Page 27 of When Two Worlds Collide (Fated Mates, Stubborn Hearts #1)

EMBER

D awn bleeds across the sky as I kneel beside a young settler girl, dabbing a cloth against her forehead.

She can’t be more than ten, her eyes wide with shock, a jagged cut across her cheek where bear claws barely missed taking her eye.

She doesn’t flinch from my touch despite the blood crusting my hands, despite witnessing my shift from fire-wreathed monster back to woman.

“You’re the fire lady,” she whispers, reaching to touch my hair. “You saved my brother.”

I manage a smile despite the bone-deep exhaustion that makes every movement an effort. The fragile bond between Zane and me pulses with shared pain, physical and emotional.

“Try to sleep,” I tell her, tucking a blanket around her shoulders. “Your aunt will be back soon.”

All around us, the River’s Edge settlement has transformed into a makeshift field hospital.

The meetinghouse, once a gathering place for celebrations, now holds rows of wounded.

Settlers with medical training work alongside Shadow Wolf healers, their former suspicions temporarily suspended in the wake of shared trauma.

I feel Zane before I see him—our bond transmitting his approach like heat lightning across my skin.

He enters the meetinghouse, ducking beneath the doorframe, his massive frame making the space feel suddenly smaller.

Fresh bandages wrap his torso, already spotted with blood from wounds that should have had days to heal.

The bond trembles between us, raw and unsettled.

The ritual should have continued through the third night, our bodies and minds gradually acclimating to the connection.

Stormcrow’s attack interrupted that process, leaving us with a bond that’s strong but unstable, like newly forged metal pulled from the fire too soon.

Every settler goes still as Zane approaches, watching him with expressions that range from open gratitude to lingering fear. Even half-broken, he carries himself with alpha authority, silver eyes scanning the wounded with calm assessment.

“Marcus has arranged transport for your injured,” he tells the settlement’s lead healer. “The northern caves offer better protection than open buildings.”

The healer—a stocky badger shifter named Thorne—hesitates. “Our people are exhausted. Moving them?—”

“Stormcrow will return,” Zane interrupts quietly. “This settlement is indefensible.”

Through our bond, I feel the weight of his certainty—the absolute knowledge that the bear clan won’t accept defeat. I stand, touching Thorne’s arm.

“He’s right,” I say. “I know these caves. They’re secure, with fresh water and multiple exits. Your wounded will be safer there.”

Thorne looks between us, noticing something in our shared stance, our unconscious mirroring of each other’s posture. His eyes widen slightly.

“You’re bonded,” he says, the words half accusation, half wonder. “Haven’s Heart ambassador and wild wolf alpha.”

I feel Zane’s spike of protectiveness through the bond. “Yes,” I answer before he can. “And as someone who understands both worlds, I’m telling you to accept his help.”

Thorne studies me for a long moment, then nods. “I’ll organize the evacuation.”

As he moves away, Zane’s fingers brush mine—the briefest contact, yet it sends relief coursing through my system. The bond aches for physical connection, for time to stabilize properly.

“You need rest,” he murmurs, his voice pitched for my ears alone. “The strain of the incomplete bond?—”

“Will have to wait,” I finish, though every part of me craves his touch. “There’s too much to do.”

His silver eyes darken with concern. “I feel it too, wildfire. The hollowness. The pain.”

“Later,” I promise, though we both know the timeline for completing a bond ritual can’t simply be extended. What was interrupted remains fragile. “How are your warriors?”

“Mourning our dead. Treating our wounded.” Grief shimmers through the bond. “Three lost. Seven injured badly enough to need recovery time.”

I reach for his hand again, this time gripping it tightly. The contact sends immediate relief through our connection, easing the raw edges. “They died defending innocents. It matters, Zane.”

“It matters,” he agrees, then adds through our mental link: But was it worth it?

Before I can answer, a commotion erupts outside the meetinghouse. Zane tenses, every sense alert, but I recognize the voices. My heart sinks.

“Haven’s Heart,” I mutter. “The council must have sent forces when they got word of the attack.”

Zane’s expression hardens. “Perfect timing, as always. After the battle’s done.”

We exit the meetinghouse to find a contingent of Haven’s Heart guards forming a perimeter around the settlement square. At their center stands Councilor Fletcher, flanked by Alliance representatives—a vampire and a dragon in human form. All three wear expressions of calculated outrage.

“Ambassador Steelclaw,” Fletcher calls, his voice carrying across the square. “Explain this disaster.”

I straighten my spine, absurdly conscious of my appearance—borrowed clothes too large for my frame, dried blood under my fingernails, hair matted with sweat and ash. I feel Zane’s fierce pride pulse through our bond, and it steadies me.

“Mountain Bear clan attacked just after midnight,” I reply, projecting my voice with diplomatic clarity. “The Shadow Wolf pack responded to defend the settlement. Without their intervention, the death toll would have been catastrophic.”

Fletcher’s eyes narrow as Zane steps to my side. “And why was a wild clan in a position to ‘respond’ so conveniently? After all, our intelligence suggests coordination between emerging territories?”

“Because I brought them,” I state flatly. “When our scouts reported bear movements, I requested Shadow Wolf’s assistance based on our treaty.”

A ripple of surprise moves through both guards and settlers. The treaty that Zane and I sealed with blood before our claiming isn’t public knowledge yet .

The vampire representative steps forward. “What treaty? The Alliance has authorized no such arrangement.”

“Haven’s Heart has,” I counter, drawing on diplomatic training to keep my voice steady despite exhaustion. “A formal recognition of Shadow Wolf territorial rights in exchange for defensive cooperation against hostile clans.”

Fletcher’s face reddens. “That’s impossible. The council would never?—”

“Check the records,” I interrupt. “The treaty was filed yesterday at dawn. Properly witnessed and sealed.”

Zane’s hand brushes my lower back—support and warning combined. Through our bond, I sense his concern. The council representatives won’t accept this easily.

“Regardless of paperwork,” the dragon representative says, “this settlement has clearly been attacked by wild shifters. The Alliance containment protocol must proceed.”

“Look around you,” I gesture to the wounded settlers being tended by Shadow Wolf healers. “The wolves you want to contain just bled to protect your people. Three died. Seven more wounded. Is that the behavior of enemies?”

An elderly settler woman approaches, leaning heavily on a cane. She stops before the council representatives, her weathered face set with determination.

“I’ve lived in River’s Edge for sixty-seven years,” she says, voice quavering but clear.

“Feared wild shifters all my life. But I saw with my own eyes what happened here last night. I saw the fire lady—” she points to me “—stand between the bear warriors and our children. I saw wolf shifters fall defending my grandchildren. The beasts who attacked us weren’t Shadow Wolves. ”

Murmurs of agreement rise from the gathered settlers. I feel a surge of hope—this is what we needed, voices from their own communities supporting our alliance .

Fletcher appears momentarily thrown off balance. The Alliance representatives exchange glances.

“A temporary aberration doesn’t change policy,” the vampire finally says. “One cooperative clan doesn’t erase the threat of others.”

“Then target the real threats,” Zane speaks for the first time, his deep voice cutting through the square. “The Mountain Bears have attacked three settlements. Slaughtered dozens. My pack has defended your people twice now. Judge us by our actions, not your prejudice.”

A tense silence follows. I can practically see the political calculations behind Fletcher’s eyes. The Alliance representatives look uncertain—clearly, they expected to find devastation caused by wild shifters, not cooperation between them and settlers.

“We’ll need to verify these claims,” Fletcher finally says. “Formal statements from survivors. Documentation of the alleged treaty. Until then, all wild shifters must withdraw from settlement territory.”

“Our wounded need care,” Zane counters. “And your settlers need protection.”

“Haven’s Heart guards will assume protection duties,” Fletcher says dismissively.

I step forward. “With respect, Councilor, that’s insufficient. Ridge Stormcrow promised to return with his full clan, over a hundred bears. Your guards aren’t equipped to handle that scale of attack. We need the Shadow Wolves.”

The vampire representative studies me with sudden interest. “You seem unusually... invested in this wild clan’s involvement, Ambassador.”

I feel Zane’s warning through our bond—they’ll notice. The claiming is too fresh to hide completely. Already my scent has changed, blending with his. Already, our movements synchronize unconsciously.

But hiding it serves no purpose now.

“I am invested,” I acknowledge. “Shadow Wolf clan and settlement communities have mutual interests—survival against a common enemy. As someone positioned between both worlds, I’m uniquely qualified to facilitate that cooperation.”

“Positioned between worlds,” the dragon repeats, nostrils flaring as he takes a deliberate breath. His eyes widen. “You’ve bonded with him.”

The accusation lands like a stone in still water, ripples of shock spreading through guards and council representatives alike. Fletcher’s face contorts with disbelief.