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CHAPTER 5

SOPHIA

B ooks never used to frustrate me. They were steady. Reliable. They never judged. Never looked at me like Lucas Stone does. And yet, right now, as I stare at the scattered pages of old Windrider lore spread across my borrowed desk in the library at the Nightshade Pack’s main lodge—courtesy of an invitation from the alpha and his mate—all I want to do is set the entire damn pile on fire.

I shove a hand through my hair, glaring at the ancient texts like they’re personally responsible for the mess my life has become. Maybe they are. Because if what I’m reading is true, then I’m about to have a whole new problem.

One I don’t want and sure as hell didn’t ask for.

Oscar sits across from me, arms crossed, watching me with his usual mix of patience and amusement. Kylie lounges on the chesterfield couch, flipping a dagger between her fingers like she’s waiting for me to break first.

“Tell me again why you suddenly care about Windrider legends?” Oscar asks.

I glare at him. “I’ve always cared about Windrider legends.”

Kylie snorts. “Bullshit; you rarely lock yourself in a room and go full scholar mode unless you’re avoiding something. Or someone.”

I slam a book shut and level her with a look. “I’m researching. Not avoiding.”

Oscar arches an eyebrow. “Researching what, exactly?”

My fingers tighten around the leather-bound book in front of me. Everything.

I don’t say that, of course. Instead, I flip the book open to the passage that’s been haunting me since I found it. “This.”

Kylie sits up, stretching lazily before swinging her legs over the edge of the sofa. “Let’s hear it.”

I skim down the page, reading aloud.

‘It is said that among the Windriders, there are rare wolves bound not by choice, but by fate. The soulbound. Those called by the land itself. When the earth begins to fracture, when the balance shifts, these wolves will find each other, drawn by forces older than time itself.’

I glance up.

Kylie looks unimpressed. Oscar frowns. “That sounds like a story meant to scare children into behaving.”

I tap the page. “Keep reading.”

The bond must not be ignored. It cannot be undone. The longer the wolves fight it, the stronger it becomes, until finally ? —’

I snap the book shut. Silence stretches between us.

Kylie eyes me, something sharp and knowing in her expression. “Until finally… what?”

I shove the book away, crossing my arms. “Doesn’t matter.”

Oscar leans forward. “Doesn’t matter? Or you just don’t want to say it out loud?”

I grind my teeth. “It’s a stupid myth.”

Kylie’s grin is slow, teasing. “So… what you’re saying is, you think Lucas Stone might be your fated mate?”

I grab the nearest book and throw it at her head. She dodges, laughing.

Oscar shakes his head, looking far too entertained for my liking. “It would explain a lot.”

I point a finger at him. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” He tilts his head. “Point out the fact that since we got here, you and Lucas have been dancing around each other like two wolves in heat?”

Kylie snickers. “I’d say they already stopped dancing and got to the fun part.”

I glare. “Not helping.”

Oscar rubs his jaw, his expression shifting from amusement to something closer to concern. “Look, I get it. If this soulbond thing is real, it complicates things. But…” He hesitates. “Sophia, what if it’s not just legend?”

I scoff, but it sounds forced. “Come on, you really believe this crap?”

Kylie leans back on her hands. “I believe that whatever’s happening between you and Lucas, it’s not normal. And considering we’re currently dealing with disappearing wolves, mutated shifters, and land that feels off, I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss an ancient Windrider warning about balance breaking.”

I don’t have a good response to that, because she’s right.

Something is wrong here. And it’s not just the missing wolves or the Crimson Claw attacks. It’s in the air, in the earth, in the way my wolf won’t stop looking toward Lucas like he’s the answer to a question I don’t want to ask.

I sigh heavily and shove the book aside. “Fine. Let’s say for argument’s sake, this story isn’t complete nonsense. What then? What am I supposed to do? Walk up to Lucas and say, ‘Hey, I know we’ve been avoiding whatever the hell this is, but fun fact—legend says we’re magically soulbound and fighting it will probably make things worse, so let’s just accept our fate?’”

Kylie grins. “I mean… it’d be a bold strategy.”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to tell him, but you need to be honest with yourself. If this bond is real, you can’t ignore it forever.”

“Watch me.”

Kylie laughs under her breath. “Oh, this is gonna be fun to watch.”

I glare at her. “It’s not happening.”

Oscar leans back in his chair. “You sure about that?”

I don’t answer. Because the truth? After what happened the other night, I’m not sure about anything anymore.

I grab another book, flipping it open, pretending I still give a damn about research. But my mind isn’t on the words. It’s on him. It’s on what happened and why I want it to happen again.

It’s the way he looks at me whenever we see each other, like he wants to tear me apart and put me back together in the same breath… On the way my wolf went still the moment his lips touched mine… On the way my instincts whisper that I already know the truth.

I don’t want to believe in legends. I don’t want to believe in soulbonds. But the problem is… I don’t think I have a choice.

After several days of Oscar, Kylie and I traveling between the Nightshade Pack’s compound and our camp, Ryder has invited us to stay. The lodge is bigger than I expected. Stone and timber, soaring beams, and windows that overlook the ridge like the forest was carved just to cradle it. There’s a quiet power in the architecture—a structure made to withstand storms, time, and everything in between.

It fits the people who live here—Ryder, Isabella and Lucas, plus those who work in the house, mostly the kitchen staff.

The lodge smells like Lucas—cedar, pine, and heat. I hate how easily I notice it. I’m sure there are other aromas, but they don’t register with me. His scent overwhelms all of my senses.

I trail behind Ryder through the wide entry hall as he leads us to the guest wing. Oscar and Kylie follow close, each of us a little too alert, like we’re being walked into enemy territory, even if the words say otherwise.

“This place is…” Kylie whistles under her breath. “Not what I expected from a bunch of settled wolves.”

Ryder glances over his shoulder. “We don’t live in caves, you know.”

Kylie grins, unbothered. “No, but I figured you’d be a little less… Pottery Barn meets Viking warlord.”

I cover a snort with my hand. Oscar glares at her. Ryder just keeps walking.

We pass through a vaulted common room with leather couches, a massive stone fireplace, and shelves filled with books I’d love to get my hands on later. Everything feels curated but lived-in. Warm, grounded. The kind of place that’s easy to sink into if you’re not careful.

Ryder stops at the far hallway and gestures to three heavy oak doors. “You’ll each have your own room. Fully stocked. Fresh linens. You’re our guests, and you’ll be treated as such. But I expect mutual respect.”

Oscar nods. “We’re not here to cause problems.”

Marcus’ voice cuts in before Ryder can respond. “No. You’re just here to bring them.”

I stiffen. The elder stands at the end of the hallway, arms folded, his narrow face set in stone. His appearance suggests that the mountain the pack protects carved him—unyielding, brittle, and already braced for collapse.

“We’re not here to stir anything,” I say evenly. “We’re trying to help. Whether or not your pride likes it.”

His eyes narrow, cold and dismissive. “The last time outsiders claimed to be helping, we lost a quarter of our northern territory.”

“That wasn’t us.”

“No. But it will always be someone.”

I lift my chin. “I’m not interested in reliving your history. I’m interested in solving the problem you’re pretending isn’t getting worse.”

Ryder steps between us before Marcus can bark back. “Enough. They stay.”

Marcus’s jaw clenches. “You’re making a mistake.”

“That’s mine to make.” Ryder’s voice never rises, but it carries the kind of weight that silences the rest of us. “You’re dismissed, Marcus.”

For a second, I think the elder might challenge him, but finally, he nods sharply and disappears down the hallway, his disapproval trailing behind him like a storm cloud.

“Friendly guy,” Kylie mutters.

Ryder rubs a hand down his face. “He’s an elder from a different generation. His view of the world is shaped by scars most of us never had to earn. Give him time.”

Oscar stays quiet. So do I.

Ryder’s gaze flicks at me. “You found something in the library, didn’t you? That’s why you asked to see the archives.”

I don’t answer right away. I’m still trying to decide if I even believe what I read. Still trying to figure out how to make sense of what’s happening with Lucas… with me.

“It’s nothing concrete,” I say. “But it’s… familiar. Stories my grandmother used to tell. Tales about soulbonds. About wolves connected not by choice but by destiny, but even more than fated mates. I thought they were bedtime nonsense, but now?” I trail off, not wanting to give too much.

Ryder watches me for a beat, then nods slowly. “Keep digging. But be careful what you stir up. Some stories are buried for a reason.”

He heads back down the hallway, leaving us to settle in.

I open the door to my room and stop short. It’s beautiful.

A king-sized bed with a dark wood frame sits beneath a window that overlooks the eastern ridge. A fireplace rests against the far wall, already stacked with logs. The scent of sage and cedar clings to the air. There’s even a little sitting area with an oversized armchair and a woven blanket draped over the back.

Kylie whistles again behind me. “Damn, you scored the view room.”

Oscar nods toward the end of the hall. “I’ll scout the perimeter after sunset. Kylie, are you good for supplies tomorrow?”

“Already on it.”

They disappear into their rooms, and I shut my door, leaning against it for a second longer than I should. This place might not be safe, but we might be needed here, and that scares me more than anything.

Later that night, the lodge buzzes with the energy of wolves who can feel something coming. The air is tight with agitation. We’re all waiting for the next Crimson Claw strike. They’ve already hit two outposts and a supply run. They’re not attacking openly—but they’re getting bolder.

Lucas hasn’t said a word to me. I’ve seen him. Heard him. Felt him. He keeps his distance, which should make things easier, but it doesn’t.

I try to focus on the legends, the signs, the way the land seems to shift under my feet, like it’s whispering something I don’t quite understand.

In Windrider lore, soulbonds were rare—wolves drawn together by the earth itself when the land fractured. The bond wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t sweet. It restored something broken. Something primal. Something we forgot.

I stare at the passage until the words blur together. Lucas isn’t the kind of wolf who believes in fate. Oh, he believes Ryder and Isabella are fated mates, but he thinks they’re a fluke. And me? I’m not the kind of wolf who wants to need anyone.

But here we are, and something tells me the earth doesn’t care what either of us wants.

The air on the training grounds behind the lodge smells like rain and bruised grass. Silver clouds still streak the sky above, but the storm that threatened earlier has passed, leaving everything damp and charged.

I roll my shoulders and stretch, feet bare against the packed earth. I’m already sweating, and we haven’t even started yet. Lucas stands across from me, chest bare and wearing only low-hung training pants that cling to his hips like they were tailored for distraction. And if they weren’t enough, the cut chest and eight-pack abs are enough to make me drool.

Every night I hear his footsteps in the hallway outside my door. Each night they pause and I stand on the other side, listening. And then he moves down the hall to his own room.

This is stupid. Training with him is a bad idea. It always ends one of two ways—with bruises or with tension so sharp I could cut myself on it.

“Stop overthinking,” Lucas says, voice quiet but direct. “You’re already ten moves ahead in your head, which means your body’s going to be too slow to keep up.”

I look at him askance. “You trying to coach me or beat me?”

His eyes narrow just slightly. “Why can’t it be both?”

“Because I don’t need a coach.”

Lucas drops into a low stance, his muscles shifting beneath his skin, fluid and controlled. “Then keep up.”

The first few strikes are easy—test shots. Probing. We circle each other, barefoot in the dirt, hands up, focus razor sharp. I dart in, trying to catch him off guard, but he sidesteps, grabs my wrist, and uses my momentum to send me stumbling forward, swatting my backside as I stumble past him. I twist away, barely avoiding hitting the ground.

“Still overthinking,” he says, tone maddeningly calm.

“You’re still a condescending asshole.”

This time I lunge first, putting everything behind a low sweeping kick that forces him to jump back. He recovers fast, catching my wrist again, but I pivot my hips and roll through, breaking his grip.

We separate. I’m breathing harder than I want him to see.

“Better,” he says.

“Shut up.”

He lunges. I duck and sidestep. His hand catches my waist, spinning me, but I twist with him and plant my foot against his thigh to push off. He doesn’t let go.

We go down hard.

Lucas lands on his back. I land on top of him, one arm braced on his chest, legs straddling his hips. The contact is instant and electric.

Neither of us moves.

His eyes lock on mine, intense and primal. My heartbeat slams against my ribs. I should roll off him, should do literally anything else besides stay here like some kind of territorial idiot.

But I don’t. His hand is still on my waist. Not hard, not holding, but not letting go, either. I lean in, close enough that his breath grazes my lips.

“This is your strategy?” he murmurs. “Straddle me into submission?”

I bite back a grin. “Seems like it’s working.”

His hand tightens, just slightly. Enough to make me feel it.

“You have no idea what you’re playing with.”

“I think I do.”

His eyes search mine, but not for weakness. For something else. Something darker. I feel the moment when he almost leans up and kisses me. His body coils beneath mine, every inch of him a silent dare. But he doesn’t.

I push up and off him instead, ignoring the disappointment. “Training’s over,” I say. “For now.”

Lucas gets to his feet slowly, brushing dirt from his skin. “We’ll pick it back up tomorrow.”

I don’t answer. I just walk off the field, pretending I don’t feel his eyes on me the whole way.

That night, I can’t sleep. It isn’t the first time. In fact, I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since we moved to the lodge. When I enter the guest room, it’s warm, the fire crackling low, but my mind won’t quiet.

The moon filters through the massive window, casting a wash of silver over the floorboards. I sit in the armchair, knees drawn up under me, staring out the window and watching it rise higher in the sky.

My wolf is restless. Pacing. She doesn’t understand this game I’m trying to play—doesn’t understand why we keep running from what we both feel. I keep going over that story from the Windrider texts. Soulbound. Wolves drawn together not by logic or choice, but by something far older. It sounds beautiful and terrifying.

But what if that’s not what this is? What if Lucas isn’t my fated mate? What if he’s just a mistake I should avoid at all costs? But what if I can’t?

I think about the way he touched me today. The way our bodies knew each other before our minds could catch up. It wasn’t romance—there was nothing soft about it. It was instinct. It was fire, and I’m not sure if I want to be consumed or saved.

A floorboard creaks in the hallway. My sense of hearing pricks up. My body tenses, but after a brief pause, the steps pass my door. I know it’s him. I can feel it in the air, in the way the silence changes.

Lucas—always circling, always watching.

I press my forehead to my knees and close my eyes. The moon glows brighter outside the window, casting its light like a promise. Or a threat.

I don’t know what Lucas is to me. Not yet. But something’s coming, and I need to figure it out before it’s too late.