Page 7 of When Two Worlds Collide (Fated Mates, Stubborn Hearts #1)

EMBER

I wake before dawn in the small shelter, the leather garments Marcus gave me yesterday still draped around my body.

Only the occasional whisper of movement from night guards completing their final rounds disturbs the quiet of the Wolf clan’s temporary camp.

The fur pallet beneath me provides unexpected comfort, though it bears no resemblance to my bed at the council headquarters.

My thoughts drift to last night’s conversation with Zane.

His offer to show me why the Shadow Wolves feel connected to this land intrigued me beyond mere curiosity.

A growing doubt about the council’s perspective has taken root in my mind—our view of these people might not just be incomplete but fundamentally wrong.

Soft footsteps approach my shelter. I sit up, alert yet calm.

“Ambassador.” A quiet female voice reaches me. “Alpha Blackthorn requests your presence for the morning hunt assignments.”

I stand and push aside the hide covering to find an older woman waiting outside. Silver streaks run through her black hair, and her face bears deep lines etched by decades of harsh living. Despite this, she holds herself with unmistakable dignity, back straight and proud.

She appraises me with measured assessment. “I’m Elder Mira. You caused quite a stir yesterday.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” I reply, though we both recognize the half-truth.

Her weathered face shows a hint of amusement. “Intention often matters less than result. Come. The pack gathers.”

I follow her toward the camp’s center, where wolves—some in human form, others as animals—form a loose circle.

The gathering radiates primal vitality, unlike the structured formality of council meetings.

Young wolves playfully nip at each other while establishing their positions until older pack members correct them with sharp glances.

Zane commands attention at the circle’s center, his massive form standing out even among his substantial pack members. He wears only simple leather pants, muscled torso bare despite the morning chill. Marcus stands nearby, occasionally murmuring comments that Zane acknowledges with brief responses.

Elder Mira guides me to join the other elders. I detect curious and occasionally hostile glances from pack members, but maintain my poise while watching their ritual.

When everyone assembles, Zane lifts his hand. Instant silence descends.

“The sun rises on Shadow Wolf territory,” he begins, his deep voice reaching every corner of the gathering. “Today we hunt, we train, we strengthen our claim to ancestral lands.”

His gaze sweeps the circle, briefly meeting mine before continuing. “Some of you question our guest’s presence. Know that she stands under my protection and will witness our ways. Anyone who challenges this will answer directly to me.”

The threat needs no emphasis to be understood. I notice Marcus’s poorly hidden displeasure, though he raises no objection.

Zane assigns hunting parties with decisive efficiency, selects pack members for border patrols, and designates trainers for adolescent wolves. His leadership style shows clear logic despite minimal discussion—a stark contrast to the council’s lengthy deliberations.

When assignments conclude, pack members disperse. Several transform into wolf form with fluid grace that speaks of lifelong practice. Their transformations lack my panther shift’s dramatic fire but display an elegant precision I can’t help but admire.

Zane approaches with Marcus trailing him like a shadow. “You’ll accompany me to the ancient markers today. The elders have granted permission for you to witness our history.”

“I appreciate the opportunity,” I respond formally, conscious of many watchful eyes.

Marcus steps forward. “Alpha, the western border patrol reported fresh Mountain Bear clan markings this morning. You should inspect them personally.”

“The bears can wait,” Zane responds without looking at his beta. “Elder Kota will lead today’s border assessment.”

Marcus tightens his jaw. “The bears are pushing deeper into our territory each day. Other clans watch how we respond to incursions.”

“I’m aware,” Zane replies, steel entering his voice. “My decision stands. ”

I can almost see the tension pulsing between them. This exchange mirrors political maneuvers I’ve witnessed at council meetings, though expressed through more primal signals. Marcus isn’t merely questioning a decision; he’s publicly challenging Zane’s judgment about me.

After a moment, Marcus inclines his head slightly, submitting, but with obvious reluctance. “As you command, Alpha.”

While he stalks away, Zane turns to me. “We leave in ten minutes. Bring water. The journey isn’t long, but the paths are demanding.”

I nod and return to my shelter to prepare. Elder Mira has left a waterskin and a bundle of dried meat beside my pallet. This thoughtful gesture contradicts the council’s assumptions about Wolf clan savagery.

When I emerge, Zane waits alone at the camp’s edge. Without Marcus nearby, his posture appears marginally less rigid, though still vigilant.

“Your beta strongly disapproves of me,” I observe as we begin our forest journey.

“Marcus views anything unfamiliar as a threat,” Zane replies. “His caution has saved pack lives many times.”

“Yet you overrule him regarding me.”

Zane glances at me, his expression revealing nothing. “A leader must sometimes make decisions others don’t understand.”

We walk silently through increasingly dense forest. I watch how Zane moves—each step placed with unconscious precision, his awareness extending continuously around us.

I find myself adapting to his rhythm, stepping where he steps, connecting with the forest in ways my council training never emphasized.

After about an hour, the terrain changes. The trees grow older, their massive trunks indicating centuries undisturbed. Strange rock formations appear occasionally—clearly ancient rather than natural, aligned in patterns I don’t recognize.

“We approach the boundary of the ancient Shadow Wolf hunting grounds,” Zane says, breaking our long silence. “What lies beyond belonged to my people since before humans first settled this continent.”

He stops beside a massive oak tree. Initially, I see nothing special until he places his hand against the bark, revealing deeply carved symbols nearly absorbed by the tree’s growth.

“Wolf claw marks,” I murmur, tracing the weathered grooves with my fingertips. “How old?”

“The oldest we’ve found date back eight centuries,” he replies. “Each generation of alphas has renewed the markings on sacred trees.”

He guides me deeper, showing stone cairns placed at strategic viewpoints and ancient gathering spots where countless wolf generations met during seasonal migrations. His voice takes on a quality I haven’t heard before—reverence blended with profound belonging.

At a small clearing dominated by a half-circle of standing stones, he pauses. “This is where young wolves received their adult names after their first successful winter hunt. My father brought me here when I was fourteen.”

For the first time, I glimpse vulnerability beneath his alpha exterior. “You miss him,” I say quietly.

His expression changes almost imperceptibly. “He died defending our territory from Mountain Bear incursions three years ago. His final wish was to see our clan return to ancestral lands when the barriers fell. ”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I offer, realizing this territorial claim holds personal significance beyond politics.

“He knew the barriers would fail eventually,” Zane continues. “Our elders have prophesied it for generations. When the magic that divides worlds merges into one, the walls between realms must crumble.”

The phrasing catches my attention. “Aria and Dominic’s child,” I murmur.

He nods. “A true hybrid born of vampire and dragon blood. The child’s unified magic creates frequencies that dissolve separation-based spells.”

“You understand magical theory?” I ask, surprised.

A slight smile forms on his face. “Wild doesn’t mean ignorant, Ambassador. Our pack shamans studied barrier magic for centuries, searching for weaknesses.”

I feel sudden shame at my assumption. The council has consistently misjudged these people, viewing them as primitive when they’ve simply evolved differently.

We continue our journey, climbing a steep ridge. Looking down from the summit, I lose my breath at the view—the entire valley spread before us, from the settlements near the river to distant mountains. The landscape appears completely different from this vantage point.

“From here, our alphas have watched over clan territories for countless generations,” Zane says. “When the vampire-dragon wars erupted, our ancestors observed from this very spot, choosing to remain neutral rather than sacrifice pack members in others’ conflicts.”

He turns to me, his expression intense. “When the magical barriers went up, we weren’t consulted. The spell boundaries cut through the heart of our hunting grounds, separating families, trapping some behind walls of magic they couldn’t penetrate.”

“I didn’t know,” I admit quietly. “Our histories say the Wild Territories were created to protect primitive shifter clans who couldn’t adapt to civilization.”

“History written by victors,” Zane says bitterly. “The barriers imprisoned clans who refused to submit to dragon or vampire authority. Our neutrality was labeled savagery; our independence branded as primitive.”

This revelation staggers me. If true, it transforms the entire moral equation of our territorial dispute. The Shadow Wolves aren’t invaders—they’re returning refugees.

“Show me more,” I request, needing to grasp the full scope of what the council records have omitted.

Zane leads me to caves in the ridge’s far side. Inside, ancient pictographs cover the walls—wolves hunting, gathering, defending territories against bear and mountain lion clans. Generations of pack history preserved in ochre and charcoal.