fire deep in her bones. As distance closed, restraint vanished like smoke.
That Tuesday began like any other. By midmorning, everything shifted without warning.
Fingers fumbling near the bandages, Sage paused mid-wrap, heat from the flames licking at her knuckles just as something shifted inside her chest.
A shift, sudden. Inside her ribcage. Under the breath, past bone, where air meets instinct. Not flesh, not ghost - something in between. There, curled tight, rested the shape of the animal.
Not a flicker.
Not a twitch.
As if a shape long held close, drawn inward by instinct, began to stretch open - slow, deliberate, testing the air.
Sage froze.
Hmm, she wondered. Could it be you -
The wolf surged.
A sudden rush overwhelmed Sage, toppling her backward from the wooden seat. The world split into pieces. Greens deepened, grays turned jagged, while flames throbbed so vividly they seemed edible.
A sharpness jabbed at her nose. Smoke from the fire split apart - pine stickiness, ash, damp air, stone dust, leftover grease from yesterday's meal on the coals. Past the clearing, the woods breathed out - one breath thick with deer path far off to the right, another hinting at fox home low down past the ridge, then wet earth, old leaves, green things pushing up through rot.
Far below, cutting through every thought - Rhett again. Always Rhett.
That smell stopped her cold. Not pine alone, but mixed with old fireplaces and damp soil under snow-covered trees last week. A thread ran through it all - one she remembered from day one, hidden below the rest. Thicker today. Fuller somehow. You could almost see its layers, feel them on your skin. Like -Home.
The voice inside her spoke it plainly. Not some vague feeling floating by. A real word. Clear.
Warmth fills the air when he walks in. His scent carries something familiar, like old blankets and quiet evenings.
"No," Sage whispered. "No, no, no."
Up she jumped, wincing as pain shot through her sides. Despite the ache, she pushed forward. Onward she went, refusing to listen.
Now her wolf stirred completely - awareness sharp, alive beneath Sage's surface, pushing where silence had stretched too long. Relief poured through first, then warmth, followed by a raw pull toward what smelled like belonging. Hunger rode alongside it, urgent as breath. This presence filled hollows left wide open since the third day gone.
"Stop it," Sage told her wolf. "We don't know him. We don't know anything about him."
Still thinking about it? Here - just stay put. Everything sorted now. That one word says enough. You're good.
A sharp noise cracked inside Sage's head.
She staggered.
No.
No, no, no - wait, stop right there. Not again. Hold on. Nope.
That pull wasn't new. Years among the Crimson Howl meant she'd seen bonds form - felt echoes of them even if never her own. Wolves spoke of it often, their voices low, certain. A knowing deep in the bones. Not just chemistry but something older tugging at instinct. Smell alone could shift everything, narrow the world to a single truth: here, now, always.
Fate hadn't come knocking at her door. Slowly, she began believing it never might. Not every wolf met their match under the moon. Rare? Yes. Impossible? No - Sage had stopped waiting long before this thought crossed her mind.
This felt different. Not calm - just wrong.
This was a hurricane.
Head throbbing, Sage pushed her hands hard into her skull. Breathing came slow, uneven. Inside her, the wolf wouldn't stay still - moving restless, tugging her thoughts eastward. That way smelled like Rhett. The trees swallowed his trace whole.
Out came the rifle again. Just like most dawns before it. The trail would hold his footprints until late afternoon, possibly longer.
One moment stretched while Sage tried to make sense of the pain inside her ribs.
She refused to pair with someone after only knowing him for three days. Not when he came from the Deadlands, living by himself, without a pack, no clear background. Every time she brought up his past, he turned away. That silence mattered.
Fleeing became her rhythm. Hunted, yes - but sharp in the shadows. Silver lines marked her skin where chains once bit. A verdict waited, cold and official. Truths needed air, though, truths about rot inside the system. He chased her, that old leader, willing to torch every tree just to watch her run.
Finding moments for a mate bond simply slipped through her fingers. Each day filled before she could reach for such ties.
Her wolf disagreed.
Hold up. Head his way. Right now.
Sage told them to stop talking.
Down by the flames she settled, hugging her legs tight - patience settling in behind her eyes. The crackle filled the space where words might have been, warmth climbing over skin like slow thoughts. Night pressed close outside, but here, within the ring of light, time softened its edges.
Frost clung to his canvas jacket, two rabbits slung across a shoulder, when Rhett came back after forty minutes. Ready stood Sage.
Thirty-nine minutes passed while she stacked silence deep within. Not rushed. Each breath a barrier. Her wolf paced behind glass made of old storms, muffled now, its noise pressed flat by discipline shaped over years. Stillness held.
Freed from the pull of raw impulse, she stood apart. Not a creature driven by nature's strings.
She was a warrior.
Rhett moved into the open space, then paused. Suddenly he stood still.
His nostrils flared.
A shift came across his gaze - those calm, deep, unyielding eyes. Pupils widened without warning. For the briefest instant, the brown rings around them flashed something like amber.
A sharp note hit his nose. Not quite sweat, not earth - something deeper shifted under her skin the moment that word ripped through her throat. The air held it now, faint but undeniable.
Across the fire, their gazes met. A stillness settled between them, unasked but clear.
Heavy quiet filled the space. Stillness pressed against the ears.
Down went the rabbits, placed by Rhett with quiet caution. Not rushed, not loose, but held back - like someone holding their breath while everything inside pushed to run. Each motion measured, though tension pulled beneath his skin. A body ready to leap obeyed only through force. Stillness won, even when instinct shouted otherwise.
"Your wolf's back," he said.
"Yeah."
"Good. That's good."
"Yeah."
A quiet moment passed. Between them, the fire snapped and popped.
"We should talk about it," Rhett said.
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Sage."
"I said there's nothing to talk about."
A pause stretched between them, heavy. Rhett studied her face, slow and quiet. Tension showed along his jawline, tight as wire. The muscles in his neck stood out, rigid, pulled too far. His hands hung beside him, clenched so hard the knuckles blanched. Something wild rode just beneath his skin - she sensed it there, thick in the air, like heat before lightning splits the sky. Yet he held back.
One nod was all it took. Across the fire he went, lowering onto the ground. The rabbits came next, fur and flesh parting under steady hands.
A stretch of ten feet lay in between. The gap held steady, neither shrinking nor growing.
Each moment stretched longer than it should have.
Her wolf urged her forward. Move toward him.
A silence came from Sage. Her eyes stayed on the flames while she tightened what held her together.
Down in the ravine she lay, after falling thirty feet, untouched by the death decree, though silver chains had held her tight before.
She could survive a mate bond.
She hoped.