Page 24

24

CALLUM

I don’t even hear Elias come in. One second, I’m face-down on the cot in my room, trying to scrub the taste of politics and bullshit out of my skull, and the next, he’s standing at the foot of my bed like a ghost in worn jeans and too much attitude.

“Get up,” he says, voice low.

I blink blearily at him. “What time is it?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

I groan, dragging myself upright. “Please tell me this isn’t another council meeting.”

He smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “If it was, I’d bring fireball. Come on. It’s not a trap. Just… someone’s asking for you.”

I narrow my eyes. “Asking how , exactly?”

Elias shrugs. “She found me. While I was doing rounds.”

My chest tightens.

“She?”

He gives me a look. “Don’t make me say it.”

I’m on my feet in seconds. “Where?”

“Unpatrolled territory. East rim. No one else’ll be out there.”

“You sure?”

“I’m not sure,” he says. “But she is. And that’s good enough for me.”

We don’t speak as we move through the tunnels and then up through one of the abandoned side exits of the Hollow. The night air hits me like a slap—cool, sharp, smelling faintly of rust, fog, and something that makes my skin hum.

Her.

We reach the edge of the forgotten woods that haven’t been developed yet—somewhere where the trees are thicker, wilder. No markings. No sigils. No eyes. And there she is.

Leaning against a broken fence post like she’s been there for hours, like the wind hasn’t even touched her.

She lifts her head when she sees me, and it’s like my ribs forget how to hold my heart.

“Hey,” she says.

Just that. Simple. Quiet. And somehow, I feel like falling apart.

Elias hangs back.

“I’ll, uh… I’ll leave you two to it,” he mutters. “The less I know, the better.”

“Thanks,” I say without looking back.

She steps toward me, fidgeting with the strings of her hoodie. “I didn’t mean to just show up. I know it’s stupid, but?—”

“It’s not stupid.”

Her eyes meet mine. “I didn’t know where you’d be. I just… followed something. A feeling. It was like this pull . It wouldn’t let me do anything else until I got here.”

I nod slowly.

“I know,” I say.

“Why?” she asks, voice small now. “What is this?”

I take a breath. Step closer.

“Kendall…” My voice cracks a little, but I keep going. “There’s something I haven’t explained. Something I should’ve told you days ago, but I didn’t because I didn’t know how you’d take it.”

Her lips part. “What?”

“This bond—what you’re feeling? What I’m feeling?” I shake my head. “It’s not just chemistry. It’s not just attraction or adrenaline. It’s… ancient . And real. And it doesn’t go away.”

She stares.

“In shifter culture,” I continue, “we’re raised hearing about it. Taught to recognize it. It’s rare as hell, but when it happens… it’s binding.”

“The pull,” she whispers.

“Yeah. That’s how it starts. This instinct. This drive. Like something inside you searching for something outside of you—and when it finds it? Game over.”

She takes a step back. “You said it once. At the cabin. Something about being fated. And before… You said I’d ruin you if you let me.”

I nod. “Because fated mates? They don’t get a choice. And that scared the shit out of me.”

She swallows hard. “And me?”

“You probably feel it too,” I say. “But for shifters, it’s stronger. All-consuming. It kicks in almost immediately. That’s why I couldn’t stay away. Why I kept finding you even when I told myself I shouldn’t.”

She hugs her arms around herself like she’s holding in pieces. “Why me?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But it’s not about power or bloodlines or politics. It’s soul-deep. And it only ever happens once.”

“Once?” she echoes.

“Once,” I say. “One person. One connection. That’s it.”

She closes her eyes, like she’s trying to hold that truth in her hands and it keeps slipping through her fingers.

“What if I can’t do it? What if I can’t feel it the same way? What if I’m broken?”

“You’re not broken,” I say firmly. “You’re just waking up. You’re trying to carry too much, too fast. And the bond? It’s patient. It doesn’t demand. It just is .”

Her breath stutters.

“I don’t know what I want,” she says. “If I’m scared or pissed or just tired of pretending like this isn’t real.”

I step closer. “Then don’t pretend. Just feel . Whatever it is. I’m not asking you to choose anything tonight. I just wanted you to know .”

She looks up at me, eyes full of panic and something deeper. And then, slowly, she reaches for my hand. Not tight. Just enough.

“I don’t know what this means,” she says. “But I know I didn’t feel safe until I saw you again.”

I squeeze her hand. “Then that’s enough for now.”

For once, in this fucked-up world of bloodlines and politics and prophecy, it actually is.