Page 16

ROLLO

T he dream came just before dawn.

Rollo stood barefoot in the heart of the Whispering Woods, shirtless beneath a bruised sky thick with storm and the lingering perfume of wildflower.

The moon hung low and swollen, casting its silver light down his back like spilled water, catching on the old scars along his shoulder blades, painting him in reverence.

The forest wasn’t silent—it hummed , alive and ancient, its breath stirring the moss beneath his feet and the ferns that curled protectively along the clearing’s edge. Around him, the trees leaned in—not menacing, but reverent. Witnesses.

And then Delilah stepped into the clearing.

Barefoot, hair loose, lips parted like she’d just whispered a spell. Her skin glowed gold beneath the flicker of fireflies, every inch of her bathed in moonlight like the forest had crowned her queen.

She didn’t speak.

The space between them bent, warm and magnetic.

He felt her pull like the tide—deep, inevitable. And the bear inside him rose, sensing her nearness, pacing just beneath the surface of his skin. It wasn’t just desire—it was recognition. Claim . Something older than time itself.

She stepped closer, her eyes catching the moonlight, hazel turning to molten amber. Her fingertips brushed his chest, slow and deliberate, and he swore he felt her magic reach into his bones and settle there.

He reached for her then, his palms sliding over the gentle flare of her hips, thumbs brushing the dip of her waist. The earth throbbed under their feet. Roots began to rise from the soil—slow and pulsing—not to bind, but to bear witness . They curled gently around their ankles, humming with power.

Delilah tilted her head, exposing her throat.

Trust. Submission. Not weakness— choice.

He leaned in, breath hot against her neck, lips brushing her skin just below her ear. Her hands slid up his back, fingernails dragging lightly across his shoulder blades, setting fire to every inch of him.

“Say it,” he whispered against her pulse.

She didn’t.

But she arched into him, and it was enough.

He dipped lower, kissing the slope of her shoulder, the hollow between her collarbones. Her breath hitched, and the roots pulsed harder, heat rising in waves from the ground as if the very forest wanted them joined.

He dropped to his knees in the moss, hands cradling her hips, face pressed to the soft flesh just above the curve of her hip. Right where the mark would go.

Where she’d wear him.

His magic. His name. His soul.

His bear growled low, pleased, possessive.

He opened his mouth and his teeth grazed her skin.

She shivered. And then her voice—clear, sad, steady—cut through the fog of hunger.

“Rollo… if you take me, you can’t leave. And neither can I.”

The forest stilled. Even the roots paused, breath held.

Rollo looked up at her, and in her eyes was every year they’d spent apart. Every wound, every scar, every word left unsaid. And love. Still there. Raw and trembling.

He parted his lips to speak. To promise to stay. But the world split with a terrifying shudder.

He woke with a gasp, tangled in sweat-damp sheets, lungs heaving like he’d run for miles.

The morning light bled through the cabin window, weak and unsteady. His hands curled into fists against the mattress. His chest ached with the weight of what hadn’t happened—what almost had.

And deep inside, the bear growled once more.

The sun hadn’t cleared the ridge yet, but the sky had lightened to that soft pink-blue hush that always came before the birds stirred. The sanctuary cabin was still wrapped in shadows, the animals quiet in their nests and stalls, even the phoenix pup tucked tight in his nest of warmed stones.

Rollo sat up, scrubbed a hand over his face, and breathed out hard.

The dream lingered.

Her skin. Her voice. The need.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, bare feet hitting the wood with a muted thud. Every muscle in him tensed. The fire from the dream hadn’t gone—it still coiled low in his gut, thick with guilt and hunger.

Because he wanted it to be real.

He wanted her.

Not just the kiss they shared. Not just the way her fingers curled naturally in his. But all of her—laughing, angry, stubborn, vulnerable. He wanted to claim her not like an animal but like a man who knew, with every breath, that she was his match in every damn way that counted.

But she had pulled away.

And after that… he hadn’t expected to see her today. Maybe not again.

He’d ruined it once. Maybe she’d decided not to give him the chance to ruin it again.

The thought hollowed something in his chest.

He stepped outside into the crisp morning, air damp with dew and the scent of green things waking.

That’s when he saw it.

Near the sanctuary gate, nailed into the outer wooden post, was a totem. Twisted bone. Black-thread binding. A hunk of petrified root in the shape of a bear’s claw. The air around it sizzled faintly, crackling with residual magic.

Garrick.

The name thundered through Rollo’s head as he approached.

A warning. A claim. A threat.

Rage flared fast and white-hot. He tore the totem down with one hand, the bones snapping in his grip. The black-thread came alive, snaking up his wrist like it wanted to bite.

He growled, letting the bear rise just enough to glow gold beneath his skin.

“Not here,” he snarled.

He crushed the totem beneath his heel, grinding it into the dirt until nothing but ash and splinters remained.

The scent of corrupted magic lingered, oily and wrong.

Rollo stood along the borders of the sanctuary, chest heaving, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

The woods were no longer whispering. They were watching. And Garrick had crossed a line.

You can’t protect what’s already broken, Garrick had said.

Rollo stared into the trees.

“Watch me,” he growled. Then turned back toward the cabin.

Delilah wasn’t due for another hour, if she was coming at all. And a selfish part of him hoped she would. That the kiss hadn’t scared her away completely.

But he wouldn’t blame her if it had.

He ran a hand through his hair and started boiling water for the phoenix pup’s morning broth, trying to push the dream, the totem, and the taste of her kiss out of his head.

But the forest wasn’t quiet anymore.

And neither was his heart.