Page 31 of When Two Worlds Collide (Fated Mates, Stubborn Hearts #1)

ZANE

T he new moon rises invisible above us, darkness absolute except for the ring of torches surrounding the ceremonial ground.

Representatives from three worlds stand witness: my diminished pack, a delegation from Haven’s Heart, and most surprisingly, emissaries from two other wild clans drawn by rumors of an impossible alliance.

Ember stands across from me in the circle’s heart, wearing white leather that makes her skin glow bronze in the firelight.

Neither traditional Shadow Wolf attire nor Haven’s Heart formal robes—something entirely new.

Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, and the incomplete bond between us pulses with anticipation.

“We gather beneath the dark moon,” Elder Riva intones, “to witness something without precedent. A joining that bridges worlds. A claiming that honors both tradition and evolution.”

I feel the weight of every gaze—my pack wondering if I’ve lost my way, the Haven’s Heart delegation questioning Ember’s sanity, the wild clan emissaries searching for weakness to exploit. But mostly I feel her, the hollow ache of our interrupted bond demanding completion.

Kade steps forward from the Haven’s Heart group, his formal uniform incongruous among the torchlight and ancient stones. But his expression holds only warm solemnity as he approaches his sister.

“The Steelclaw line has served Haven’s Heart for five generations,” he says, voice carrying across the clearing.

“Today, that service takes a new form.” He takes Ember’s hand, placing it in mine.

“I give my sister not to the Shadow Wolf clan alone, but to the future she and her mate will build between all our peoples.”

His acceptance means more than any political alliance. Through our bond, I feel Ember’s throat tighten with emotion.

“The words,” Elder Riva prompts gently.

I’ve memorized traditional claiming vows, but looking at Ember—fierce and vulnerable, wild and wise—ancient words feel insufficient.

“You are not what I expected,” I begin, departing from the script. “I thought civilized shifters were weak, domesticated, lost. You proved me wrong with every breath. You fought for cubs not your own. Bled for my pack before they accepted you. Showed me strength exists in forms I never imagined.”

Her eyes shine in the torchlight, and I feel her emotions through our damaged bond—love, fear, and determination mixed.

“I claim you not to tame you but to run beside you. Not to own you but to share the hunt. You are my mate, my match, my mirror showing me what I was too proud to see alone.”

“Zane,” she breathes, and her voice cracks slightly. “You demanded I see truth beneath comfortable lies. Made me confront the wildness I’d buried under diplomatic words. You saw the fire in me when I’d nearly forgotten it existed.”

She steps closer, our joined hands the only point of contact as the ceremony demands.

“I choose you not despite our differences but because of them. I am your mate, your challenge, your bridge to possibilities neither of us imagined alone. I claim you as my wolf, my anchor, my proof that strength and wisdom can share the same heart.”

“The blood seal,” Elder Riva says.

Marcus should perform this duty—it’s the beta’s role to bind his alpha’s claiming. Instead, Kade steps forward with a ceremonial blade, Haven’s Heart steel rather than Shadow Wolf bronze. Another break with tradition that speaks louder than words.

He cuts shallow across our joined palms, letting blood mingle as it did during our first oath. But this time, the watching crowd gasps as power visibly ripples where our blood meets—the incomplete bond recognizing its moment.

“By blood and choice,” we say together. “By moon and flame. By hunt and hearth. We are one.”

The formal ceremony ends, but the true claiming has barely begun.

“The alpha and his mate retire to complete their bond,” Elder Riva announces. “May the moon bless their joining.”

We leave the circle hand in hand, but I feel the weight of unspoken questions. Everyone knows what completion requires—the final physical claiming that will either stabilize our connection or shatter us both.

The ceremonial den waits a mile from camp—far enough for privacy, close enough for protection. Someone has prepared it with care: fresh furs, spring water, enough food for three days, though we only have until dawn.

The moment we’re alone, the pretense of control evaporates.

“Finally,” Ember breathes, already pulling at her ceremonial leathers. “I can’t—the bond—it hurts, Zane.”

“I know.” I help her with the laces, hands shaking with need. “We’ll fix it. Tonight we fix everything.”

When her clothes fall away, revealing skin marked by battles fought for my pack, something primal rises in me. Mine. Truly mine.

But she’s already shifting, her panther emerging in a blaze of golden fur and barely contained fire. The challenge in her eyes is unmistakable—catch me if you can.

I shift and pursue.

This hunt differs from our ritual’s first nights. We know each other’s patterns now, and predict each other’s moves. When she darts left, I’m already there. When I leap for her, she’s rolling beneath me, claws raking playfully across my flank.

We crash together in a tangle of fur and need, the incomplete bond screaming for resolution. But even in wolf form, I force myself to slow. This must be done right. No more interruptions, no more half-measures.

I pin her gently, teeth at her throat in dominance that’s also a question. She goes still beneath me, then tilts her head in submission that costs her nothing because we both know her strength.

The claiming in animal form is swift, necessary, the bond drinking in our connection like parched earth swallowing rain. When we shift back to human, we’re both gasping, the hollow ache already easing .

“More,” she demands, pulling me down to the furs. “Three nights in one. We make up for lost time.”

I cover her body with mine, skin to skin, feeling the bond pulse between us. “Impatient cat.”

“Your impatient cat,” she corrects, then bites my shoulder hard enough to mark.

What follows would shame civilized sensibilities and make wild shifters proud.

We come together with desperate hunger, three nights of denial condensed into hours of claiming.

I mark her throat properly, reopening the claiming bite until it will scar permanently.

She marks me in return, her teeth at my shoulder sealing what we started.

Between the claiming, we hunt as one—human forms stalking rabbits by touch and scent alone. We bathe in the cold spring, then warm each other with friction that turns to need. We feast on raw meat and each other, wild and unashamed.

As dawn approaches, something shifts. The bond stops screaming and starts singing. Where hollow ache lived, warm certainty spreads. I feel her not as a separate entity but as an extension—her thoughts flowing with mine, her strength reinforcing my own.

Is this what completion feels like? Her mental voice no longer strains across distance but resonates directly in my mind.

This is what we’re meant to feel. I pull her against me, marveling at the seamless connection. Two halves of one whole.

That’s disgustingly romantic for a wild wolf, she teases, but her contentment flows through the bond.

Your influence, I accuse, kissing her to prevent an argument.

When true dawn breaks, we dress reluctantly. The world waits beyond our den, demanding attention. But we’re different now—not just mated but merged in ways that will take time to fully understand.

“Ready to test it?” Ember asks as we approach camp.

I feel her nerves through the bond—not about us, but about what comes next. The Frost Lynx delegation arrived during the night. Our first real test of the alliance we represent.

“Together,” I say, the word carrying new weight.

The meeting takes place at a neutral ground between territories. Three Frost Lynx warriors wait, lean, suspicious, bearing the ethereal beauty of their kind. Their leader, a female named Senna, watches us approach with pale blue eyes that miss nothing.

“So it’s true,” she says without preamble. “The Shadow Wolf alpha mated a civilized shifter.”

“The Shadow Wolf alpha mated a bridge between worlds,” I correct. “One who understands both wild heritage and adapted necessity.”

Through our bond, I feel Ember’s strategy forming. She steps forward, movements flowing with new grace—the completed bond enhancing her natural abilities.

“The barriers are gone,” she tells the Lynx. “The old territories can’t be reclaimed—too much has changed. But new territories can be negotiated. Shared hunting grounds established. Conflicts resolved without bloodshed.”

“Pretty words,” Senna says, but her tone holds curiosity rather than dismissal. “What do you offer?”

What follows is negotiation unlike any I’ve witnessed. Ember speaks for civilization’s resources—medicine, education, and trade. I speak for wild knowledge—hunting grounds, seasonal patterns, survival skills. Together we paint a picture neither could create alone .

When Senna finally nods, agreeing to trial boundaries and shared patrols, I feel the satisfaction echo through our bond.

“This might actually work,” she murmurs as the Lynx depart.

It will work, I tell her through our connection. Because we’ll make it work.

As we return to camp, I marvel at the changes. Not just in the bond—though that sings with completion—but in perspective. I haven’t lost my wild nature by taking a civilized mate. I’ve gained the vision to see beyond tradition.

“The bears next?” Ember asks, already thinking ahead.

“The bears next,” I confirm, though that negotiation will test us far more than reasonable Lynx.

But looking at her—my mate, my equal, my perfect contradiction—I find myself anticipating the challenge. We are something new, she and I. Neither tame nor wild, but both.

In a world where barriers crumble and old ways die, something new might be exactly what survival requires.