Secrets in the Clearing

ELARA POV

I awaken before 6 AM, my eyes snapping open to the heavy, lingering darkness of my bedroom. The unnatural, icy chill that had paralyzed me with paranoia the night before still clings to the corners of the ceiling, but the immediate, suffocating threat of the phantom watcher has finally faded. I lie perfectly still for several long minutes, listening to the quiet, rhythmic settling of the house and the steady thrum of my own heartbeat. I stretch my sore legs beneath the thick comforter, feeling a sharp twinge of disappointment that no dreams of Navarre had found their way to me during my slumber. Given the intense, explicit fantasies I had used to finally bring myself to physical release just hours ago, I had expected my subconscious to be flooded with his image.

Probably for the best anyway.

Pushing the heavy blankets aside, I immediately feel the bite of the early morning air against my bare skin. I don’t bother changing out of the light cotton shorts and tank top I had frantically thrown on last night. Instead, I pull myself out of bed, my muscles protesting slightly, and walk straight to my small wooden desk. The glowing screen of my laptop illuminates the dark room as I sit down to work. I have three final school projects left to finish, a tedious mix of human history and advanced biology, and I am desperately hopeful to get them done this morning. After that, only finals would remain for my last three classes.

I type relentlessly, the loud, rhythmic clacking of the keyboard echoing in the silence of the room. The hours blur together in a haze of citations, historical dates, and biological charts. By the time I finally hit submit on the final portal, the sun has fully risen, casting bright, harsh shafts of morning light across my floorboards.

I close my laptop with a heavy, satisfying click. I stretch my arms high above my head, twisting my spine until it pops, and aggressively rub my tired eyes. Picking up my phone from the edge of the desk, the bright screen glares back at me. I realize I have been sitting here working for nearly six hours straight.

*‘Your school work is so painfully boring,’* Lyra whines in my head, her voice dripping with restless irritation. She paces back and forth in the confines of my mind, her large red paws kicking up phantom dirt.

*‘I know, but you know exactly how important it is for me to get this done,’* I reply, standing up from the wooden chair and stretching my legs again. I feel a deep, lingering soreness deep in my thighs and lower back from the intense physical activities at the bonfire last night, and the subsequent tension of my late-night paranoia. I shake my head violently, trying to physically dislodge the heavy, swirling thoughts from my brain.

*‘Didn’t you invite Navarre to come back over?’* Lyra asks. Instantly, she floods my mind with a rapid succession of highly explicit images. She doesn't send images of actual penetrative sex—she never has—but she aggressively projects crystal-clear visuals of exactly what she wants him to do to me. I see Navarre’s large, rough hands tightly gripping my bare hips, his mouth leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down my neck, his chest muscles pressing heavily against my breasts, and his fingers dragging roughly through my hair.

“Lyra, that is enough! No more!” I moan out loud, my hands gripping the edge of the desk as a hot flush of arousal hits my core. I know I am dangerously close to becoming completely overwhelmed by my physical needs again, and I refuse to spend another morning trapped in my own frustration. “And you are right, I did invite him to stop by. I have absolutely no idea if he actually will, but I need to get out of these pajamas.”

I quickly leave the bedroom and step into the small, brightly lit bathroom. I strip off my shorts and tank top, wash my face with cold water to forcefully kill the lingering heat in my cheeks, and get myself ready for the day. Not entirely sure what I am going to wear yet, I stand in front of the mirror and pull my long hair over my shoulder. I weave it into a tight, thick braid that cascades down my side, letting several loose strands fall naturally around my face to soften the look. It is one of my favorite, low-effort ways to style my hair. I keep my makeup incredibly simple, applying just a few heavy coats of black mascara to make my eyes pop, and a thick layer of sticky nude lip gloss.

Walking back into my bedroom, I throw open my closet doors and stare at the hangers, trying to decide what to wear. Not knowing if Navarre is even going to show up, I decide to aim for a cute but highly comfortable look. I pull a navy blue, thigh-length skirt off a hanger, enjoying how the fabric flares slightly at the bottom, and pair it with a fitted, pink V-neck t-shirt that hugs my chest. Deciding that I really do want a maximum level of comfort if we end up walking around, I bypass my nicer shoes and pull on my worn-in navy Converse to finish off the outfit.

Satisfied that I have perfectly met my own cute-but-comfortable requirements, I head downstairs. The smell of rich, savory meat and roasted vegetables hits my nose before I even reach the bottom step. My stomach growls aggressively.

“Hey Lysa! Did you actually enjoy the bonfire? I am not sure how much of it you actually saw,” I say, jabbing playfully at her as I walk into the kitchen.

Lysa is sitting at the island counter, chewing on a thick piece of bread. She looks up at me and instantly turns a bright, glowing shade of red, the color rushing all the way up to her ears. “Yeah, I had a really good time,” she stammers, looking completely flustered but smiling widely as her mind clearly replays the highly specific, physical details of what she and Alaric did last night.

She takes a quick sip of water, clearly desperate to shift the focus off her own activities. “How about you? Someone told me that you walked home with someone. Who was it?” she asks, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the granite counter.

“I had a good time,” I say, walking over to the large stainless steel refrigerator. “Jessa filled me in on a bunch of things about the pack politics. Beta Varrick told me that Alpha Kaelen had been ‘more than patient’ and I am supposed to formally meet with him tomorrow morning.” I roll my eyes and use my fingers to make aggressive air quotes around the Beta's words.

“Yeah, yeah, the Alpha, that's great, but who did you walk home with?” Lysa presses, completely ignoring my attempt to deflect. She clearly isn't going to let the gossip slide.

“Navarre,” I state flatly, turning around to look directly at her, waiting for the reaction.

Lysa’s eyes go wide, her eyebrows shooting up toward her hairline. She looks genuinely surprised. “Damn. He is hot. I remember him from when he was younger, but I really don’t know much about him now. Did, um... did anything happen?”

I let out a long, heavy sigh and shake my head. Lysa is deeply aware that I feel my emotions much more intensely than other wolves. She and I share absolutely everything, and I have always told her the gritty details about my experiences with my few past boyfriends because, even if I tried to hide it, Lysa would nag and pry it out of me eventually.

“He wanted to just hug. I wanted more, and I kissed him. I totally took him by surprise,” I say, a proud, genuine smile spreading across my face as I recount exactly what happened in the dark outside the house. I turn back to the fridge, pull out a large glass container of Amara’s leftover roast beef and potatoes, and forcefully shove it into the microwave. Amara’s cooking is far too good to not eat for a second day.

“Hmmm,” is Lysa’s only response.

“What exactly is that ‘hmm’ for?” I ask, pulling my steaming food out of the microwave. I grab a metal fork from the drawer and walk over to the island, pulling out a tall stool and sitting down right next to her.

I take a few large bites of the hot, savory beef, chewing slowly as I wait for her to explain herself.

She chuckles, a low, knowing sound. “I just thought I heard you, you know... enjoying yourself last night.” She eyes me directly as she takes another bite of her lunch.

While most normal people would probably be mortified, I am not. While I am slightly embarrassed that my voice carried through the walls, and I greatly hope that Lysa was the absolute only person in the house who heard me taking care of my physical needs, I am not ashamed of what I did. I needed the release, and I took it.

“I did, thank you,” I state in a completely matter-of-fact tone, refusing to break eye contact.

Deciding it is time to forcefully switch topics back to my impending doom, I point my fork at her. “What can I actually expect from meeting with Alpha Kaelen tomorrow? Beta Varrick explicitly said he wanted to talk about me officially joining the pack.”

Lysa swallows her food and nods her head in confirmation. “It’s pretty standard. All new wolves go through a brief, formal ceremony to officially join the pack. It basically acts to magically and mentally sever your ties with your old pack—which you technically don’t have anymore anyway—and allows you to fully integrate into this one. Once he does it, you can officially use the pack mind-link to communicate with any of the members. He usually likes to do it pretty quickly after we take in a new wolf, so I wouldn’t be surprised at all if he initiates the bond when you meet with him in his office tomorrow.”

“Is he nice? I have absolutely no idea what to expect from him,” I admit, my chest tightening with genuine anxiety. Having successfully, and somewhat cowardly, avoided the Alpha for the entire few months I’ve lived here, I am deeply nervous about finally standing in the same room as him. Most Alphas are intensely stern, aggressive, and command absolute respect through their mere physical presence. They have to be. They have a massive pack of wild, volatile wolves to run and have zero time for human niceties. They are fiercely, violently loyal to their people and would die brutally defending their territory. And, almost without fail, they are typically gorgeous. The Alpha bloodline makes them physically stronger, incredibly faster, and physically larger than any other normal wolf.

“My personal interactions with him have always been completely fine,” Lysa says, shrugging her shoulders. “He is very straightforward, but he has been known to actually spend time during pack functions interacting with normal pack members. Some people describe him as friendly, and I am sure he can be, but he is strictly all business most of the time. And like I already told you before, he is absolutely gorgeous.” Smiling wickedly, she looks up at me from her plate and aggressively wiggles her eyebrows.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I joke, laughing as I finish the last bite of the leftover roast and carry the dirty glass bowl over to the dishwasher.

I turn back around, fully intending to interrogate Lysa about the exact physical details of her night with Alaric at the bonfire, when three sharp, heavy knocks echo from the front door.

“Alaric is supposed to be coming over right now. Can you get the door? I am so hungry and I just want to finish eating this,” Lysa whines, forcefully stuffing another massive bite of her sandwich into her mouth and flashing me a pleading, close-lipped smile.

“Fine, I’ll get the door,” I say, shaking my head as I walk out of the kitchen and head down the main hallway. That girl can seriously eat. Her appetite is absolutely massive at times. Werewolves naturally eat a lot to sustain our high metabolisms, but Lysa puts even the massive male warriors to shame with the sheer volume of calories she can consume in a single sitting.

Walking down the hardwood hall, I reach out and pull open the heavy front door, fully expecting to see only Alaric standing on the porch.

While Alaric is indeed standing there, wearing a loose t-shirt and jeans, Navarre is standing right next to him.

My breathing immediately hitches in my throat. My lungs temporarily forget how to function as I stare at him, remembering just how friggin’ good-looking he is in the harsh daylight. He is wearing a tight, dark grey Henley shirt that clings perfectly to the thick, defined muscles of his chest and broad shoulders. His dark hair is slightly messy, falling perfectly across his forehead.

“Hey Elara. Is Lysa here?” Alaric asks, completely oblivious to the sudden, heavy tension. He doesn't even wait for my response, simply brushing past my shoulder and heading straight down the hall toward the kitchen. A second later, I hear the loud, screeching sound of Lysa pushing her heavy wooden chair across the floor, calling his name as she clearly abandons her food to run and jump on him.

Turning my attention back to the open doorway, I catch Navarre staring intensely at my face, his eyes slowly dragging down the length of my pink V-neck and navy skirt. I don't mind the visual assessment at all, but the raw heat in his gaze genuinely surprises me.

*‘Damn, he is so gorgeous,’* Lyra speaks quietly in my head, immediately projecting a highly vivid, detailed image of Navarre completely shirtless, his tanned skin coated in a thin layer of slick sweat.

“Yes, he is,” I mutter under my breath, physically shaking my head to force the explicit thoughts Lyra is projecting out of my conscious mind. I step forward, moving closer to Navarre.

“I am really glad that you actually stopped by,” I say, reaching my hand out and pressing my palm directly against his forearm. The muscle beneath his skin is rock hard. I watch his body physically react to my touch; a visible shiver runs up his arm and across his broad shoulders as he looks down at me and smiles.

“I had a really good time last night. You said to stop by, so...” He trails off, his voice dipping slightly, almost like the massive, deadly warrior is actually nervous to be standing on my porch. He clears his throat. “You look really nice today,” he adds softly.

Giving him a cute, knowing smirk, I reach up and push one of the loose strands of hair behind my ear, exposing the side of my neck to him. “Thanks. Let’s go for a walk.”

Without waiting for his answer, I slide my hand down his arm, lace my fingers tightly through his, and pull him off the wooden porch. We walk side-by-side toward the massive, sprawling open field that sits directly behind Lysa’s house. Far across the overgrown grass, there is a small, dense grouping of old trees lining the very edge of the field that I visit often. Tucked away inside that thick brush are a few massive, flat rocks that I like to sit on. It would make the absolute perfect, secluded spot to sit and talk with Navarre away from the prying eyes of the pack.

As we walk through the tall grass, I know I could easily let go of his hand, but I make the conscious decision not to. I genuinely like the physical contact, the rough calluses on his palm rubbing against my skin, and he makes absolutely no effort to pull away.

The ten-minute walk across the field toward the trees is easy and filled with comfortable, friendly conversation. I ask Navarre about his family, wanting to know the basic human details of his life. He speaks highly of his parents, his older brother, and his younger sister. He tells me how his brother found his destined mate just last year and now lives with her in a small house near the center of the pack territory. His sister, who is a year younger than Navarre, just found her mate a few months ago.

Navarre himself just turned nineteen. He has obviously not yet found his mate. The tension in his voice shifts slightly when he talks about it. He explains that he knows with absolute certainty that his destined mate isn't currently living in this pack—he would have smelled her by now if she was—but he admits he isn't very eager to go traveling to other territories looking for her just yet. His current focus is entirely on his rank. He is already one of the top, most lethal warriors in the pack's ranks, and he is actively dedicating all his time and brutal training to establish himself as the official Lead Warrior. It is a grueling, violent position that requires absolute dedication, and a mate would completely disrupt his focus.

I deeply enjoy listening to the low, rumbling cadence of his voice as he talks about his ambitions. It makes the long walk across the field go by quickly. I pause as we finally arrive at the dense, small grouping of ancient trees. The warm spring weather has fully filled out the branches and the thick brush below, making the small, hidden clearing much denser and more completely concealed than it was when I first discovered the little hidden cove a few months ago.

I tighten my grip on his hand and pull Navarre physically through the thick, leafy branches. “I found this exact place shortly after I first moved into the house with Lysa. It wasn’t nearly as lush and green when I first came here in the winter, but I still really liked it. It is a good, quiet place to come and just think. It is positioned far enough away from the main forest line that most of the wolves on patrol don’t ever bother coming out this way.”

I push the last heavy branch aside, and we step into the small, completely secluded clearing. In the very center sit two large, smooth boulders, perfectly shaped for sitting. Moving toward them, I immediately claim the rock that is currently being bathed in a bright shaft of direct sunlight, absolutely determined to soak up and enjoy some of the natural warmth of the late Spring afternoon.

“So, I basically talked the entire way here. How about you finally tell me a little more about you?” Navarre says, stepping up and sitting down right next to me on the sun-warmed stone. His large thigh presses firmly against my knee. I deeply enjoy sitting this close to him, the radiating heat of his large body mixing with the sun.

I take a slow, deep breath, the casual atmosphere suddenly feeling a bit heavier as I decide to open up. I look down at my hands resting in my lap and begin to tell him the dark truth about my family, and exactly what happened on the night they died. I force the words out, explaining the brutal rogue attack to him. I describe the heavy scent of blood and ash, the screaming, and most importantly, how the attacking rogues seemed to be so terrifyingly organized. They didn't attack like mindless, feral beasts looking for food or senseless slaughter; they moved through the territory in highly coordinated, tactical units, much different than any typical rogue attacks recorded in our history.

Navarre shifts on the rock, his body tensing completely. He looks deeply worried, his grey eyes darkening as he listens to the horrific details.

“I have never heard of absolutely anything like that,” he says, his voice thick with concern and a warrior's natural defensive instinct. “I have never heard of feral rogues attacking a pack in such a coordinated, military way. Was anyone in your pack ever able to determine exactly why they attacked you?”

He looks intensely worried as he speaks, and I absolutely cannot blame him. In the long, agonizing months after the bloody attack, my former Alpha, Torvald, had spent countless hours traveling and meeting with surrounding packs, desperately trying to gather any shred of information about the attack. Alpha Torvald had previously pulled me into his office and asked me these exact same questions over and over. I can only imagine that the specific, tactical details I am providing now have Navarre, a dedicated pack warrior, even more deeply disturbed about the looming threat.

“Ultimately, Alpha Torvald was absolutely not able to find out anything else about the attacks,” I say, my voice dropping to a quiet whisper. “The rogues actively seemed to be searching for something, or someone, in the territory, but he could never figure out what their target actually was. A few wolves from our pack, including my own brother, seemed to be completely missing after the attack ended. But no one ever actually saw them being taken or dragged away by the rogues, so we aren’t entirely sure what happened to him.”

I swallow hard, fighting the sudden lump in my throat. They are deeply painful, traumatic memories that I do not talk about often. The lingering void of my missing brother is an open, bleeding wound in my chest.

Navarre doesn't push for more details. He simply reaches out, his large hand wrapping gently over mine, offering a silent, grounding weight.

Sensing my heavy mood, he smoothly shifts the conversation. We spend the next few hours sitting on the warm rocks, talking for hours about much lighter, easier topics. We argue playfully over our favorite music genres, bond over our shared love of greasy human junk food over traditional pack meals, and share our mundane plans for the future. It is incredibly nice, and deeply refreshing, to have such a seemingly simple, normal teenage conversation with someone, totally disconnected from the brutal realities of our werewolf lives.

As the long day slowly wears on, the bright sun begins to dip below the distant tree line. The golden hour quickly fades, and a sharp, biting chill sets into the evening air. The temperature drops rapidly. I shiver slightly, crossing my arms over my chest to preserve my body heat.

Navarre instantly notices my shiver. Without a word of hesitation, he shifts closer, lifts his heavy arm, and wraps it tightly around my shoulders, physically pulling me in close against his side to warm me.

“Thanks. We have been sitting out here all day. It is getting really chilly,” I say, uncrossing my arms and willingly snuggling my body directly into his hard chest. I rest my cheek against the soft cotton of his Henley. I can feel the powerful, steady thumping of his heartbeat against my ear. I feel his chest expand as he breathes in deeply, resting his strong chin gently on the top of my head.

“What do you actually think about the mate bond, Elara?” he asks, his deep voice vibrating through his chest.

The heavy question completely surprises me. While I am still a few weeks shy of being old enough to officially find my destined mate, Navarre is nineteen. Surely, if the Moon Goddess had fated us together, he would have smelled my scent and immediately told me if we were mates the second we met.

Pulling my head back slightly, but purposefully staying pressed close enough to his side to continue enjoying his radiating body heat, I look up at him and give him a deeply puzzled look. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

Navarre looks out across the darkening clearing, his jaw clenching. “My mom and dad are not destined mates. My mom’s actual fated mate was deeply, violently abusive. My dad was her brother’s best friend growing up. He was there at her family's house on the day her fated mate came back to forcefully ‘bring her back home’ after she had finally found the courage to leave him. A huge, bloody fight broke out in the front yard. My uncle was almost brutally killed defending her, and my dad... my dad ended up killing my mom’s mate by ripping his throat out.”

Navarre looks down at the dirt as he speaks, the heavy weight of his family's dark history settling over his broad shoulders. “Although she was obviously biologically heartbroken at first, because the mate bond naturally tortures you when it breaks, she eventually fell deeply in love with my dad for saving her life.”

I stare at him, completely captivated by the horrific, yet incredibly beautiful tragedy of his parents' story. “What about your dad? Did he never go out and find his own destined mate?” I ask, feeling somewhat confused as to exactly where this intense conversation is going, but needing to understand his perspective.

Navarre slowly shakes his head, keeping his grey eyes fixed downward. “No, he never found his true mate, at least not that I was ever told about. I personally think that this is partly why my dad absolutely refuses to travel outside our borders. He came with us when my grandparents needed physical help moving, but he never travels with the pack warriors. He works solely as the pack accountant and typically only interacts with the Alpha and Beta inside the safety of the pack house. I genuinely think he was terrified to ever accidentally find his fated mate. He loves my mom so much—more fiercely than I have seen some actual destined mates love each other. He didn't want the Moon Goddess to force him away from her.”

Navarre finally lifts his head. He looks up and stares me directly in the eye, his gaze burning with a sudden, intense vulnerability as he speaks.

I have only just formally met Navarre, but sitting here pressed against his side, I get the overwhelming, terrifying sense that he is feeling a much stronger, deeper emotional pull toward me than I am currently feeling for him. I deeply enjoy his company, and I am incredibly physically attracted to him, but I know absolutely nothing about him outside of the few hours we have just spent talking on this rock. I feel a sudden wave of sharp nervousness wash over me, and I desperately try to pinpoint exactly what is making my stomach twist. It is the heavy pressure of time. He is looking at me like he wants to choose me, just like his father chose his mother.

Deciding that it is absolutely best to be completely honest with him before his feelings get hurt, I take a slow, deep breath.

“I do believe in the mate bond, Navarre,” I say softly, holding his gaze. “My wolf, Lyra, and I have been eagerly waiting for my 18th birthday so I can finally have the chance to find my destined mate. My mom and dad were fated mates, and the deep, all-consuming love that they felt for one another continued fiercely until the exact moment they both died.” I speak the words sincerely, ensuring he understands that I want that destined, magical connection.

He slowly shakes his head, and I can see his broad shoulders drop. He is visibly, deeply disappointed by my answer.

“Navarre, listen to me. You still have plenty of time in your life to find your destined mate, and I won’t even be physically old enough to try to find my mate for a couple of weeks. And honestly, I highly doubt I will magically find my mate the exact second I turn 18. We can still see each other in the meantime.”

I reach out and place my hand directly, firmly on his thick thigh. I squeeze the hard muscle beneath his jeans, looking deeply into his eyes, desperately trying to convey comforting, easy feelings through my physical touch and my expression.

“But what happens if you do find your mate next month?” he asks, his voice tight. Werewolves naturally tend to feel emotional attachments much more quickly and deeply than normal humans, but I am still genuinely a bit surprised by just how deeply he seems to care about losing me after such a short period of time together.

“I highly doubt I will find my mate quickly. And you could easily stumble across yours on a patrol, you know,” I say, playfully jabbing my finger into his hard chest, deeply hoping the physical contact will lighten the heavy mood.

However, seeing the lingering anxiety in his grey eyes, I realize that the harsh words still need to be spoken plainly. I return to my soft, but deadly serious tone.

“Look, we are both of the age where our relationships can end suddenly, without warning. My cousin was dating someone seriously for nearly two years. Three weeks after he turned 18, he walked into a store and instantly found his destined mate. The girl he was dating was absolutely devastated, but she understood the rules of our biology. Two days later, she found her own fated mate.” I keep my hand on his thigh, hoping that my blunt words will help to soften the brutal reality of dating as a teenage werewolf. “As long as we both openly acknowledge that this can happen to us at any given moment, we can at least be somewhat mentally prepared for it.”

Lysa and I had actually already had this exact same heavy conversation. Lysa fully knew that either she or Alaric could stumble across their fated mate at any time. She had sobbed uncontrollably for hours on the day Alaric turned 18, absolutely terrified of him finding his mate and leaving her behind. Helping Lysa see that she would one day find her own destined mate if that happened had eventually helped to ease her panic.

“I know,” Navarre says quietly. He nods his head, but he still appears a bit sad, staring at my hand resting on his leg.

“Look, Navarre, I really like you,” I say, my voice firm and clear. “Today has genuinely been the best day I have had in a very long time. Let’s just have some fun, enjoy each other’s company, and worry about all the heavy mate stuff when it actually happens.”

I am explicitly offering him a friends-with-benefits boundary. No heavy strings, no impossible promises. Just us.

His eyes darken instantly at my words. The sadness evaporates, violently replaced by a raw, hungry heat. He wraps his thick arm securely around my waist and pulls me in even closer, sliding my body directly against his. I can physically feel the rapid increase of his chest rising and falling against me. He hesitates for a fraction of a second, his eyes dropping to my lips, and then he finally leans his head down and crushes his mouth against mine.

The kiss is immediate and intense. I feel his hot mouth open slightly against mine, and I take that as a direct invitation. I push my tongue forward, explicitly exploring the slick heat of his lips and the wet inside of his mouth. He groans low in his throat. I slide my hand fully up his torso and place my palm flat against his chest, deeply savoring the firm, solid feeling of his heavy pectoral muscles flexing right beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. He aggressively pushes his tongue against mine, tangling them together, tasting of mint and adrenaline as he rapidly deepens the kiss. I move my hand up his thick neck, sliding my fingers deep into the dark hair at the back of his head, physically pulling his face closer, harder against mine. Our breaths mix heavily in the cold air, saliva slicking our lips as the kiss turns wet and desperate.

Suddenly, Navarre violently jerks his head back.

He pulls away so abruptly that I almost lose my balance on the rock. The deep, wet kiss ends much, much too soon for my liking. I blink, my lips swollen and completely wet, staring at him in shock.

I look at his face and immediately see his pupils dilate, his irises flashing to a solid, cloudy grey. I realize instantly what is happening: he is forcefully receiving an urgent mind-link from someone in the pack.

He blinks rapidly, the grey fading back to his normal color, and he looks at me with wide, panicked eyes. His chest heaves as he gasps for air.

“Beta Varrick needs me immediately,” he says, his voice rough and breathless. “There was a random, violent rogue attack on a neighboring pack's territory just an hour ago. We need to instantly set up additional, heavily armed patrols along our eastern border.”

He jumps up from the rock, his warrior instincts completely taking over his body. He reaches down, grabs my arms, and pulls me up to my feet, yanking me against his chest for a bone-crushing hug. Before he completely pulls away to leave, he cups my face in his large hands and kisses my swollen lips gently one last time, a quick press of his mouth.

“Is it absolutely okay if I don’t walk you all the way home?” he asks, already stepping backward. “The Beta wants me at the armory as quickly as physically possible.”

“Of course, I completely understand. Go,” I say, flashing a reassuring smile up at him.

Damn, he is good looking when he is focused and deadly. I stand entirely still in the secluded clearing, watching the heavy muscles in his back and legs flex as he turns and sprints away, moving with terrifying, supernatural werewolf speed back through the thick brush and across the sprawling open field. Within seconds, he is completely out of sight.

*‘Well, that was a highly fun day,’* Lyra chimes into my head. I pause for a second, waiting for the punchline, but for once, she is completely sincere. She isn't being sarcastic at all.

*‘I absolutely agree,’* I reply internally. I touch my fingers to my wet lips. Despite having just shared a deeply intense, wet kiss with Navarre, I realize that I am completely able to control my physical desires right now. Taking care of my own intense needs last night in bed must have finally helped to properly reset my volatile emotions, stopping me from spiraling into a frustrated frenzy.

*‘Do you want to know what a really good end to this day would be?’* Lyra asks, her mental voice taking on a low, eager rumble. I can feel her pacing rapid circles in the dark space of my mind, her claws scraping eagerly. *‘A run.’*