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“No,” I said. Too fast. Too sharp. He blinked like I’d scaredhim, so I softened my tone. “Go to sleep.”

He yawned, finally, and curled closer into the pillows. His voice was already slowing, sleepy.

“I’m glad she found me,” he mumbled. “Lexi. I was cold when my mama died. Cold and hungry. And scared all the time.” His small fingers twisted in the fur blanket.

“She picked me up and said she’d keep me safe. She lied a little. I still get scared. But not when she’s close.”

I stared at the boy, something bitter and quiet swelling in my chest.

“And now?” I asked, softer than I meant to.

Dain yawned again, his voice barely a whisper. “Now she’s gone... but you smell like her. So… I think that means you’re safe too.”

And then, just like that, he was asleep. Peaceful. Trusting. I stayed there, still as stone, watching the rise and fall of his small chest beneath the furs.

The beast inside me—the one that only knew how to take, to conquer, to command—quieted. For the first time in longer than I could remember, it didn’t want to fight.

Because in the middle of this cold, endless war, in the silence of my fortress full of blood and shadows…She had found something worth protecting. And somehow, without even meaning to, she’d given it to me too.

I’d faced battlefields soaked in blood. Fought Alphas twice my size. Slept through storms that shook the earth.

But none of that compared to trying to sleep in the same bed as a four-year-old who kicked like he was possessed by a pack of rabid boars.

Dain thrashed in his sleep like he was chasing ghosts. I’d wake to a heel digging into my ribs or a tiny fist punching my jaw mid-dream. At one point, I ended up dangling half off the bed while he snored peacefully in the dead center like he owned it.

By morning, I felt like I’d been in a brawl. My muscles ached, my back cracked with every step I took, and there were faint bruises on my side that no warrior should ever have to admit came from a child.

Dain?He was radiant.

Skipping through the halls, hair wild, smile wide, mouth moving a mile a minute about wolves and swords and the dream he had about riding a giant hawk into battle.

The moment we stepped into the great hall for breakfast, I regretted everything. Garrick was already seated at the long table, chewing on a hunk of bread, his eyes lighting up like a wolf who’d scented weakness.

“Well, well,” he said, mouth full. “Our mighty Alpha. Tamer of beasts, breaker of Crescent Moon…babysitter of a four-year-old.”

I dropped into the chair beside Garrick with a grunt, dragging a hand down my face. “Don’t start.”

He didn’t even try to hide his grin. “Let me guess—little warlord steal your side of the bed? Or were you demoted to floor duty by midnight?”

“He kicks like he’s training for war,” I muttered.

Garrick snorted. “Like mother, like son.”

Before I could throw something at him, Maelin—the kitchen maid who'd been around longer than most of the guards—breezed in with two steaming plates balanced on her arms and that familiar mischievous glint in her eye.

“Well, well,” she said, setting the plates down with a practiced flourish, one in front of me, the other in front of Dain, who was already climbing onto the bench across from me like he owned the place. “The mighty Alpha returns from battle… defeated by a pair of tiny feet.”

Garrick barked a laugh. “Told you, he’s losing his edge.”

Maelin winked at him, then looked back at me, feigninginnocence. “Sleep well, my lord? I hear humans don’t bite their Alphas to claim them. They just stare at them with those big, trusting eyes instead.”

I gave her a flat look.

She nodded down the table—toward Dain, who was beaming at me through a mouthful of bread and humming some half-forgotten tune.

And then I felt it. That strange pull again. Not magic. Not a bond. But something just as binding. Maybe more.

Not blood. Butpermanent.