Page 34

Something had shifted in the tribe.

Seren felt it in the way the older women nodded at her now, eyes no longer wary but assessing.

In the way the market quieted slightly when she passed, only to resume with a gentler rhythm.

The pups followed her around like they always did—each of them bringing her some strange offering: a curved fang, a smooth river stone, a wrinkled petal, and even once a baby tooth, proudly displayed in a grubby palm.

They flocked to her like bees to their queen, yipping and growling, sometimes even baring their bellies as they circled her legs.

Seren was an expert belly-scratcher-the pups always lay blissed out, their legs kicking in the air, asking for more.

She'd always been good with children, and their blunt affection left her feeling warm inside.

She collected their gifts carefully in a small wooden box the Oracle had given her.

She still gave Veyr the slip now and then. He was good at watching, but she was getting better and better at vanishing.

She left her offerings—bread wrapped in leaves, sticky globs of honey, or dried meat—in the clearing near the caves, close to where she'd been chased by the Forgotten.

She never stayed long in case the beast thought she was part of the offering.

She never saw him clearly. But every time she returned, the offerings were gone.

The earth was marked with huge paw prints.

And once or twice, the thick, pungent scent of territory stung her nose—musky and pungent, bear urine. He marked the spot often .

The clearing itself had become quieter, undisturbed. Even the rowdiest critters didn't cross into it. Something unseen kept them away.

The anoman shimmered in the golden light—half-furred, half-scaled, with long, branching horns like antlers and an owl's haunted eyes. It perched on a tree stump in the deep woods, still as breath. It was a creature Seren had never seen before.

Seren crouched a few feet away, camera raised, finger steady on the shutter. She barely moved, barely blinked. Her heart beat in time with the creature's breaths.

Click.

A soft huff of air came from behind her. She didn't need to look.

Veyr.

He was in wolf form today, his silver-grey pelt glinting where shafts of sunlight broke through the canopy. He lay close, tail curled around his legs, tongue lolling from his open mouth. Watching her.

Always watching her .

The anoman stirred, gave a single low whistle, and disappeared into the underbrush.

Seren lowered the camera slowly and glanced back. "You know," she said, "you're not very good at not being obvious."

Veyr's tongue curled further out in a wolfish grin.

She sighed. "Why do you follow me everywhere? You're like a really quiet... extremely fluffy stalker."

A shimmer passed over his form, and within seconds, the wolf gave way to the boy—tall, lean, and always a little too still, as if even in human skin, he remembered the forest's hush. Seren, her face turned away, heard the rustle of clothing being pulled on.

He stood a few feet away now, eyes locked on hers.

"You never asked," he said simply.

"Well, I'm asking now."

He was quiet for a moment, then stepped forward, fingers brushing the bark of a nearby tree. "That first day. In front of everyone... you stood like you belonged, even though you didn't. You were like one of those wild exotic flowers we read about."

Her mouth parted. He wasn't looking at her. Not quite .

"You fought," he said, softer now. "Not just on the field. With your eyes. With the way you refused to bow."

She swallowed hard.

"You were brave," he said. "I admire that."

Silence stretched between them like a thread pulled taut.

"In another time," Veyr continued, "one without prophecy or bonds, where bloodlines didn't matter..." He finally looked at her. "Hagan wouldn't have a chance."

Her breath caught.

"But," he added, quietly, "you were born to be Lunara. And I cannot take that from you."

She blinked, startled by the tenderness in his voice, by the way it curled around her name like a blessing and a farewell all at once.

"So, I will be your shadow," he said, mouth quirking at one corner. "As much as I would be to Hagan."

Seren stared at him, chest tight with something unnamed .

Then, slowly, she leaned back against the tree trunk behind her and grinned.

"Well," she said lightly, "if you're going to follow me, could you at least carry my gear next time? I'm not made for lugging tripods through brambles."

Veyr arched a brow.

"And maybe bring snacks?" she added sweetly. "Some of us don't run on silent, brooding energy alone. And don't eat raw meat."

His lips twitched. "Just energy...what about dramatic good looks? Forgot that?"

"I did. Shame on me." She tilted her head. "You're a regular forest prince, Veyr."

He gave a low chuckle, eyes flicking away like he couldn't quite hold her gaze for too long.

But Seren saw the flush rise along his neck—and how, for just a second, his shadow fell closer than ever across her own.

At school, things had... calmed .

Lia was cool, but not cruel. No one shoved her in the halls anymore.

No one mocked her clothes or her eyes. The spider incident had left a mark—on their minds, and possibly their nightmares.

The wolf-born didn't look through her now; they looked at her, uncertain but wary. A few nodded. A few even greeted her.

She continued to whisper wind-warnings to Veyr and Hagan when she caught something strange on the breeze. Hagan was the only one who ever asked her how she knew.

"The wind tells me,” she’d said with a shrug like she was joking.

He didn't know she wasn't.

These days, he followed her more than Veyr did.

He said less but watched more. He'd started helping in the herb garden, silently plucking weeds and planting seedlings beside her.

He always managed to find her when she wandered off with her camera.

And he left things at her doorstep now—pressed wildflowers, feathers, sketches of birds, once even a perfect little carved fox.

She didn't know what to make of any of it. But her heart beat differently when she saw his handwriting on the note that said saw this and thought of you .

The handfasting ceremony loomed. Her sixteenth birthday was weeks away, and with it came the cord—the True Lover's Knot.

Elders wove it from one unbroken line, an eternal loop of two hearts intertwined, drawn from old Celtic designs.

The wolfborn believed each fated couple bore one half.

The knot was tattooed on the inside of the wrist, a private mark made public.

Most wolves chose their partners later, after quests and travels. But the fated ones didn't get to wait. At sixteen, they handfasted—and began a strange, awkward life together: still courting, still growing, but already bonded.

Seren didn't know what scared her more—that it was coming... or that it might not.

She was perched on a low branch by the marsh, her camera raised toward a motionless heron. The light was just right—amber leaking through the reeds, her subject poised like a statue.

Click.

Click.

The heron shifted.

"What are you doing? "

Seren startled, and her finger jerked. The camera caught a lopsided blur of feathers as the heron launched into the air.

She groaned. "Hagan!"

He was grinning up at her, standing too close, the sun behind him making his curls glow like a halo. "Was it something I said?"

"Yes. Your voice is like a dying goose."

"Harsh. I come bearing company and snacks."

"You come bearing ruined shots."

She turned back, camera tucked into her lap , and stuck her tongue out at him. Recently, as they continued to ignore the bond that pulsed between them, an uneasy truce had developed between them.

He tilted his head and squinted. "You always wear your hair like that?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Like what?"

"All... braided up. Like you're hiding it. "

She opened her mouth to retort, but he stepped closer and—without asking—reached up and tugged at the end of her braid.

"Hey!" She swatted his hand. "Stop manhandling me!"

"I'm not—manhandling—" He yanked playfully again. "I just want to know what it looks like down."

"You could just ask."

He opened his mouth, paused, and blinked. "Can I see it down?"

"No."

He frowned. "Why not?"

"Because I said so," she sniffed, chin raised.

Because she'd heard what he was thinking.

Because his thoughts were always so loud when he was near her. Little flutters of confusion, longing, heat. Curiosity buzzed like static between them. He didn't know she could hear them, not really. He wouldn't understand.

He tugged at her braid again, gentler this time. "You've been avoiding me. "

"I've been busy."

"With the wind?"

"With life."

Their eyes met and lingered. His grin faded. Something else crept in. Something that made Seren feel all warm and tingly inside her chest.

"You don't have to be scared," he said quietly.

"I'm not," she lied.

His hand lingered at the edge of her braid. Then, slowly, he let it fall.