Page 5 of When Two Worlds Collide (Fated Mates, Stubborn Hearts #1)

ZANE

I lead my pack toward the settlement farmlands before dawn breaks.

Mist hangs close to the ground, providing perfect cover for our approach.

The wolves move silently behind me, each step precisely placed.

This is what the domesticated shifters lack—the ability to become one with the forest, to exist as true predators rather than pampered pets.

Marcus slips through the shadows to my side, his dark gray fur nearly invisible in the half-light.

He watches me, yellow eyes alert with anticipation.

I read his thoughts easily. The fire panther’s display yesterday might have been impressive, but she remains what she is—tamed, constrained by rules, disconnected from her true nature.

Today’s hunt will demonstrate who truly holds power in these woods.

I halt the pack at the forest edge where cultivated fields begin.

River’s Edge settlement sprawls before us, one of the three communities that have encroached on ancestral Shadow Wolf hunting grounds.

The human structures cluster near the riverbank by the water that quenched the thirst of my ancestors for generations before these intruders arrived.

Familiar anger rises at the thought, but I quell it instantly.

Clear judgment serves an alpha better than rage.

The settlement stirs below. Farmers’ chimneys send smoke into the morning air. A few settlers move between buildings. Their livestock—pathetic creatures that have never known freedom—sense our presence even if their keepers remain oblivious.

I communicate our plan to Marcus through subtle shifts in posture, needing no words.

He understands immediately, moving along the line to position our hunters.

The younger wolves vibrate with barely contained excitement.

They’ve waited for this moment—the first step toward reclaiming what was stolen from us.

Our strategy requires precision. We’ll take their food resources but spare their lives—for now. They need to understand their vulnerability. The ambassador can claim Haven’s Heart holds authority here, but we’ll prove otherwise.

At my signal, we pour from the trees into the farmlands.

Within minutes, chaos consumes the settlement.

My wolves dart among cattle herds, driving them toward the forest. Sheep panic when we tear through their enclosures.

Humans rush from their homes shouting, some brandishing crude weapons.

I’ve directed the pack to avoid confrontation for now.

This demonstration concerns fear, not slaughter.

Marcus tests these limits. He traps a farmer who foolishly defended his livestock, teeth bared in threat. One sharp bark from me, and he retreats—but not before leaving the human trembling in terror.

More organized shouts emerge from the central settlement. They’re attempting to mount a defense. Futile. They’ll soon discover how unprepared they truly are.

Then a new scent reaches me—fire and spice mingled with something that triggers an unwelcome reaction in my blood. The ambassador has arrived.

My attention shifts to the eastern settlement edge, where I spot Ember running toward the disturbance in her Haven’s Heart uniform, auburn hair catching the early sunlight. Her face shows pure outrage as she witnesses my wolves driving away the settlers’ precious livestock.

Time to elevate this lesson. I release a commanding howl that echoes through the valley. My pack joins, our voices merging in a sound that has terrified enemies for centuries. The ambassador pauses briefly at the chorus.

But then she does something unexpected. Rather than rallying the settlers or attempting intervention, she removes her jacket and transforms. Flames engulf her human form as she shifts into a fire panther larger than any natural feline.

Heat shimmers around her fur as she roars a challenge that matches our howls.

Intriguing. The diplomat chooses the predator’s path first.

I direct the pack to phase two—retreat with our prizes, drawing pursuers deep into our territory. Marcus guides most wolves back toward the forest with the captured livestock. I select eight of our fastest runners to remain with me. We become the bait.

The fire panther charges toward us with lethal focus. Settlers call to her, trying to organize themselves, but she operates purely on instinct now. This confrontation has transformed from a diplomatic mission to a predator against predator standoff.

This follows my plan perfectly .

My small group executes a strategic retreat, staying just visible enough to maintain pursuit.

We weave through the forest edge, drawing her deeper with each passing minute.

Her frustration grows as the distance between us remains constant.

She moves with impressive speed—beyond what I anticipated—but lacks familiarity with the territory that gives us an advantage.

We cross a shallow stream, double back briefly to confuse our trail. My wolves spread into a herding formation, guiding her precisely where I want her to be. Though she recognizes the tactic, pride prevents retreat. The fire along her coat brightens with frustration, clearly marking her position.

Twice, she nearly overtakes younger wolves who stray too close, showing unexpected bursts of speed.

Each time, she misses narrowly. Her frustration builds visibly.

The ambassador finds herself outmaneuvered in unfamiliar terrain.

Her kind might function effectively in structured environments, but here in the wilderness, we maintain absolute dominance.

Yet her persistence impresses me. Typical domesticated shifters would have abandoned the chase by now, returning to their settlements for reinforcements. She continues alone, adapting tactics as she learns our patterns. Her determination deserves acknowledgment.

An hour into the pursuit, we approach our final phase.

The woodland thickens, ancient trees creating a dense canopy overhead, undergrowth confusing to anyone not born to these woods.

I signal my wolves to encircle her. The fire panther realizes the trap too late—the path ahead blocked by three large pack members, others covering each escape route.

I reveal myself from behind a massive oak, still in wolf form. When her golden-green eyes meet mine, that strange sensation from our first encounter returns, stronger now. I push it aside forcefully. Whatever this reaction represents, it holds no relevance to my purpose.

She crouches, preparing to fight or flee, flames intensifying across her fur. She evaluates her options despite overwhelming odds—outnumbered in unknown territory, but surrender clearly absent from her nature.

I transform to human form, standing before her without concern for my nakedness. The gesture demonstrates absolute confidence. Fangs and claws provide only one form of power.

“Impressive pursuit, Ambassador,” I say while studying her. “Most representatives of Haven’s Heart would have retreated long ago.”

She maintains panther form, muscles tensed for action. The flames along her spine brighten in response.

“You may shift back if you prefer,” I continue. “Or remain as you are. Either way, you’ll accompany us. You wished to understand the Shadow Wolves? Now you’ll witness how we truly live.”

She hesitates, then reluctantly transforms back to human, flames temporarily engulfing her body. Unlike yesterday’s deliberate display, this transformation serves purely practical purposes. She faces me without clothing or shame, dignity intact despite her vulnerable position.

“This territorial display was unnecessary,” she states, maintaining control despite obvious anger. “If you wanted me to visit your camp, a simple invitation would have sufficed.”

I laugh genuinely at her attempt to reclaim her standing. “This wasn’t an invitation, Ambassador. This served as a lesson. Your settlements exist because we allow it. Their food sources, security, lives—all remain within our power to take.”

“And yet, you spared lives today. You took only livestock. Why show restraint if you intend to reclaim territory by force?”

A perceptive observation. Most would focus solely on the aggression rather than its deliberate limits.

“I don’t kill without purpose,” I reply. “I protect what belongs to my clan. There exists a distinction—one you likely understand better than most from Haven’s Heart.”

Her face briefly displays what appears to be recognition. Instead of responding, she examines my wolves, who maintain their position while now dressed in simple leather garments retrieved from hidden caches throughout the forest.

Marcus approaches with similar clothing and tosses the bundle toward her with obvious disdain. “Cover yourself. We still have an hour’s walk to camp.”

She catches the bundle one-handed, maintaining eye contact with me while dressing. The simple leather garments differ completely from her uniform, yet she wears them with the same poise she displayed in diplomatic attire.

“And if I refuse to accompany you?” she asks, despite knowing the answer.

“Then attempt escaping eight Shadow Wolves in our territory,” I reply with a slight smile. “It would prove entertaining, at least.”

She evaluates distances and potential escape routes. I find myself hoping she’ll try—not from desire to recapture her, but curiosity about what other capabilities she possesses. She defies typical expectations of domesticated shifters.

But practical assessment prevails. With a slight nod, she accepts current circumstances. “Lead on, Alpha Blackthorn. I’m interested in seeing what justifies all this territorial posturing.”

We begin our journey to camp. I position myself beside rather than ahead of her, subtly acknowledging she represents more than a mere captive. Marcus notices this choice and displays his disapproval by walking on her opposite side with a deliberately intimidating posture.