Page 34

He woke with a gasp, tangled in sweat-damp sheets, lungs heaving like he’d run for miles.

The morning light bled through the cabin window, weak and unsteady. His hands curled into fists against the mattress. His chest ached with the weight of what hadn’t happened—whatalmosthad.

And deep inside, the bear growled once more.

The sun hadn’t cleared the ridge yet, but the sky had lightened to that soft pink-blue hush that always came before the birds stirred. The sanctuary cabin was still wrapped in shadows, the animals quiet in their nests and stalls, even the phoenix pup tucked tight in his nest of warmed stones.

Rollo sat up, scrubbed a hand over his face, and breathed out hard.

The dream lingered.

Her skin. Her voice. The need.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, bare feet hitting the wood with a muted thud. Every muscle in him tensed. The fire from the dream hadn’t gone—it still coiled low in his gut, thick with guilt and hunger.

Because hewantedit to be real.

He wanted her.

Not just the kiss they shared. Not just the way her fingers curled naturally in his. But all of her—laughing, angry, stubborn, vulnerable. He wanted to claim her not like an animal but likea man who knew, with every breath, that she was his match in every damn way that counted.

But she had pulled away.

And after that… he hadn’t expected to see her today. Maybe not again.

He’d ruined it once. Maybe she’d decided not to give him the chance to ruin it again.

The thought hollowed something in his chest.

He stepped outside into the crisp morning, air damp with dew and the scent of green things waking.

That’s when he saw it.

Near the sanctuary gate, nailed into the outer wooden post, was a totem. Twisted bone. Black-thread binding. A hunk of petrified root in the shape of a bear’s claw. The air around it sizzled faintly, crackling with residual magic.

Garrick.

The name thundered through Rollo’s head as he approached.

A warning. A claim. A threat.

Rage flared fast and white-hot. He tore the totem down with one hand, the bones snapping in his grip. The black-thread came alive, snaking up his wrist like it wanted to bite.

He growled, letting the bear rise just enough to glow gold beneath his skin.

“Not here,” he snarled.

He crushed the totem beneath his heel, grinding it into the dirt until nothing but ash and splinters remained.

The scent of corrupted magic lingered, oily and wrong.

Rollo stood along the borders of the sanctuary, chest heaving, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

The woods were no longer whispering. They were watching. And Garrick had crossed a line.

You can’t protect what’s already broken,Garrick had said.

Rollo stared into the trees.