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The kitchen is dark by the time I’m able to get control of myself, sure in the knowledge that if I move, I won’t go after Kira, follow her up the stairs. Take her how I want.

I need more of her. The hunger is rooted deep inside me, as primal as thirst or exhaustion. If this is what resisting her is like now, it’s going to be nearly impossible when she goes into heat.

The thought of that sends me reeling again, and I have to grip the counter tightly, knuckles turning white, to stay rooted in my spot.

“I can’t stay in here,” I mutter, the words just for myself. Kira can’t hear me, but the sound of my voice out loud helps to shake me out of my daze. Turning, I push through the screen door at the back of the house and out into the periwinkle blush of dusk.

The cool air hits my face and arms, further shaking me out of the lust. This is what I need. In fact, what would be best right now is a whole fucking pool of ice water, something to freeze any heat or wanting out of my body, but I don’t have access to that.

So, instead, I shift.

Touching my hand to the watch on my wrist, I feel the Amanzite set there start to heat, the power shifting and channeling into me as I transform.

Without this stone, I’d feel the excruciating pain of my bones sliding against one another, ligaments stretching to the point of breaking before resetting and shifting, accommodating the new body.

I have, like all other shifters, done that once. To have a connection to what it was like for our ancestors, and to better understand the importance of caring for the Amanzite. And I have no desire to ever do it again.

The second my transition is complete, relatively painless with help from the magic, my paws are against the scrubby grass and racing toward the woods at the back of my house.

I’ve been to the northern territories, seen the towering, moist forests in their lands. But that’s not what our woodlands look like—our trees are closer to the ground, our brush wiry and strong, able to withstand the long, dry heat. And if you run carelessly, you might just find yourself with a cactus stuck to your paw or fur.

But I know this land like the back of my hand. It’s where I shifted for the first time, where I ran and hunted with my grandfather, where I wandered and explored as a kid. I know where the trees curve and fall away, leading to a secluded clearing. I know where the scraggly rock cliff is, a place where a waterfall would be in any other territory.

As I run, finding a rabbit to chase, my thoughts wander, as they always seem to, back to Kira. The sight of her like that, standing at the stove, made it so obvious. That the thing I’ve been missing is her . The soft curve of her hips, the way she’d turned her head to look at me, little tendrils of her red-golden hair coming loose from its updo.

My mind flashes back to what she was like as a teenager—a little rounder, less sure of herself, clothes baggy and unflattering, like a larger T-shirt would conceal the fact that she had curves. The boys and I weren’t the only ones to pick on her—girls could be ruthless.

Especially the first time she came to school in heat, the scent of her rolling off like steam from the mountains, pooling around the classroom.

Every alpha in that room gritted their teeth, staring straight ahead. It was a faux pas for omegas to come to school in their heat. Apparently, Kira didn’t understand what was happening to her. Nobody had taught her.

Finally, our teacher, a beta, noticing the way we were all acting, turned and snapped at Kira, her face twisted in disgust.

“For heaven’s sake, Kira,” she’d said, only a drop of pity in her tone. “Go to the nurse .”

If I’m honest with myself, I’d known she was my mate long before that. I was just afraid to put a name to it, to identify it within myself. I had no problem being with girls in high school, but as time wore on, I found it harder and harder to be interested in them.

They were always too skinny, too blonde, had a scent that was sharp and pungent to my nose.

My body yearned for someone softer, someone with curls and round cheeks. A body to sink into fully, hips I could palm, an ass I could squeeze.

Without warning, my grandfather’s voice filters into my memories, reminding me of the guiding force in my life back then.

“It is our duty to ensure there’s no more bloodshed, that this pack will not have to experience another pointless power vacuum. You must convince all the members of this pack that you’re the best candidate for alpha leader, that there’s no reason to fight over it. You can serve them well. We’ll ensure you can.”

My training was physical, of course. Learning to fight, shift mid-air, leverage my advantages in both my wolf and physical form. But it was also mental, learning about the history of the pack, understanding the dynamics of leadership. Grandpa had me in classes every weekend, learning with other mid-tier managers.

Now, I understand bookkeeping, inventory management. Being the alpha leader of a pack is a lot about relationships, good leadership. But it’s also about resource management. Making sure the shifters under my care have food and shelter. That they have no reason to question my choices.

I turn the corner and come to a stop, catching my breath as I look out over the valley, the vast swath of land that holds our western border, the reaches between our territory and the Grayhides’. My eyes follow the snaking path of the road that Kira and I took on the way in, and I snag on the exact hazy spot in the distance that our boundary lies.

With my sharp eyesight, I can also make out the warriors out there, patrolling just inside the border, making sure nobody goes in or out. I assigned more of them after returning from Grayhide territory with Kira, in case I was recognized or followed.

So far, there’s no risk to our boundaries. Just the problem of finding more Amanzite.

As I turn around and head back toward the house, my thoughts shift back from the Amanzite problem to the issue that’s much more in my face—Kira, in my house, likely asleep by now. A single door between me and her, and the growing urge inside me to take her the way a mate should.

But I know that even with the dinner she’s made me tonight, I have a lot to make up for. Starting in high school with the bullying, cresting with the day my grandfather died and I rejected her publicly. Including even the night I got her from the market, the tone I used. It might have been necessary, but it still hurt her.

I never want to hurt her again. And I know I need to try and repair things before I approach the topic of our mating bond. The mating bond that I increasingly want to strengthen, nurture. Cherish.

Eventually, I’ll present this to her. Maybe she’ll reject me in turn—she would have every right to—but I’m going to do this right.

Show her that I’m not the person I used to be. That I’m deserving of her now, and that I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that.