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CALLUM

C old air clings to my lungs as I step aside, letting Kendall slip past me into the cabin with her arms wrapped tight around herself. Her silver-streaked hair catches the weak moonlight, and I slam the door harder than necessary.

"Do I really have to be here again?" she asks looking around.

"It's the best option right now. Especially with whatever Adora is going through. I don't trust that spar match tonight." I catch Kendall's blue eyes glint and can tell she thinks the same thing.

“Fire’s gonna take a minute.” I crouch by the hearth, stacking logs with military precision. The last ember of daylight’s already bled out of the sky, leaving the room swimming in shadows that don’t quite hide the remnants of what happened last time we were here. couch. The floors are still clawed up from last time while she?—

“You’re grinding your molars.”

I glance over my shoulder. Kendall’s perched on the armrest, not the cushions, her boots dangling. Smart. Avoiding the battlefield. “Adora’s been twitchier than a feral cat since the bloodline chat. This place is off-grid. Safe," is all I manage to say.

“Safe,” she echoes, peeling off her leather gloves finger by finger. “Like your dad’s bunker speeches?”

“Mathis isn’t wrong about the humans.” The match hisses to life in my hand, flame licking the kindling. “They smile while sharpening knives. But this?” I jerk my chin at the moss-chinked walls. “This is just wood and stone. No agendas.”

She snorts. “Says the guy who called Gideon's Torch ‘rabid gerbils on a power treadmill’ last week.”

“They are.” The fire crackles awake, painting her in golds and reds. Her cheeks flush, and I pivot toward the pantry. “There’s coffee. Or whiskey.”

“You got any tea that doesn’t taste like mulch?”

“Beggars, princess.” I toss a tin of Earl Grey at her. She catches it one-handed, that hunter’s reflex of hers never dormant.

The couch creaks when I sink into the far end, putting a solid foot of dead space between us. She arches a brow but says nothing, just shakes tea leaves into a chipped mug. The silence isn’t quiet—it’s a live wire, sparking with every glance she steals my way while she boils water.

“Adora’s not the only one who’s twitchy.” She blows steam off her tea, eyes narrowing over the rim. “You’ve been side-eyeing me since we left.”

I don't say anything. I don't know what to say at the moment so I keep my eyes on the fire.

She sets her mug down as it clinks onto the side table. “You’re avoiding the actual reason you’re tense.”

The fire pops, embers spiraling up the chimney. Her knee brushes mine when she shifts to move closer, and my pulse does this stupid skippy thing, like a deer on ice.

“Last time we were here…” Her voice dips, rougher than the wool blanket draped between us. “…you’re scared I’ll bolt again.”

I stare at the flames. “You did.”

“I panicked.”

“And I told you I wouldn't push you.”

“I didn’t know what the bond meant !” Her palm slaps the couch cushion. The spring twangs. “One minute I'm running for safety from my uncontrollable shift, the next I’m climbing you like?—”

“Like a goddamn sequoia.”

Her laugh’s abrupt, startled. “You’re such an ass.”

“And you’re still here.”

The admission hangs there, raw. She leans into it, her shoulder pressing mine. “I’m not running, Callum.”

“Prove it.”

Her fingers find my jaw, calloused and warm, tilting my face toward hers. “I’m not a porcelain doll. You don’t have to tiptoe.”

Her thumb traces my lower lip, and every muscle locks. Fuck, I want to crush her into the cushions, but…

“Kendall—”

“Shut up.” Her breath ghosts over my mouth, cinnamon and defiance. “This isn’t panic. It’s not the bond. It’s me .”

The kiss is a question. Soft and testing.

Her lips part under mine, the taste of Earl Grey and defiance dissolving into something sweeter. My hand slides into her hair, silver strands catching between my knuckles like moonlight made tangible. She makes this noise—half growl, half whimper—that ignites every nerve ending.

“Bedroom,” I rasp against her mouth, not a question.

Her teeth graze my bottom lip. “Thought you’d never ask.”

We don’t trip over boots this time. Don’t crash into walls. Each button of her flannel pops free under my fingers, deliberate as a countdown. She shrugs it off, and the firelight paints her bare shoulders in molten gold. My breath hitches.

“See something you like?” Her smirk’s shaky, but her hands don’t tremble when they yank my Henley over my head.

“Shut up.” I lift her, her legs locking around my hips as I carry her toward the creaking bed. She nips my earlobe, all teeth, and I nearly drop her. “Christ, Kendall?—”

“Too slow, Wulfson.” She rolls us sideways, straddling me, her palms flat on my chest. Her thumbs brush my nipples, and I hiss. “Payback’s a bitch.”

I flip her before she can gloat, pinning her wrists above her head. Her pulse thunders against my palm. “Keep squirming. See what happens.”

She arches, bare breasts brushing my chest. “Promises, promises.”

I take my time. Open-mouthed kisses down her throat, sucking bruises she’ll glare at tomorrow. When my tongue flicks her nipple, she bucks hard enough to crack the headboard. “Callum?—!”

“Right here.” My hand slides between her thighs, fingers slick with her. Her hips jerk, chasing friction. “Tell me.”

“I want you.” Her nails rake down my back, drawing blood. “All of you. Now.”

I sheathe myself in one slow thrust, her gasp sharp in my ear. Her walls clench, velvet heat strangling me. “Fuck. Kendall?—”

“Move.” Her heels dig into my ass. “Or I will.”

We find our rhythm in the sweat-slick dark, her body arching to meet each punishing thrust. I inhale ragged breaths against her temple. Every creak of the bedframe syncs with her choked gasps, her heels locking behind my thighs to drag me deeper.

My cock pulses thick and urgent, burying deeper with each ragged breath between us. Her clenching heat becomes a velvet vise—I growl against her collarbone, teeth scraping skin that smells of salt and wildflowers. Every inch claimed feels like territory won in a war we’ve been waging. She arches, throat bared, and I press harder—not just to fuck, but to carve myself into the marrow of her bones. The wolf in my blood snarls approval. Mine. Not just tonight. Always.

"Fuck...yes, right there —" Her plea fractures when I angle my hips, hitting that sweet spot that makes her walls flutter. I hiss as her nails carve fresh trenches across my shoulders, the sting sharpening my focus. Her heat clenches around me like a fist, demanding surrender. "Show me," I growl against her mouth. "Let me feel you break."

Her eyes ignite—wolf-gold bleeding through blue—and something primal roars in my blood. I capture her scream with my lips as her back bows off the mattress, thighs quaking against my ribs. The headboard cracks against the wall in time with her contractions, ancient oak splintering under our frenzy.

I force myself to still, trembling with restraint as aftershocks wrack her body. But she's already surging up, teeth grazing my jugular in challenge. "Again," she demands, hips rolling with feral precision. Her palm slaps against the sweat-slick headboard. " With me. "

Control shatters.

The ache between my hips burns like fresh claws scoring my spine—this isn’t lust anymore, it’s possession. My cock pulses against her walls with every growl she swallows from my throat, a fevered rhythm that feels more like battle strategy than passion. Shifter blood roars beneath the surface, begging me to claim, to break , even as the relentless squeeze of her thighs threatens to snap my control. Fuck, I’d laugh at the irony if I weren’t trembling—since when does an alpha’s restraint shatter faster than that oak bedframe?

Her scent drenches me, wolf-wild and hungry, and for the first time in years, I don’t care about politics or the war brewing beyond these sweat-slick sheets. I care about the way her rebellion cracks open something feral in my chest, the way every brutal thrust carves another fracture into my resolve.

My canines prickle her throat as she tilts her head in offering, pulse hammering against my tongue. The mating bite hovers between us—an oath written in blood and bone—but her fingers soften in my hair. A choice. A plea.

I roar her name instead, burying my face in the crook of her neck as release tears through me. Her answering cry vibrates against my chest when the second wave takes her, legs hooking higher to milk every drop. We collapse in a tangle of heaving limbs, her sigh warm against my neck.

We don’t speak. Don’t bolt. Her heartbeat slows under my palm, her breath warm on my sweat-slick skin. The bond hums, quiet but unbroken.

She traces the scars on my shoulder. “Your wolf’s quieter tonight.”

“Liar.” My laugh rumbles through her. “He’s screaming.”

Her palm presses over my heart. “So’s mine.”