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Her breath hitched. "Why?"

"I've made up my mind." He hesitated, then met her gaze. "I have feelings for Seren. Real ones. Stronger than what I feel for you."

Her jaw tightened, but she didn't cry. Lia never cried. Still, he saw it in the slight tremble of her lower lip. The heartbreak in her shining eyes.

"I don't want to be left behind," she whispered. "I don't want to lose you."

"You won't," he said. "You'll always be my friend."

She gave him a sad smile. "That's not the same."

"No. It's not. But I have to be fair to you. And leading you on is not being fair. "

He leaned forward, and they shared a final kiss—soft, heavy with memories, and finality. When they parted, it was with a silence that ached.

He stood and turned away, heart thudding differently now. The bond tugged again—toward Seren, always toward her. It pulsed like the heartbeat in his chest.

He didn't get far before he heard the soft crunch of footsteps behind him.

Dain.

He fell into step beside Hagan without a word.

They walked quietly through the trees until Dain finally asked, "You sure?"

Hagan stared ahead; throat tight. "I need to do what is right."

There was a pause.

Then Dain nodded once. "Tribe comes first."

What Hagan didn't say was that it wasn't duty pulling him anymore. It was something deeper, unstoppable. Something he no longer had the will—or desire—to fight.

Chapter 34

Something had shifted in the tribe.

Seren felt it in the way the older women nodded at her now, eyes no longer wary but assessing. In the way the market quieted slightly when she passed, only to resume with a gentler rhythm. The pups followed her around like they always did—each of them bringing her some strange offering: a curved fang, a smooth river stone, a wrinkled petal, and even once a baby tooth, proudly displayed in a grubby palm.

They flocked to her like bees to their queen, yipping and growling, sometimes even baring their bellies as they circled her legs. Seren was an expert belly-scratcher-the pups always lay blissed out, their legs kicking in the air, asking for more. She'd always been good with children, and their blunt affection left her feeling warm inside. She collected their gifts carefully in a small wooden box the Oracle had given her.

She still gave Veyr the slip now and then. He was good at watching, but she was getting better and better at vanishing.

She left her offerings—bread wrapped in leaves, sticky globs of honey, or dried meat—in the clearing near the caves, close to where she'd been chased by the Forgotten. She never stayed long in case the beast thought she was part of the offering. She never saw him clearly. But every time she returned, the offerings were gone. The earth was marked with huge paw prints. And once or twice, the thick, pungent scent of territory stung her nose—musky and pungent, bear urine. He marked the spot often.

The clearing itself had become quieter, undisturbed. Even the rowdiest critters didn't cross into it. Something unseen kept them away.

The anoman shimmered in the golden light—half-furred, half-scaled, with long, branching horns like antlers and an owl's haunted eyes. It perched on a tree stump in the deep woods, still as breath. It was a creature Seren had never seen before.

Seren crouched a few feet away, camera raised, finger steady on the shutter. She barely moved, barely blinked. Her heart beat in time with the creature's breaths.

Click.

A soft huff of air came from behind her. She didn't need to look.

Veyr.

He was in wolf form today, his silver-grey pelt glinting where shafts of sunlight broke through the canopy. He lay close, tail curled around his legs, tongue lolling from his open mouth. Watching her.