Holt’s eyes traced the ridge ahead, amber orbs sharp as flint. The deer moved with careless grace, unaware of the predator crouched in the shadow of the trees, muscles coiled like steel springs. He felt the familiar hum of boredom pulse through him; the hunt had lost its edge today. Every snap of a twig, every whisper of wind against the leaves, should have kept his attention, but it did not.

Then movement, smaller, uneven. A stumble. A flinch. He froze, nostrils flaring. Not the deer. Something else. Something fragile. And yet, it drew his gaze as nothing had in years. The creature limped, one foot dragging slightly, and cried out — a sound that made his chest tighten, a raw, aching need crawling through him. The deer ceased to matter. He abandoned the stalk.

Holt followed silently, weaving through underbrush, letting instinct guide him. The broken cries continued, each one a siren, each one twisting something inside him that he didn’t fully understand. He had known fear, hunger, rage—but never this. Never a pull like this. Every careful step he had spent years perfecting in the forest now bent toward one purpose: to see her closer.

She fell once, hands scraping against rock and dirt. He watched from the shadows, eyes dark, breathing even, calculating. She was pale, trembling, streaked with blood and dirt. Her hair caught the last light of the afternoon, soft and untamed. Holt felt his jaw tighten. The forest, the mountains, the hunt—all faded. She was everything.

Without thinking, he lunged from the cover, hand clamping over the figure’s mouth as they screamed. One hard slap to the back of the head, and the world went dark for them. Holt dragged the limp body through the underbrush, moving with practiced efficiency, the cold weight thrilling him. Holt’s heart thudded in a rhythm far wilder than the forest.

From the ridge above, a sharp whistle called his name. Rake. Always looking for trouble, always searching. Holt snarled low in his chest, disappearing into the shadowed underbrush, silent as a shadow at midnight. He could deal with his brother later. Not now. Not when she was here, bleeding and beautiful.

He bound her arms, gagged her trembling mouth with a strip of hide, eyes flicking around the clearing to ensure no other eyes watched. Then he carried her, careful despite the weight, into the shadowed hollows where the pack never ventured. The daylight dwindled behind him, painting the mountains with fire and shadow.

Nightfall came, swallowing the forest whole. Holt returned to her, moving like a shadow in the pale moonlight. He knelt, brushing a lock of dirt-streaked hair from her face, amber eyes catching the dim glow. The world was silent except for the distant call of a wolf.

He leaned closer, voice low and guttural, rumbling through the quiet. “You... belong here now. Mine. Don’t try... don’t scream. I watch... I wait. You stay with me.”