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Chapter six
Tristan
A fter the chaos at dinner, I made sure a private bedroom was set up for Serena and headed to my own chambers for some air.
The scent of pine smoke greeted me as I shut the door.
I paused for a moment, listening. The distant howls of my pack filtered up from the forest below as they raced restlessly into the night, but no footsteps echoed in the hall.
Good. I turned the key in the lock, and the old iron groaned like it disapproved of my need to be alone.
I didn't care. Tonight, privacy mattered more than the usual display of strength. The mountain air that seeped in through the window carried a faint shimmer of something older than scent—an undercurrent of silver and stone, as if the mountain itself was breathing through the cracks. Shadows danced across the stone walls, thrown by the flickering light of a single oil lamp. The room felt different. Smaller. Like its silence was heavier than it had been before Serena and her damn birthmark. I settled into the worn leather chair near the hearth, but the tension didn’t leave my body.
It clung to me as stubbornly as the memory of her startled eyes, the way her mark lit up when I touched her wrist. That moment.
That fucking moment was all I could think about, even when I didn’t want to.
She was supposed to be a tool, but now the tool was making me feel like the fool.
I couldn't even get the upper hand without being reminded of the iridescent glow that surged from her wrist to my shoulder. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and buried my face in my hands. This wasn’t like me.
Losing control, losing focus. Letting something—or someone—interfere with what had always been the most important thing.
I ran a hand through my dark hair, feeling the weight of everything that had happened.
The kidnapping had been a gamble, a way to draw the Silver Ridge pack out, to make them vulnerable.
Now, with Serena in our hold, nothing was going as planned.
She was supposed to be a pawn, but the second our marks connected, that went to shit.
Now her father sends threats to get her back, but I know she doesn’t want to return to her own pack who treated her like a prisoner. What the hell was I going to do?
I exhaled and listened to the fire crackle. It mixed with the low sound of my pack in the distance, howls winding through the trees like a living, breathing thing. It had a pulse. The same kind I felt every time I saw Serena, the way her eyes challenged me, her fearlessness wrapped in wit.
I pulled back my shirt, fingers brushing the crescent mark. No spark, no clarity—just the echo of her face, the confusion we shared. It should’ve been nothing. It wasn’t.
I stared at the hearth, trying to force the fire to burn away the questions.
Nothing I had been told or expected explained this.
A birthmark was just that—nothing more. And yet.
.. It made no sense, but neither did the feeling in my gut.
This need to know more, to protect her from everything—including myself.
The room closed in around me, heavy with the choice that wasn’t really a choice.
I had always been taught one thing: protect the pack above all else.
Never let anything interfere. I held my breath and let it out slowly.
So why the hell did I feel this way? Why couldn't I just ignore it, ignore her?
My protective instincts surged, cutting through any plan or strategy I thought I had.
I shifted in the chair, staring out at the night, wondering if this was how it felt to go crazy.
To want to rip down everything that mattered and build it back up differently, with someone like her at the center.
I was used to wanting, but not wanting like this.
Not something I couldn't control. The mark on my shoulder burned with the same intensity as the memory of her eyes.
For the first time, I couldn’t convince myself that the pack was all that mattered.
That maybe, just maybe, something else was just as important.
I should have hated the thought. Fought it.
But I couldn’t. It was wrapped too tightly around me, like her scent and her amber eyes.
I closed my eyes and saw the light from our marks, saw it as vividly as if she were standing right in front of me.
This wasn’t going away. She wasn’t going away.
I should have been filled with anger at the idea that I was so easily distracted. Instead, something else rose to the surface. A raw, untamed desire to keep her safe. It wasn’t like me. It wasn’t what I had been taught. It was something primal, something I didn’t want to admit but couldn’t deny.
The fire dimmed in the hearth, but the heat in the room stayed strong.
Stayed as fierce as the impulse running through me.
It was more than just duty. It was more than I could understand, but I would get to the bottom of it.
The old iron lock on my door was more than a barrier tonight; it was a promise.
A promise to find out why she had this hold on me and why, despite everything, I wanted it.
I wanted it like I wanted air to breathe.
The more I tried to ignore it, the more it took root.
I couldn’t shake it. I couldn’t shake her.
The outside world shrank to nothing but this one room and my resolve to protect Serena Sterling.
It didn’t matter that I didn’t know what that meant or what it would cost me.
She was mine to shield, and the idea of anything else was like ash in my mouth.
The howls in the distance faded, but the sound of my own heartbeat took their place.
Steady. Determined. It echoed in my veins, and every thud whispered the same thing: She's mine.
Memories moved in, fast and unwelcome, as I stared into the fire.
My father’s voice came back to me in fragments, like it traveled across time and distance to remind me of what I should have never forgotten.
I was a kid, barely old enough to shift, running with him through the forest. We were side by side, his strides measured so I could keep up.
“Strength isn't just muscle,” he told me, and the words echoed off the trees and through the years.
The next time he said them, I was older, covered in dirt and his blood, looking down at his body as the breath left him.
The image of it pressed against me. It pressed and held and would never let go.
The flames shifted in the hearth, and I was back in the forest. I remembered my father lifting me onto his shoulders so I could see the way the trees seemed to go on forever.
“One day, all of this will be yours to protect,” he said.
His voice was steady, sure. He made it sound like a gift and a burden.
Like both those things were one and the same.
It was the day of my first hunt. We moved as wolves, he as a massive black beast, and me, a pup, racing to keep up.
I felt invincible with him at my side. I remember the wind rushing through my fur, the excitement of the chase.
How he taught me to feel every muscle in my body, to trust the instincts passed down through generations.
That day was filled with pride, mine for him and his for me.
But mostly, I remembered the promise he made me repeat until I could say it as easily as my own name: The pack is everything.
That lesson never wavered. It was like an old scar, healed but visible.
It sat next to another memory, older but just as strong.
One I couldn’t shake, no matter how much I tried.
Our territory was under attack, and the rival wolves outnumbered us.
I watched from the trees as my father fought with a ferocity I’d never seen before.
I remembered the way he threw himself into the battle, fearless and fierce.
His growls were like thunder, shaking the ground and the certainty of our enemies.
He returned victorious, but not untouched.
Blood matted his fur, some his and some not, as he stumbled back into the heart of the camp.
The others surrounded him, a mixture of relief and respect in their eyes.
He took a breath, shifted back to human, and collapsed.
I rushed to his side, confusion and fear making my limbs feel heavy and slow.
He was weak, and I was unprepared to see him that way.
To know that he was mortal, that our strength had limits.
He gripped my arm, his hold firm despite the blood that flowed from him, and said, “Strength isn't just muscle.” I didn’t understand what he meant then, but I do now.
I understood it when I looked down at him, older, the life slipping out of him and his eyes locked on mine.
That understanding settled deep in me, where it would grow like roots.
Where it would pull me back from distractions, from anything that threatened to make me forget.
The fire crackled again, and I was with him in the sacred caves.
The memory was strong, the stone walls feeling close and powerful.
I watched him trace his hand along the smooth surface of the cave, his eyes reflecting the luminescent glow of the stones.
“These are your legacy,” he told me. “Never forget the mountain's power is our birthright. It must be defended at any cost.”
I took those words into me. Held them closer than anything else, like they could shield me from every doubt. It was a time before curses and birthmarks. Before fate showed up, wrecking everything. When all that mattered was the pack, and everything made sense.