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"Wolf shifter thing." He shifted slightly, wincing. "Mate thing too."

"About that." Maya set her notebook aside and shifted closer. "What exactly does that word mean to your kind? Because I've been experiencing some very unscientific responses since meeting you."

Kieran's eyes opened then, the silver-blue irises bright with an inner light that was decidedly not human. His gaze locked onto hers with an intensity that stole her breath.

"It means you're mine," he said simply. "And I'm yours. Biology more ancient than science."

Heat flooded Maya's cheeks. "That's...that's not an explanation. That's mythology."

"Is it?" His hand reached for hers, an uncharacteristic vulnerability in the gesture. "Then why are you still here, Dr. Collins? Why not run away while I was unconscious?"

The questions struck at the heart of her confusion. Why hadn't she fled? What invisible tether kept her bound to this man she barely knew?

"I need more data," she deflected, but her fingers intertwined with his of their own accord.

Kieran's thumb traced her palm, sending electric currents up her arm. "Some things transcend your science, Maya."

TEN

KIERAN

The fever rolled through Kieran again in waves later that day, his body's accelerated healing demanding a price. Through the haze, Kieran marveled at Maya's presence by his side—this stubborn, brilliant woman who'd patched together his torn flesh last night had stayed when any rational human would have fled.

"You should have run far away," he murmured, watching her copper hair gleam in the firelight. Her scent—wildflowers and vanilla—filled his senses, intensified by his healing state. "Why didn't you run, Maya?"

She adjusted the cool cloth on his forehead with a scientist's precision that couldn't disguise the tenderness in her touch. "And miss carefully documenting unprecedented cellular regeneration in an entirely new species of wolves? Not a chance."

Kieran's laugh turned into a grimace as pain lanced through his shoulder. "Always the researcher."

"Always," she agreed, but something flickered in those green eyes—something that had nothing to do with science whatsoever.

His wolf surged inside him, demanding he pull her down, claim her mouth with his, and mark her as his own. It took every ounce of his discipline to resist. She wasn't pack. She didn't understand their ways. And yet, his body recognized her more surely than any wolf shifter-born female he'd ever encountered.

"Sleep," she commanded, unaware of the battle raging inside him. "Your body needs rest to heal."

"Stay close," he growled softly, hating the vulnerability but unable to stop himself. His hand reached for hers again, needing the connection. "Please."

Darkness claimed him again, pulling him into dreams of fire and forests—and Maya, always Maya, running beside him through moonlit clearings, her human form shifting seamlessly to wolf, her copper fur gleaming. In his dream, they hunted together, moving as one and sharing a bond no council could sever.

"Maya," he murmured in his sleep, reaching for the phantom of her.

He woke up disoriented, night having fallen outside the cabin once more. Twenty-four hours since the attack. Twenty-four hours of Maya's steady presence, her touch alternating between clinical and something that felt dangerously like affection. His body burned with fever, but her cool cloth soothed the fire in his blood.

"You said my name," she said quietly from beside him, her silhouette backlit by the dying embers in the fireplace. "In your sleep."

"I was dreaming." His voice rasped from his dry throat.

She handed him water without being asked, supporting his head as he drank. The simple gesture—so intimate and so natural—stirred something powerful in his chest.

"Of what?" She sat back on her heels, her notebook still clutched in one hand.

"You." No point in lying. His wolf was too close to the surface, his defenses eroded by pain and fever. "Running with me. As if you were pack."

Color rose in her cheeks, visible even in the dim light. "I don't run. Not unless something's chasing me."

"You're running now," he challenged, his eyes holding hers. "From what's happening between us."

She broke eye contact first. "Nothing's happening between us except unusual biochemical reactions to stress and trauma."