❤️ Julian's Pov ❤️
The cabin was situated at the very edge of the Iron Ridge camp, tucked against a sheer rock face that bled cold air into the surrounding clearing. It was small, sturdy, and smelled overwhelmingly of Kaelen smoke, pine needles, and the heavy, intoxicating musk of a dominant wolf.
Kaelen didn't wait for me. He stepped inside, his massive frame nearly filling the doorway, and moved to a small wood-burning stove in the corner. He moved with a heavy, deliberate grace, every muscle in his back rippling beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. I stood in the threshold, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"Close the door," he grunted, not looking back. "The mountain air is unforgiving at night."
I did as he asked, the click of the latch sounding like a gavel in the silence. The interior was sparse: a heavy wooden table, two chairs, a small kitchenette, and in the corner, a single, wide bed covered in thick furs. My throat went dry. One bed. Of course. In a political bonding, there was no room for separate quarters. To the rest of the pack, we were mates. To the world, I was his.
"Sit," he commanded, gesturing toward the table.
I took a seat, trying to keep my posture relaxed, even as my wolf pace-countered in the back of my mind. "You don't say much, do you?" I asked, my voice bolder than I felt.
Kaelen paused, a heavy iron kettle in his hand. He turned slowly, his storm-gray eyes narrowing as they raked over me. Up close, the scar on his face looked even more jagged, a testament to a violence I couldn't yet imagine. "I find that words are usually a waste of breath. They don't change the cold, and they don't stop the hunger."
"And what about treaties?" I countered, leaning forward slightly. "Do words change those? Or am I just another mouth to feed in your 'hungry' pack?"
Kaelen set the kettle down with a dull thud. He walked toward the table, and for a moment, I thought I'd pushed too far. He leaned over, placing his palms flat on the wood, trapping me between his arms. The heat radiating from him was incredible an Alpha's heat, designed to subdue and command.
"You are a Thorne," he rumbled, his voice vibrating through the table and into my bones. "You are the price your father paid to keep his lands. To me, you are a responsibility I didn't ask for. To my brother, you are a trophy. If you're smart, you'll play the part of the quiet, obedient Omega they think you are."
I felt the spark of my own Alpha blood flare in response to his proximity. It was a dangerous game. If I let my scent shift, if I let him smell the steel beneath the silk, the treaty would be void, and war would break out before dawn. I forced myself to lower my gaze, looking at his scarred knuckles instead of his piercing eyes.
"I can be quiet," I whispered, the lie tasting like copper. "But I am never obedient."
A low sound, almost like a huff of amusement, escaped him. He straightened up, the crushing weight of his presence lifting just enough for me to breathe. "We'll see. The Iron Ridge breaks things that won't bend, Julian."
He spent the next hour moving around the cabin in a silent routine. He prepared a simple meal of dried meat and heavy bread, sliding a plate toward me without a word. We ate in a silence so thick it felt physical. I watched him from under my lashes. He wasn't the mindless brute the rumors suggested. There was a weariness in the way he slumped his shoulders when he thought I wasn't looking a bone-deep exhaustion that went beyond physical labor.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the cabin dimmed, the only light coming from the orange glow of the stove. The "Moonlight Bond" began to pull at me then. It started as a dull ache in my lower back, a restless heat that made my skin feel too tight. My wolf wanted to reach out, to scent the marking point on his neck, to claim the protection he was supposed to offer.
Kaelen felt it too. I saw his jaw clench, his fingers gripping the edge of the table until the wood groaned.
"The moon is rising," he said, his voice strained. "The first night of the bonding is always... difficult."
"I know the lore," I said, standing up. My legs felt shaky. "Our blood is supposed to recognize each other. It's supposed to be an 'instinctual harmony'."
Kaelen stood, towering over me. He looked at the bed, then back at me. "There is no harmony in a forced bond, boy. There is only endurance."
He walked to the bed and sat on the edge, beginning to unlace his heavy boots. "Take the left side. Don't cross the middle. If you have nightmares, keep them to yourself."
I moved to the other side of the bed, my heart racing. I stripped down to my tunics, feeling exposed and vulnerable in the dim light. When I slid under the furs, the scent of him was everywhere. It was like being submerged in a warm, dark river.
Kaelen lay down beside me, staring at the ceiling. He was a wall of muscle, a literal mountain of a man, and he was so close I could feel the rhythm of his heart. The bond pulsed between us a golden, invisible thread that thrummed with every breath. It wanted us to touch. It demanded it.
I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the urge to roll over and bury my face in his chest. I had to remember who I was. I was an Alpha in hiding. I was a spy for my own survival.
"Kaelen?" I whispered into the dark.
"What?"
"Why do they call you the Shadow Wolf?"
There was a long silence, long enough that I thought he wouldn't answer.
"Because shadows are where the monsters hide," he finally said, his voice barely a whisper. "And I have been a monster for a very long time."
As sleep finally began to pull at me, I felt a hand heavy and warm brush against my hair for a fraction of a second before being pulled away. It was a ghost of a touch, but in that moment, the bond flared with a sudden, blinding hope.
I wasn't just in the lion's den. I was sharing a bed with the lion. And for the first time in my life, I wasn't sure if I wanted to escape.