Page 6 of When Two Worlds Collide (Fated Mates, Stubborn Hearts #1)

“The livestock will be returned,” I tell her, surprising both Marcus and myself. “Once the demonstration concludes.”

“What demonstration?” she asks while navigating over a fallen log.

“That your settlements survive solely through our tolerance,” I observe her reaction carefully. “That Haven’s Heart boundaries and regulations hold no authority here. That genuine power emerges from the land and those who live harmoniously with it, not from documents and councils.”

“Yet you agreed to negotiate,” she points out. “You requested documentation of our claims.”

“I agreed to listen,” I correct her. “The distinction matters.”

We walk silently for several minutes while the forest grows denser. I notice how attentively she observes everything—our route, markings on trees, the subtle communication methods my wolves employ. The ambassador gathers intelligence even while being guided deeper into our domain.

“Your transformation differs from others I’ve witnessed,” I comment, breaking the silence. “I’ve encountered fire shifters previously, but none with your level of control.”

She glances toward me, apparently surprised by the topic change. “The Steelclaw line passes this trait through generations. Each successor develops a stronger fire manifestation.”

“Useful during combat,” Marcus comments from her other side. “Less practical for diplomacy. Difficult to negotiate when you might ignite the meeting tent.”

I expect her to respond defensively, but instead she laughs—a genuine sound containing unexpected warmth.

“The threat of accidental immolation creates surprising diplomatic advantages,” she replies. “Dragons particularly tend toward reasonableness when fire powers exist on both sides.”

Despite myself, I feel a slight smile forming. Marcus notices and deliberately increases his pace to move ahead of us.

“Your beta disapproves of me,” she observes once Marcus moves beyond easy hearing distance.

“Marcus rejects anything challenging our traditional ways,” I reply. “His loyalty to the clan supersedes all else.”

“As befits a proper beta,” she agrees, surprising me again. “That wasn’t criticism, Alpha Blackthorn. His role requires questioning potential threats to pack stability.”

Her knowledge of pack structures exceeds expectations. Typical domesticated shifters view our hierarchy as primitive, missing the sophisticated social structure underneath.

“Do you consider yourself such a threat, Ambassador?” I ask.

Her gold-flecked eyes meet mine directly. “That depends entirely on your intentions. Will you force conflict or seek resolution? I represent change regardless, and change inherently threatens established order.”

An insightful response. This woman has layers… still waters run deep, as they say.

The forest thins slightly as we approach our temporary camp.

I established our base at an ancient Shadow Wolf site—a clearing that served seasonal hunts for countless generations.

Stone fire pits dot the open space, weathered but functional.

Simple hide and wood shelters form a protective circle around the central gathering area.

Everything serves a practical purpose, nothing permanent, everything transportable within hours if necessary.

This survival strategy preserved us for centuries—mobility and adaptation rather than attempting to bend nature to our will.

The hunting parties have already returned with their spoils. Cattle and sheep remain contained in temporary enclosures guarded by younger wolves. The demonstration for the settlements concludes; these animals will return to their owners as promised.

When everyone assembles, pack members who remained behind emerge from shelters—primarily elders, cubs, and nursing mothers.

They observe the fire panther ambassador with intense interest. Cubs peer from behind their mothers, fascinated by the newcomer.

Elders measure her with wary eyes, assessing whether she represents threat or opportunity.

“Secure her in my tent,” I command. “Post guards. She remains until morning.”

Marcus’s eyes gleam with approval. “The council will demand her return.”

“Let them demand. She trespassed on Shadow Wolf territory during a hunt. By our laws, she forfeits diplomatic immunity.”

Two warriors escort her to my personal shelter—larger than the others, befitting an alpha’s status. I’ll question her after dark, when isolation and uncertainty have had time to work on her civilized confidence.

The day passes in standard pack business, but my thoughts return repeatedly to the fire panther waiting in my tent. She fought well for a domesticated shifter—faster than expected, fiercer than her diplomatic role suggested. The dichotomy intrigues me more than I care to admit.

As darkness falls, I enter my tent to find her sitting cross-legged on the furs, still wearing the leather garments we provided.

Her posture remains defiant despite hours of captivity.

The small space fills immediately with her scent—fire and spice and something uniquely her that makes my wolf stir with interest.

“Comfortable?” I ask, letting irony color the word.

Her green-gold eyes flash. “Is this your idea of negotiation? Kidnapping diplomats?”

“You entered our territory during a sanctioned hunt. That makes you prey, not a diplomat.”

She rises fluid as water, the movement purely predatory despite her civilized exterior. “I entered to prevent you from terrorizing innocent settlers.”

“Our ancestral hunting grounds. Our prey.” I move closer, using my size to emphasize the point. “Your settlements exist because we allow it.”

“Arrogant bastard.” Heat flares beneath her skin—I can feel it from here. “You think might determines right?”

“I think strength determines survival. Something your pampered existence has made you forget.”

She launches herself at me without warning .

I catch her wrists before her claws can rake across my chest, spinning her around and pinning her back against me. She struggles, hissing like the cat she is, her body pressed against mine from shoulder to thigh.

“See?” I growl against her ear. “Civilized shifters announce their attacks. No wild instinct left.”

She goes still in my grip, but I feel her muscles coil. “You want to see instinct?”

Her head snaps back, cracking against my jaw. I release her from surprise more than pain. She spins, leg sweeping toward my knee. I dodge, catching her ankle and pulling her off balance. We crash to the fur-covered ground, her beneath me, my weight pinning her.

We freeze, both breathing hard. Her pupils are blown wide, lips parted. The scent of her arousal mingles with anger and adrenaline, making my head spin. My body responds immediately, recognizing female heat despite every rational reason to resist.

“Get off me,” she demands, but her voice wavers.

“Make me.” The challenge escapes before I can stop it.

Her eyes narrow. She bucks her hips, trying to dislodge me. The movement grinds her against my growing hardness, and we both inhale sharply at the contact.

Time stops. The tent shrinks to just this—her body beneath mine, her scent in my lungs, the heat building between us like wildfire. Her hands, which had been pushing against my chest, go still. Her fingers spread against my bare skin, claws pricking lightly.

“This is—” she starts.

“Insane,” I finish, but I’m already lowering my head.

Our mouths crash together with none of the finesse civilized shifters probably expect. It’s all teeth and tongue and barely controlled violence. She bites my lower lip hard enough to draw blood. I growl into her mouth, grinding against her, letting her feel exactly what she’s doing to me.

Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer. Her claws rake down my back—not enough to seriously wound, just enough to mark. My wolf howls approval even as my rational mind screams warnings.

I tear my mouth from hers to bite where her neck meets her shoulder. She arches beneath me, a sound escaping her that’s pure panther—wild and hungry. Her hands tangle in my hair, holding me against her throat as I suck hard enough to bruise.

“Someone will see the mark,” she gasps.

“What makes you think I care about that?” I say, but I know she’s right. I can’t leave evidence of what’s between us on her flesh.

Both of us are panting, pupils dilated, control hanging by a thread. Her hands slide down my chest, nails dragging against skin. When she reaches the waistband of my leathers, I catch her wrists.

“No.”

“Afraid?” she challenges, but I hear the relief beneath the taunt.

“If I take you now, it won’t be diplomatic. It won’t be civilized. It will be claiming.”

Something flickers in her eyes—fear or anticipation, I can’t tell. “I’m not yours to claim.”

“No,” I agree, though everything in me rebels against the words. “You’re not.”

I roll off her, putting the necessary distance between us. We lie side by side on the furs, not touching, both fighting for control .

“This was adrenaline,” she says after a moment. “The fight. The hunt. Nothing more.”

“Of course.” I stare at the tent ceiling. “Biological response to conflict.”

“Exactly.” She sits up, straightening her twisted clothing. “It means nothing.”

I watch her rebuild her diplomatic mask, hiding the wild creature I just tasted beneath propriety and control. The sight fills me with unexpected anger.

“Is that what you’ll tell yourself?” I ask. “When you’re back in your civilized bed, touching the bruise I left, telling yourself it was just adrenaline?”

Her hands still on her leather vest. “What else could it be?”

“The truth.” I sit up, facing her. “That underneath your ambassador title and diplomatic training, you’re still a predator. Still wild. Still hungry for something your domesticated world can’t provide.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know you came apart in my arms just now. I know you wanted more.” I lean closer, not touching but close enough that she feels my heat. “I know you’ll think about this. About what would have happened if we hadn’t stopped.”

She stands abruptly. “I need to leave. The council will send forces if I don’t return.”

“In the morning, as agreed.”

“I won’t stay here. Not after—” She gestures between us.

“Afraid you’ll lose control again?” I stand as well, noting how she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. “Or afraid you’ll want to?”

“I’m not afraid of anything.”

“Liar.” I move past her to the tent entrance. “Kira will take you to the women’s shelter. Guards remain posted. ”

I push through the flap before she can respond. Outside, I signal Kira and issue quick instructions. When I glance back, Ember stands in my tent’s entrance, leather clothes askew, lips swollen from our kiss, eyes smoldering with heat.

She looks wild. Free. And so utterly desirable.