3. Silas
Chapter three
Silas
T he forest was his kingdom.
Dark, endless, teeming with life and the pulse of the hunt. Silas moved through the trees with the effortless grace of a predator, his powerful frame cutting through the underbrush like a blade. Moonlight slashed through the canopy, catching on the sharp angles of his face, the silver in his dark hair.
The night was alive with the sounds of wolves claiming what was theirs—cries of surrender, of pleasure, of primal urges being sated.
And yet, he remained alone.
Another howl echoed through the hills. Another mate taken. His pack was thriving. They would return to the human world in the morning, sated, their instincts calmed. The same ritual, the same cycle.
And every year, Silas watched from the shadows, untouched by it. Unclaimed. Unmoved.
He caught a glimpse of one of his wolves in the clearing ahead—sprawled over a female, her body arching beneath his as he took what the hunt had promised him. Blonde hair fanned out in the dirt, her body pliant beneath the weight of the werewolf mounting her.
Their moans ripped through the air, raw and desperate, but Silas felt nothing. No heat, no hunger. Just a cold emptiness that gnawed at him deeper than any physical need.
He could feel the urge—his instincts screaming to claim, to dominate, to take. But he wasn’t like the others. He couldn’t settle for anyone.
He wanted a true mate, the one he was meant for. Only him.
The pack saw him as their alpha: strong, dominant, untouchable. But they didn’t understand. They didn’t feel what he felt. They were driven by instinct, by the need to claim a mate. But Silas had learned long ago that his instincts weren’t like theirs.
He wasn’t going to take a mate out of convenience. Not for power. Not for status.
The pack didn’t know what it was like to burn for someone who wasn’t there. To crave something you couldn’t have. But Silas did. And he’d wait for that.
The hunger twisted in his gut, sharp and desperate. But he shoved it down, burying the ache that pulsed in his chest. He would never claim someone who wasn’t his true mate. No matter how long it took.
The night air was crisp, laced with pine and damp earth. Beneath it all, he could smell the humans: sweat and nerves, the sharp tang of anticipation.
Some ran for the challenge. Others trembled with fear, waiting to be caught. Some pretended to the other humans to only be doing it for the money, but Silas saw their faces year after year, eyes rolled back in bliss as they let their secret fantasies come to life in the shadows.
And then—
A new scent. It slammed into him like a fist to the ribs.
Silas stopped cold. His breath left him in a slow, measured exhale. His heart, steady as stone, gave a single, brutal kick.
The scent was warm and rich, threaded with the unmistakable undercurrent of fear. Not unusual. But beneath it was something else. Something sweeter. Familiar, yet foreign. Forbidden.
His fingers curled into a fist as a low growl rumbled in his chest. His body reacted before his mind could catch up, muscles tightening, hunger rising like a beast inside him.
There was something different about this one.
Male. Young. But there was something else, something that made his nose flare and his heart thunder against his ribs. Sweet yet musky, like honey mixed with rain…
No .
Silas gritted his teeth, forcing his breath slow, steady. He was imagining things. The hunt always stirred up something primal, made it easy to get caught up in the frenzy. He had spent years mastering his control—he wouldn’t lose it now.
And yet…
His cock ached, his pulse a war drum in his ears. His wolf snarled inside him, restless, hungry. Every inhale was worse than the last, filling his lungs with something too addictive, too perfect to be coincidence.
This was no ordinary human. No ordinary offering.
But it couldn’t be. Silas had spent years unmoved, untouched by the willing bodies laid bare before him.
What made this one different? Why did his skin feel too tight, his senses sharpened to a razor’s edge?
You’re overreacting, he told himself . His rational mind fought against the pull, tried to dismiss the fire spreading through him.
The fire that told him that his mate was out there. Running.
And that Silas was finally done with his long, lonely wait.
A low, rumbling growl rolled from his chest as he pushed harder, faster. The scent wrapped around him, spiced with adrenaline and defiance. Branches snapped beneath his stride. He moved like a shadow between the trees, a beast made of raw power and relentless intent.
Through the dense shadows, Silas’ gaze finally locked onto him .
There—moving with a fluid grace that tugged at something deep inside Silas, an energy that matched his own. The figure slipped between the trees, quick but not hurried, like he knew exactly where he was going. Every step was sharp, deliberate, yet there was an effortless fluidity to it, like he belonged to the night itself.
The moonlight kissed his skin, flickering off damp hair, sending a jolt of heat through Silas as it whipped back, exposing the sharp, angular lines of his jaw. The curve of his neck—strong, graceful, inviting—pulled Silas in, making his pulse spike with a hunger he couldn’t quite explain.
There was something about him that made Silas want to close the distance, to claim him, to sink into the heat of that skin and taste the pulse just beneath it.
Silas’ gut twisted. His wolf surged against his control, nearly knocking the air from his lungs. No. No. It wasn’t possible. He refused to believe it. He had spent years unmoved by soft skin and pleading eyes, by bodies laid bare for the taking. Why him? Why this human, this stranger? His instincts had to be wrong.
And then—movement. A rustling from the underbrush to the side.
Another human burst through the trees: a woman, her dress torn, her legs streaked with mud. She tripped, cried out as she hit the ground hard. She scrambled, tried to push herself up, but her ankle twisted beneath her. A lost cause. Easy prey.
Silas barely spared her a glance. This was the way of the run. The weak fell behind, the strongest survived. No one stopped. No one helped.
But the male did.
He skidded to a halt, his chest rising and falling as he hesitated for the briefest moment—then turned back.
Silas’ breath caught.
The man bent, hands firm but careful as he grasped the woman’s arms and pulled her up. “Keep going,” he urged, voice low, insistent.
And Silas bristled. His fingers curled into fists, his hackles raising as something hot and raw burned through him. Was this man helping his mate? Was this woman his? Why else would he put his own escape at risk, to help someone who was so obviously going to be caught?
But no. She gasped, blinking up at the man in stunned confusion. Then she finally obeyed, stumbling back into motion, disappearing into the darkness. The moment she was gone, the man took off again, running alone, his own escape delayed because he had chosen to stop.
Because, despite everything, despite the primal chaos of the hunt, he had risked himself for a stranger.
Silas’ fury flickered, softened into something warmer, deeper.
His mate.
Not because of scent alone, not because of the pull in his blood. But because of what sung in the man's scent. Because of the man’s heart. Because of the way he had stopped when no one else would.
A slow, dangerous smile curved Silas’ lips.
This human was worthy.
The urge hit him like a drug. Mine .
It was like the world had bent to bring him here, to Silas. Nothing else mattered. Not anymore.
Not even the fact that the human had no idea what he'd done to Silas.
The human moved through the underbrush with a fluidity that shocked Silas. He wasn’t like the others—the volunteers who stumbled, tripping over roots, too scared to run steady. This one? He moved like he owned the forest, like it bent to his will.
Silas' chest tightened. Admiration twisted into something darker, deeper.
The human didn’t hear him until it was too late.
He whipped around, green eyes wide with raw terror, locking onto Silas’ burning gaze—but it was over before the human knew it had begun.
The world narrowed to the space between them, that instant of connection: the crackle of electricity that jumped between their gazes, an unspoken understanding.
There was no denying it. This man knew what Silas was, and he feared him. And yet... something else flickered in those wide, startled eyes.
With a growl, Silas closed the distance. They collided, bodies crashing together in the dirt with enough force to rattle the trees. The human gasped beneath him, the scent of his fear—a mix of sweat, adrenaline, and that wild, intoxicating sweetness—flooding Silas' senses, making his cock throb with need. His hands slid across the human’s chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt like he couldn’t get close enough.
The human’s heart raced beneath him, so fast, so frantic.
Good .
They rolled, tangled in the leaves, the wild forest surrounding them both. Silas’ weight pinned him down effortlessly, muscles flexing as he held the human in place, feeling his strength tremble against Silas' own.
Mine .
The thought flashed through his mind, primal and possessive. Every inch of him was screaming it—his wolf’s instincts roaring to claim this human, to mark him, to make him his. The urge was overwhelming, and there was no room for doubt now.
Finally mine.