The forest smelled of iron and wet pine.
Elowen's bare feet slapped against roots and mud, each step sending fresh pain spiking up her calves. Blood trickled from the soles, mixing with dirt into dark smears she no longer had time to care about. Behind her, the hunters' torches bobbed like angry fireflies—closer now, their shouts sharpening into words she wished she couldn't understand.
"Witch!"
"Silver her before she curses us!"
She didn't look back. Looking back was how people died.
Her lungs screamed. Twenty-three years of being the coven's disappointing late-bloomer had taught her exactly one useful thing: how to run when magic refused to answer. Tonight the magic had finally answered—too late, too violently—and now the whole damn world wanted her head on a pike.
A low branch caught her cheek, splitting skin. She hissed but kept moving.
Then the trees ended.
She burst into a moonlit clearing and collided with something that felt like warm stone wrapped in leather and rage.
The impact knocked the air from her lungs. She stumbled backward, arms windmilling—only for a massive hand to clamp around her upper arm and yank her upright like she weighed nothing.
Golden eyes stared down at her.
Not human. Not even close.
Alpha Kael Draven.
Even someone who'd spent her life hiding in a backwater coven knew that name. The Black Fang of the Shadowfang pack. The wolf who painted borders red and never left survivors. Six-foot-five of scarred muscle and cold fury, black hair falling into eyes that glowed like molten coins under the moon. His scent hit her next—pine, smoke, blood, and something darker, something that made her stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
He looked at her like she was roadkill that had just twitched.
"Witch," he snarled. The word dripped venom.
Elowen's mouth went dry. She tried to wrench free. His grip only tightened—enough to bruise, not enough to break bone. Yet.
"Let go," she spat, voice shaking more than she wanted.
He tilted his head. Studied her the way a wolf studies something it's deciding whether to eat or disembowel.
"You reek of magic," he said slowly. "Fresh. Unstable. You just woke it, didn't you?"
She didn't answer. Couldn't. Her pulse thundered so loud she barely heard the hunters crashing through the underbrush behind her.
Kael's nostrils flared. His gaze flicked past her shoulder—toward the torches—and something lethal slid across his face.
"Humans," he muttered, disgust curling his lip. "Always hunting what they fear."
He released her arm so abruptly she staggered. Before she could bolt, his other hand shot out and closed around her throat—not choking, just holding. Possessive. Final.
"You don't get to run from this," he said.
Panic and power collided inside her chest again. That same wild, starving thing from earlier surged up her spine. Silver light flared at her fingertips—uncontrolled, razor-sharp threads that lashed out on instinct.
They struck his chest like whips made of moonlight.
Kael grunted. His grip spasmed. The threads didn't cut flesh—they sank. Deep. Coiling around ribs, around heart, around something she couldn't name. A glowing silver chain snapped taut between them, invisible to everyone but her.
Pain ripped through him. She felt it—secondhand, searing, like her own nerves had been set on fire. He released her throat and staggered back one step.
Then another.
The threads snapped tight.
He roared—a sound that shook leaves from the trees—and lurched forward again, clutching his sternum. Veins stood out along his forearms, neck corded.
"What the fuck—" His voice cracked into a growl.
Elowen stared at the glowing tether only she could see. Her mouth moved before her brain caught up.
"Oh… shit."
The hunters exploded into the clearing. Five of them—silver blades gleaming, crossbows raised. Their leader, a scarred man with a braided beard, pointed at her.
"There! Kill the witch before she—"
Kael moved.
One second he was doubled over. The next he was a blur of black leather and fury.
He tore through the first hunter like paper. Claws—long, black, impossible—slashed across the man's chest. Blood sprayed in an arc. The second hunter fired a bolt; it buried itself in Kael's shoulder. He didn't even flinch. He ripped the crossbow from the man's hands and used it to cave in his skull.
The remaining three screamed and scattered.
Kael didn't chase.
He turned back to her. Blood dripped from his claws. The bolt still jutted from his shoulder. His eyes hadn't dimmed—they burned brighter.
Elowen took one step backward.
Pain lanced through her own chest—sharp, mirroring his earlier agony. She gasped, hand flying to her sternum.
Kael's lips peeled back from teeth that were too long.
"You feel it too," he said. Not a question.
She shook her head. Lies tasted like ash.
He stalked forward. Slow. Deliberate. Every step radiated the promise of violence barely leashed.
When he reached her he towered so close she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. Blood streaked his jaw. His scent overwhelmed her—rage and pine and that dark, addictive undertone that made her thighs clench against her will.
"You sealed me," he said, voice low and lethal. "A fucking witch sealed an Alpha. Do you have any idea what you just did?"
"I didn't mean—"
"Shut up."
He grabbed her wrist. Not gently. His thumb pressed over her racing pulse.
"You don't leave my sight. You don't run. You don't breathe without my permission until I figure out how to rip this thing out of my chest without killing us both."
Elowen swallowed. "And if I say no?"
His smile was all teeth. No warmth. Just predator.
"Then I drag you anyway. And every step you fight me, I make sure you feel exactly how much I hate witches."
He leaned in until his mouth hovered near her ear. Breath hot against her skin.
"And trust me, little witch… I know creative ways to make you regret waking up that power tonight."
Before she could snap back, he bent, hooked an arm behind her knees and another around her back, and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of grain.
The world inverted. Her hair fell in her face. His shoulder dug into her stomach with every stride.
"Put me down!" she yelled, pounding useless fists against his back.
He didn't answer.
He just started walking—toward the deep heart of Shadowfang territory, toward the pack that would sooner tear her apart than look at her.
The silver thread between them shimmered brighter with every step.
Binding.
Unbreakable.
And already tightening like a noose around both their necks.