Later that day, I realize something that makes my chest ache in a way I don’t know how to name.

  It wasn’t just my wolf. Not at the end.

  That truth settles into me slowly, unwelcome and undeniable, like a bruise surfacing long after the blow has landed.

  When Azrael touched me earlier, when his arms wrapped around my waist and his voice dipped low against my ear, it wasn’t only instinct that responded. It wasn’t just her hunger, her pull, her ancient drive toward a bond she does not yet understand.

  It was me.

  I wanted him.

  The realization tightens around my ribs, stealing my breath. I press my palm flat to my chest as if I can physically contain it, as if I can force the feeling back into whatever dark corner it crawled out of.

  Guilt follows immediately, sharp and merciless.

  Kellan’s face flashes unbidden in my mind. The warmth of his smile. The familiarity of his touch. The way loving him had once felt easy, safe, unquestioned. He was my future. My chosen path. My mate.

  And here I am, standing on unfamiliar ground, my heart responding to a man who abducted me, restrained me, pushed me past my limits again and again in the name of control.

  What does that say about me?

  I wrap my arms around myself, nails biting into my sleeves, grounding myself in the sting of it. I don’t want to feel this way. Wanting Azrael feels like a betrayal, not just of Kellan, but of the girl I was before all of this. The girl who believed her life was already written.

  But that girl feels very far away now.

  I stare out at the trees beyond the cave, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. Somewhere in the distance, something large moves through the underbrush. I can’t see it, but I feel it, a subtle awareness prickling at the edges of my senses.

  My wolf stirs, alert but calm.

  She does not recoil from the thought of Azrael. She doesn’t growl or resist it. She settles into it, as if his presence has become a familiar constant, something steady and reliable.

  That realization sinks into me with a slow, sickening weight.

  I tell myself it’s because he is strong. Because he knows how to protect. Because he has proven, again and again, that he will step in when things spiral too far.

  Protection. Support. Stability.

  When did I start associating those things with him?

  The thought turns my stomach.

  I sink down further into the bed, letting the crackle of the fire fill the silence in my head. The ground beneath me feels solid, unmoving. Earlier, when the earth trembled beneath my feet, when the world itself seemed to respond to my internal struggle, I had felt powerful and terrified all at once.

  Now, with distance, doubt creeps in.

  It was probably a coincidence.

  That’s the most reasonable explanation. The forest is old. The land shifts. Small tremors happen. I was exhausted, emotionally and physically wrung out. Of course my mind would latch onto something dramatic and assign meaning where there was none.

  Yes. That must be it.

  I cling to that explanation because the alternative is too heavy to carry.

  If that was me, if my emotions truly caused the ground to move, then Azrael’s warnings are not exaggerations. They are not paranoia or overprotectiveness.

  They are reality.

  And I’m not ready to face that.

  So I don’t.

  Instead, my thoughts drift back to the prophecy. To the fragments we’ve uncovered. To the way Azrael deflects and redirects whenever I press too hard. The cursed alpha. The marked one. The one bound by shadow and legend.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  It makes sense that it’s about him.

  More sense than it being about me.

  He carries history in his silence. His body bears the marks of something ancient and unforgiving. His curse is real, tangible, visible in ways mine are not. If there is someone destined to shake the foundations of the world, it would be someone like him, not me.

  I am not like those omegas.

  I cling to that thought like a lifeline.

  Omegas were different. Revered once, feared later. Used. Controlled. Reduced to tools for power and order. Their existence disrupted the natural hierarchy, threatened the balance of packs and kings alike.

  That is not me.

  I am not meant to command or compel. I don’t want to bend anyone’s will. I don’t want to be worshipped or feared. I want peace. I want choice. I want my life back.

  The very idea of being something that powerful, something that dangerous, makes my skin feel too tight.

  So I tell myself the truth I need to survive.

  The prophecy is about Azrael.

  His curse. His fate. His burden.

  And the strange pull I feel toward him, the connection my wolf seems to crave, that must be collateral damage. Proximity. Exposure. Training. Nothing more.

  I repeat that lie until it starts to sound almost believable.

  Footsteps approach behind me, slow and deliberate.

  I don’t turn right away. I know who it is from the weight of his presence alone, from the way my wolf lifts her head in quiet acknowledgment.

  Azrael stops a few feet away, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from him.

  “Everything alright?” he asks.

  “I’m thinking,” I reply.

  He hums softly, neither encouraging nor discouraging the conversation. It’s something I’ve noticed he does often, allowing space rather than filling it with unnecessary words.

  “I don’t think the ground shaking had anything to do with me,” I say after a moment, forcing the words out, trying to convince myself in the process. “Probably just a natural tremor. This land is old.”

  He doesn’t answer right away.

  I glance back at him, searching his expression. His face is neutral, carefully composed, but his eyes give nothing away.

  “That’s likely,” he says finally.

  Relief loosens something tight in my chest.

  “And the prophecy…in the book,” I continue, my heart pounding as I tread carefully. “The more I think about it, the more it sounds like it’s about you. Your curse. Your past. Not me.”

  The silence that follows is heavier than anything he could have said.

  Azrael looks at me for a long moment, his gaze searching my face as if he’s reading something written there. For a heartbeat, I think he might correct me. Might say something that shatters the fragile conclusion I’ve built for myself.

  But he doesn’t.

  “If that is what you believe,” he says quietly, “then it’s not my place to tell you otherwise.”

  Something about the way he says it sends a chill down my spine, though I can’t quite name why.

  We sit together then, close enough that our shoulders nearly touch. The trees continue their steady rustle, the forest alive with subtle movement. Somewhere deeper in the woods, a low, distant sound echoes. Not threatening. Not yet. Just a reminder that we are not alone out here.

  I find myself leaning into Azrael without consciously deciding to, my shoulder brushing his arm.

  He stiffens slightly, then relaxes, allowing the contact without comment.

  The simple acceptance of it does something to me.

  I rest my head briefly against his shoulder, exhaustion washing over me in heavy waves. He doesn’t move away. He doesn’t pull me closer either. He simply stays.

  And that, somehow, feels more intimate than anything else.

  My wolf sighs contentedly, curling in on herself, soothed by the shared warmth.

  I should pull back. I should create distance, reassert boundaries that feel increasingly blurred.

  But I don’t.

  Because for the first time since leaving the Vale, since everything I knew was stripped away, I feel…not alone.

  Not claimed. Not possessed.

  Just supported.

  The realization frightens me almost as much as it comforts me.

  Azrael’s hand shifts slightly, resting near mine. Not touching. Not quite. Just there.

  “I’m not like the omegas,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “I don’t want that kind of power.”

  “I know,” he replies.

  His answer is immediate. Certain.

  He doesn’t say more.

  That is when I notice it again.

  The subtle tension in the air. The way the forest seems to be listening. My wolf’s ears prick, her attention drawn toward the deeper woods. Something large moves again, closer this time.

  A presence.

  I straighten, unease curling low in my gut. “Did you hear that?”

  “Yes,” Azrael says, already rising to his feet. His posture shifts, every line of him going alert and ready.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  His gaze sweeps the tree line, eyes narrowed. “Wait here,” he says, voice turning stern. Then he moves toward the entrance, disappearing into the dark beyond.

  The way he says it tells me this isn’t the first time he’s noticed signs like this.

  And it won’t be the last.

  As the silence closes in again, my thoughts churn, heavy and unresolved. I tell myself, again, that the prophecy isn’t about me. That my feelings are a mistake. That the ground shaking meant nothing.

  But beneath all of that, a quiet dread takes root.

  Because something is watching us.

  And deep down, whether I’m ready to admit it or not, I know this calm will not last.