Page 6 of Where Lightning Strikes Twice (Fated Mates, Stubborn Hearts #2)

KAEL

I circle high above the northern reaches of Storm Eagle territory, my wings spread to catch the treacherous cross-currents that dance between mountain peaks.

Zara flies beside me, her bronze feathers gleaming in the morning light.

We’re supposed to be on a routine patrol, checking our borders with the Dire Wolf packs that have been pushing south, but my mind keeps drifting back to the human female from the raid—the one with the compelling scent and intelligent eyes.

Three days have passed since that encounter, and I haven’t been able to shake the memory. It’s becoming a liability.

Zara banks sharply, her wings angling to bring her closer. Her flight pattern clearly questions my distraction.

I respond with a slight adjustment of my primary feathers—all is well—before diving toward a narrow valley where our scouts reported Dire Wolf activity.

The wind rushes past as I accelerate, the landscape blurring below.

This is what I should be focused on: the protection of our territory, the survival of our clan.

Not brown eyes that haunt my dreams.

The valley floor comes into sharp focus as I pull out of my dive, scanning for signs of incursion.

Our scouts weren’t mistaken. Even from this height, I can see the territorial markers left by the wolves—claw marks scarring ancient trees, tufts of fur deliberately left on branches.

They’re not hiding their presence. They want us to know they’re expanding their hunting grounds.

Zara lands on a high outcropping, shifting to human form in a flash of bronze light. I join her, the transformation rippling through me as I release my eagle nature. The mountain air feels colder against human skin, but I barely notice after years of adaptation to our high-altitude home.

“They’re getting bolder,” Zara says, examining claw marks that reach higher than any natural wolf could scratch. “This is the third boundary violation this month.”

I kneel to examine tracks pressed into the soft earth near a mountain stream. “A hunting party. At least eight wolves, moving together.” I look up at the mountains that mark our territory. “They’re testing how far they can push before we respond.”

“And how will we respond?” Zara asks, her eyes searching mine. “Viktor is already arguing for preemptive strikes against their dens.”

I stand, brushing dirt from my hands. “Viktor would have us fighting on all fronts at once. The wolves, Haven’s Heart, anyone who isn’t a Storm Eagle.”

“But we can’t simply allow them to take our hunting grounds,” she counters. “Not when food is already scarce.”

She’s right, and we both know it. The strategic calculus is clear: we cannot fight Haven’s Heart and the Dire Wolves simultaneously, but neither can we surrender the resources our people need to survive.

“We’ll reinforce our patrols along this border,” I decide. “Make our presence known without direct confrontation. For now, the wolves are the lesser threat.”

Zara nods, though her expression remains troubled. “And the ground-dwellers? Will you lead another raid soon?”

The question brings unwelcome heat to my face. Zara notices—she always does—and her eyes narrow with sudden interest.

“What happened during that last raid, Kael? You’ve been distracted ever since.”

“Nothing happened,” I say too quickly. “The mission was successful. We secured the supplies we needed.”

“Then why have you been spending every night on your balcony, staring toward the settlements?” She steps closer, her voice softening. “I know you, brother. Something changed out there.”

I consider deflection, but Zara deserves better. She’s not just my sister but my closest advisor, the one person in the clan I trust completely.

“I encountered someone… unusual,” I admit. “A human female. A healer, I think.”

“A healer?” Zara’s eyebrows rise. “What was unusual about her?”

How to explain what I barely understand myself? The instant recognition, the pull toward her that defied all logic and training.

“She saw me,” I say finally. “Not just the eagle, but me.”

Zara’s expression shifts from curiosity to concern. “Saw you? You mean she witnessed your transformation?”

“No.” I turn away, frustrated by my inability to articulate what happened. “It was something else. A recognition. As if she knew me somehow.”

“Kael…” Zara’s voice carries a warning. “You know the laws about ground-dweller contact.”

“Of course, I know the laws. I’ve enforced them for thirteen years.” I run a hand through my hair, agitated. “It was nothing. A momentary curiosity.”

Before she can press further, movement in the valley below catches my attention. I hold up a hand for silence, dropping into a crouch at the edge of our outcropping. Zara follows my lead, her body tensing beside mine.

A pack of Dire Wolves emerges from the tree line below—massive creatures nearly twice the size of natural wolves, with silver-gray fur and intelligent eyes that reveal their shifter nature. They move with military precision, not the loose formation of typical predators.

“Eight,” Zara whispers. “Just as you said.”

I count them silently. Seven silver-grays and one larger black wolf leading the formation—an alpha, by his size and the deference the others show him.

“They’re not hunting,” I observe, watching their deliberate progress through the valley. “This is a scouting party.”

“Mapping our territory,” Zara agrees. “Planning for something larger.”

We watch as the wolves pause at the stream, the alpha lifting his head to scent the air. For a heart-stopping moment, I fear he’s caught our scent, but the breeze favors us, carrying our presence away from the valley floor.

“We should report this to the council,” Zara says quietly.

I nod, but something holds me in place. The wolves aren’t just passing through; they’re marking specific locations, communicating through body language that speaks of future operations. This isn’t random encroachment. It’s preparation for war.

“They’re coordinating with someone,” I murmur. “These aren’t just territorial disputes anymore.”

Zara’s eyes widen. “You think they’re forming alliances? With whom?”

Before I can answer, the alpha wolf below suddenly stiffens, his massive head swinging toward our position. Despite the favorable wind, he’s sensed something. His lips pull back in a silent snarl, revealing teeth designed for tearing flesh from bone.

“Time to go,” I say, already shifting stance for transformation.

Zara nods, moving back from the outcropping’s edge. “Race you to the eastern ridge.”

The challenge in her voice brings a brief smile to my lips. Even in dangerous moments, Zara retains the playful spirit that’s kept me from becoming completely consumed by leadership burdens. Without waiting for my response, she leaps from the outcropping, her body blurring into eagle form mid-fall.

I follow an instant later, the transformation rippling through me with familiar power. The sensation never loses its wonder—bones lightening, muscles reconfiguring, vision sharpening until the world exists in crystal clarity. My wings catch the air, and I soar upward, leaving the wolves far below.

Zara wheels above me, her smaller form faster if less powerful than mine. We climb higher, putting distance between ourselves and the valley floor. The wolves can’t follow us into the air, but I’ve learned never to underestimate their cunning. If they’ve spotted us, they’ll remember our presence.

We’re halfway to the eastern ridge when I hear it—a sound no Storm Eagle ever forgets. The distinctive whistle of arrows cutting through the air.

“Ambush!” I cry, my voice transformed into a screech in eagle form.

Zara banks sharply left, but she’s a heartbeat too slow. An arrow tears through the edge of her right wing, the impact spinning her in a disorienting spiral. A second arrow follows the first, grazing her side.

I dive toward her, rage and fear surging through me in equal measure. Lightning crackles along my wingtips, instinctive storm magic responding to my emotions. Below, I glimpse the source of the attack—not wolves, but human archers concealed among the trees at the valley’s edge.

An alliance. Wolves and ground-dwellers working together. The strategic implications flash through my mind even as I reach Zara, who struggles to maintain altitude with her damaged wing.

Another volley of arrows rises toward us. I release a pulse of storm magic, the lightning creating a concussive wave that deflects most of the projectiles. One still gets through, slicing across my shoulder in a line of burning pain.

Zara loses altitude rapidly, her wing movements becoming increasingly erratic. I position myself beneath her, using my larger wingspan to create an updraft that helps stabilize her flight. It’s a technique we developed as fledglings, but it’s never been tested under fire.

“The eastern caves,” I call to her, referring to a series of hidden shelters our clan maintains throughout the territory. “Can you make it?”

Her response comes as a determined adjustment of her flight path. Yes, but barely.

More arrows rise from the trees, but we’re gaining distance now, climbing toward the relative safety of the higher peaks where ground-dwellers rarely venture.

The wound in my shoulder burns, but it’s superficial.

Zara’s injuries worry me more—the way she leans to one side, the labored rhythm of her wingbeats.

We reach the eastern ridge, then push beyond it to a sheer cliff face riddled with small openings. The caves here are too small for comfortable habitation, which is why they make perfect emergency shelters—easily defensible, easily overlooked.