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LANDON

S he pulled back, taking her warmth with her and touched his face.

Her fingers were soft, trailing down his jaw like she was trying to memorize him with her skin.

Landon leaned into it without thinking, like she’d become a tether he didn’t know he needed until she let him feel the full weight of her truth.

“I need to go,” she whispered.

“If I stay too long... they’ll know I’m not where I’m supposed to be.”

Landon’s throat tightened.

“Because you’re supposed to bring me in.”

She nodded, eyes heavy with guilt.

“But I’m not going to.”

“And what happens when they find out?”

Her gaze dropped to his lips, then rose again, fierce and full of something unspoken.

“That’s my problem.”

It should’ve felt like a goodbye.

Maybe it was.

But then her hand slipped behind his neck, and she rose on her toes.

Their lips met—slow, soft, and breath-stealing.

No rush, no wild fire.

Just heat that spread like sunrise in winter, melting everything that had frozen inside him the moment she’d said, I was sent to watch you.

He kissed her back, every bit of ache and need and confusion pouring into that one moment.

When she pulled away, she lingered—foreheads brushing, breaths mingling.

“Let me come with you.”

“No,” she said quickly, then softened.

“Not yet. Just... stay hidden. I’ll figure out how to buy time. I need them to believe I’m still loyal. At least until I can shift the power.”

“Shift it how?”

She shook her head.

“One step at a time.”

Landon didn’t like it.

Not one damn bit. But the way she looked at him—that mix of heat and fear and need —it made the words stick in his throat.

She touched his face again, thumb brushing across his cheekbone.

“Thank you. For not throwing me out. For believing me.”

“I don’t know if I believe everything,” he murmured.

“But I believe you. ”

That made her eyes go glassy.

“Be safe, Landon.”

Then, Sonya climbed into her jeep and was gone, leaving Ladon standing there outside alone trying to figure out everything that had just happened.

When he finally stepped back inside, the silence slammed into him.

Everything felt... different.

The air, the shadows, the space she’d just filled.

The whole night had cracked open his world like a ribcage.

Werewolves. Prophecies.

Royal bloodlines.

Him.

He dropped onto the edge of his bed, hands braced against his knees, breathing hard.

His pulse was off the rails.

His thoughts were racing each other in circles—Roman’s face, Sonya’s wolf form, the whisper in the forest, his aunt’s stories.

It didn’t feel like a life anymore.

It felt like a countdown.

He was more than human.

Part of something ancient.

Something buried.

And now it was clawing its way to the surface.

Landon tried to lay down and slow his mind.

Then the fear hit.

A wave of it—sharp, sudden, and suffocating.

What if Roman came for him?

What if this power inside him woke before he was ready?

What if Sonya got hurt protecting him?

His breath hitched. His chest clenched.

He sat up, hands trembling.

The world around him felt too loud.

The wind outside scraped against the windows like claws.

The creak of wood beneath the cabin sounded like thunder in his ears.

Then came the burn.

It started in his spine—hot and electric.

A jolt of lightning through his ribs.

He gasped, stumbled to the mirror in the corner of the room.

His reflection stared back.

And for a moment—it wasn’t his.

His eyes weren’t hazel anymore.

They were gold.

Glowing.

Wild. Primal.

He backed away, chest heaving.

His hands curled into fists—nails digging into his palms. Not claws, not yet.

But something was shifting.

Something was changing.

“No, no, no,” he muttered.

“Not now.”

But even as the panic surged, another feeling grew underneath it.

Power.

Not like a superhero movie.

Not like he could fly or punch holes through walls.

This was older. Rooted.

Like the earth itself had opened up and whispered, You’re one of us now.

He grabbed the edge of the dresser to steady himself, knuckles white.

The glow in his eyes dimmed.

His breathing slowed.

The fire dulled.

But the knowledge didn’t leave.

He wasn’t human anymore.

Maybe he never had been.

He sat down on the bed again, still shaking.

But different.

He didn’t feel small.

Not like before. The fear was still there, sure—but something else had taken root.

A new stillness. A certainty.

More grounded. More certain.

Like some old hesitation had been burned out of him.

He didn’t know what he was becoming.

But he wasn’t just the awkward barista from Juniper Roast anymore.

He was changing.

Soon.

.. he’d have to choose what kind of man—what kind of wolf —he was going to be.

And he wasn’t going to do it on anyone’s leash.

Not Roman’s.

Not anyone’s.

And whatever came next, he wasn’t going to run.