Page 2 of Shifting Hearts

TWO

The Loner’s Curse

Ranger

M ost people who step onto my land never leave it alive.

That isn’t a threat. It’s just the way the wild works. The forest doesn’t care about politics or rank. It doesn’t care about ceremony or tradition. Out here, it’s tooth and claw and blood. Out here, it’s survival.

And I like it that way.

The river gurgles at my feet, icy water biting at my muzzle as I lower my head to drink.

My whiskers drip as I lift it again, the chill clinging to me even through the black fur that coats my body.

My paws sink into damp moss, my claws flexing against the earth.

The night is alive with scents, the musky trail of a deer herd, the faint tang of a rabbit scurrying off to hide somewhere, and the sharp bite of pine.

It’s peaceful. Or at least, it should be.

The wind shifts and a new scent cuts through the forest like a blade.

Blood.

Fear.

Shifter.

Female.

My head snaps up, ears swiveling. My muscles lock tight. The scent coils inside me like smoke, foreign and wrong but somehow still welcome.

I stalk forward, silent as shadow. The forest bends around me, branches whispering as I pass. Each paw fall is a ghost, swallowed by pine needles. My black coat blends seamlessly with the night. Out here, I am the forest. I am the predator they fear.

And yet my chest aches and my heart stutters. Because beneath the copper tang of blood and the sting of fear, there’s something else. Something ancient. Something dangerous.

Mate.

The word slams into me, primal and undeniable. My panther growls low, a rumble that vibrates through my bones. I bare my teeth to the empty air, as if I can snarl the truth away.

No. Not me. Not again.

I push harder through the underbrush, each step silent, my instincts pulling me toward the source. My chest tightens with every breath I take of her scent. The bond coils tighter, burning through me like fire.

And then I see her.

She lies crumpled at the edge of the riverbank, mud streaking her pale skin, her black hair tangled with pine needles and leaves.

Her ceremonial dress is torn and bloodstained, the faint shimmer of runes dull and broken.

Her lips are cracked, her breath shallow.

I take in her cracked lips, shallow breathing, and tear-stained cheeks.

She is unconscious and fear slams into me at the sight.

She looks half-dead. And yet, she is more beautiful than any other woman I have ever laid eyes on.

I circle closer, my muscles tense, and my panther snarling inside me. The bond crashes through me in waves, demanding, clawing, pulling. I stumble back a step, as though I’ve walked into fire. But my body hums, every nerve screaming the truth I don’t want.

Fated.

Mate.

“Fuck.”

The word slips out low and guttural as the shift rips over me.

My bones snap, and fur recedes, muscles twist painfully and reform until I’m crouching in the mud on two legs instead of four.

The chilly night air bites against my bare skin, but I barely feel it. My pulse is a drumbeat, heavy and fast.

I should walk away. I’ve survived this long by keeping to myself, by trusting no one. Mates are a curse, a chain. I don’t want it. I never did.

But she’s dying. And if she dies, something inside me will die with her.

I kneel, sliding my arms beneath her body and lifting her against my bare chest. She weighs almost nothing, her head lolling against my chest. Her heartbeat is faint, fluttering like a tiny hummingbird’s wings as it flits from flower to flower.

Her scent is everywhere now, clinging to my skin, seeping into my lungs. It burns away all rational though.

Her lips part on a broken sound, too soft to understand and my chest tightens painfully.

“Don’t you dare quit on me,” I mutter, my voice rough as gravel.

I rise, carrying her easily. My cabin is a mile from here, deep in the forest, hidden where no pack scout dares come. I built it myself with timber felled by my own axe, and stone gathered from the riverbank. It’s crude, but it’s mine.

And now it will be hers.

The door groans as I shoulder it open, the scent of woodsmoke filling the air. Inside, the space is simple, a woodstove, a rough-hewn table, and a single bed. My bed.

My mind is at war with itself as I try to think of how to take care of her.

I strip her out of the wet dress, desire slamming into me as I touch her naked skin.

But this moment isn’t about sex, but about her survival.

I lay her naked form down carefully, tucking blankets around her trembling frame.

Her skin is clammy and her breath shallow increasing my worry.

I stoke the fire higher, warmth licking at the cold edges of her body.

Her dress lies on the floor in a wet heap, torn and stained. The runes embroidered along its hem glow faintly, a sure sign of what she endured. A bonding dress. She was at a mate ceremony tonight.

She was rejected.

The thought slams into me, sharp as claws. Someone looked at this exquisite creature and turned her away. Someone bound to her by the Goddess Herself rejected her.

Rage hums through me, low and hot. But it’s not just my rage. It is the bond and my animal as well. It’s gasoline poured on an open flame, and I want to tear out of here and hunt down the idiot that hurt her so badly. But I remain because she needs me.

I pace the small cabin, unable to keep still. My panther prowls under my skin, restless, and protective. I ladle broth into a cup and force it between her lips, coaxing her to swallow. She stirs only faintly, eyes flickering but never opening.

Two days pass before she wakes. Two days of her scent filling every space. Two days of worry. Two days of knowing my mate is in my bed, naked. Two days of being a gentleman and sleeping on the damn floor.

But on the third morning, her lashes flutter. She blinks up at me, dazed, her gaze catching on mine. Confusion fills her eyes first. Followed by fear. And then…. recognition.

“You…” Her voice is sandpaper.

“You’re safe,” I say, sitting back on the chair I placed beside the bed.

She tries to sit up but collapses. I catch her, steadying her gently, and she flinches from my touch as though I’ve burned her.

I gently lay her back against the pillows. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Her eyes widen, grey and stormy, restless as the sea. I see the moment she realizes what I am. What I am to her. The bond flares between us, sparking, and clawing to be acknowledged.

“Who are you?” she whispers.

“My name is Ranger.”

The name means nothing to most. But to her, it seems to tug at something half-remembered.

“You’re… Stygian,” she says softly.

“I was,” I correct. “Once, a long time ago but not anymore.”

Her throat works as she swallows. Her voice cracks as she whispers, “You felt it too.”

I don’t answer. But then again, I don’t need to. The truth is already written across my face.

Tears fall from her eyes. “I can’t shift,” she chokes out, changing the subject. “She’s gone. My panther. After…” She cuts off, curling in on herself, arms wrapping tight around her stomach. Her sobs are soft and broken. The sound tearing at my heart.

“She isn’t gone,” I say quietly. “She’s hurt, same as you. But she’ll come back.”

Her fingers tighten in the blanket, her knuckles turning white. Her gaze lifts, sharp and desperate. “Why do you care?”

I look away, my jaw clenched tight. “I don’t.” It’s a lie, the only shield I have left. But she already knows better.

Later, while she sleeps once more, I sit at the fire and remember everything I have fought to forget. I left the pack because I couldn’t be who they wanted.

Because Maddox, my brother, was born to lead, and I was born to be free.

We were both marked under the Blood Moon, born only a year apart. My father, the Alpha before Maddox, believed it meant destiny. Rivals. Successors. He trained us like enemies, made us fight for every scrap of his approval.

Maddox thrived. He was everything the pack wanted, charming, ruthless, and politically inclined. I was quieter. Wilder. I didn’t care for politics or councils. I wanted the forest. I only ever wanted freedom.

When the time came for the Trial, the fight to decide who would succeed, I fought like hell. But I lost. And losing didn’t just mean stepping aside. It meant exile. It meant surrender. So, I walked away, happily, if I’m being honest.

I traded the pack for the trees, the noise for silence. I told myself I didn’t need them. That I didn’t need anyone. And I didn’t. Not until now.

Because now, I have her. And I don’t know if that’s salvation, or my damnation.

She sleeps for two more days before her stormy eyes open once more. But I don’t. I can’t. All I can do is relive the past and crave a woman too broken to want anything. It doesn’t help that my back hurts from sleeping on the damn floor.

The fire burns low in the stove, casting flickering shadows across the cabin walls as she shifts restlessly in my bed, her breath shallow but steady. I sit in the chair beside her again, my elbows on my knees, my hands clenched so tight my knuckles ache.

The bond hums between us, a steady drum I can’t silence. Every breath she takes pulls at me, every faint sound out of her lips twists my gut. I should be out in the woods, hunting, patrolling, being anywhere but here.

But I can’t leave her.

Not yet. Not when she looks like death tried to claim her and failed.

Another shift and the blanket slips lower, exposing a perfect breast to my gaze.

Tipped with a rosy pink nipple, I can help but lick my lips.

I may not have wanted a mate of my own but that hasn’t stopped the unfiltered lust from coursing through my system.

My cock has been erect since I shifted back to human form, perpetually leaking precum. I rub my palm against the painful length, a small growl breaking free.

My hands itch to touch her, but I hold back. I’m not a fucking monster. Instead, I reach over and cover her with the blanket once more.

I drag a hand down my face, the old bitterness crawling back up my throat like bile. I never wanted this. Not a bond. Not a mate. Not fate’s leash around my neck.

And yet here she is. Here I am.

The fire cracks, and another memory rises like smoke.

The ring is mud and blood and teeth.

I can feel the wet earth under my bare feet, the roar of the pack ringing in my ears, the scent of adrenaline and excitement thick in the air. My fists are raw, and my ribs already bruised. Maddox circles me like a wolf with a grin sharp enough to cut.

We were brothers, once. Born just a year apart under the same Blood Moon, cursed with the same prophecy…. Born to be rivals. One destined to lead, one destined to fall.

Our father, Alpha Rourke, made sure of it. He fed us competition instead of love. He taught us to fight before we learned to speak. Every hunt, every lesson, every breath was a battle to prove who was stronger. Who deserved his love.

And Maddox always won.

Until tonight night, I thought maybe fate would give me one chance.

The Trial of Succession. Combat. Strategy. Leadership. A fight for the right to lead Stygian into the next age. The pack surrounded the pit, their voices a violent storm. Some scream my name. Most scream his.

Maddox move like a predator, calculated and sure, his eyes alight with the thrill of it. I move like chaos wrapped in skin, desperate and wild. My fists connect with his jaw, his gut, and his ribs. For a moment, he staggers. For a moment, I think…. I can win this.

Then he smiles and I know I’ve already lost. He breaks me.

His fist slams into my chest, cracking bone.

His claws rake across my side, blood spraying into the dirt and the crowd.

He throws me down into the mud, his knee pinning my throat.

My vision blurs, the world narrowing to the weight crushing me, the laughter of the pack, and the eternal fucking disappointment in my father’s eyes.

“Yield,” Maddox snarls, his breath hot against my face.

I should fight. I should have claw, and bite, and scream. But I see it, the truth. Even if I beat him bloody, even if I broke every bone in his body, the pack would never follow me.

They don’t want me. They want him. So, I let my hands fall. I let the mud take me.

“I yield.” The words taste like ash.

The crowd erupts, half in triumph, half in disappointment. Maddox throws his arms up, victorious, their golden son, their perfect Alpha-to-be.

And me?

I stand, bloodied and beaten, my father’s cold eyes burning holes in me. He doesn’t say I have failed. He doesn’t need to. I walk into the woods and don’t look back.

The memory curdles in my stomach like sour milk. I stare into the fire, my jaw tight, and hands fisted. I swore I’d never crawl for anyone again. Not Maddox. Not the pack. Not fate.

And now? Now she’s lying in my bed, broken and bleeding, her scent tangled with mine, the bond gnawing at my soul.

The Goddess is cruel. I never asked for this.

But as I glance at her, at the faint flutter of her lashes, at the rise and fall of her chest beneath my blankets, I know one truth with a certainty that chills me.

If she dies, I die with her.

And no matter how much I hate it, no matter how much I want to run, I can’t. She’s mine. Even if it kills me.