Chapter 19
Maya
My lungs burn.
Not from the cold, or even the running—I’m used to that now—but from the way Bolton pushes me. Not in the “I want to impress you” kind of way. In the “you’re going to survive this because I won’t accept anything less” kind of way.
We’re deep in the woods behind the pack lodge, where the air is thin and the pine trees are thick enough to blot out most of the afternoon sun. Bolton and Dax call it the Run Zone, which is charming in the “don’t trip and break your face” kind of way.
I dodge a low branch and launch over a fallen log with more grace than I expected. Three weeks ago, I would’ve face planted. Today, my wolf takes the lead and lands clean. Almost like she’s starting to trust me.
Almost.
Bolton jogs to a stop ahead of me, chest rising and falling steadily. Dax is already leaned against a tree, watching us with that steady calm of his like we’re pieces on a board and he’s the only one who sees the whole game.
“Not bad,” Dax says, tossing me a water bottle.
“Not dead,” I counter, unscrewing the cap. “So I’m calling it a win.”
Bolton flashes a grin and steps closer. That grin still distracts me more than it should.
“Your pacing is cleaner,” he says. “You’re letting the wolf guide you.”
“She’s... less annoyed with me these days,” I say.
“She was probably just waiting for you to stop tripping over yourself,” Dax mutters.
I throw a pine cone at him. He dodges it lazily.
Bolton crouches beside me, brushing a leaf from my braid. “She’s learning. So are you.”
He’s right.
The first time I tried to shift after the bonfire, it felt like trying to catch lightning in a teacup. Now, it’s more like holding a live wire. It still stings, but it’s power I can use. Channel. Even if I don’t fully control it yet.
Still, there’s something sharp under Bolton’s praise today. A quiet urgency in the way he watches the tree line. The way he double-checks the wind direction when he thinks I’m not looking.
“You’re on edge,” I say, not a question.
He doesn’t answer right away.
“It’s not you,” he says eventually. “It’s what’s out there.”
I glance at Dax. He’s gone still.
“Rogues?” I ask.
Bolton nods once. “There’s been signs. Tracks a few miles out. Border pack alerted us yesterday. Nothing confirmed. But the council’s nervous.”
“And you?” I ask.
“I’m never nervous,” he answers.
Dax snorts. “Liar.”
Bolton gives a shrug. “I’m just more concerned now. Because if they’re watching the mountain—they’re watching you.”
The idea makes my stomach twist. Not because I’m scared. I am a little, sure. But mostly, I’m tired of people lurking in the shadows of my life, waiting for me to crack open like an egg.
I’m done being afraid of things I can’t see.
“What do they want?” I ask.
Dax’s voice is quiet. “Power. Chaos. Control.”
Bolton’s eyes lock onto mine. “And you represent all three.”
We fall into silence, the wind rustling through the trees like it’s listening in.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say.
Bolton’s jaw softens. “I know.”
Training tapers off after that. We run one more loop, then head back to the lodge. The sun’s dipping, painting the sky in shades of bruised gold. I stick close to Bolton, our shoulders brushing occasionally as we walk.
We don’t talk about the rogues again.
But we’re both thinking it.
Later, at home, the air feels heavier.
Mom has dinner on the stove—she does that when she’s worried. She doesn’t ask about training. Doesn’t ask if I’m okay. Just sets a plate in front of me and pours me a mug of tea like I’m still a kid who needs soothing.
“You heard,” I say, watching the steam curl from her cup.
She doesn’t answer right away.
“Rogues near the border,” I press. “It’s not just a rumor, is it?”
Her shoulders tense. “No.”
“How bad?”
“They haven’t moved in. Not yet. But they’re circling. Waiting for an invitation or a weakness. And you, Maya—you’re both.”
I flinch. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says quickly. “But you’re new. Your power is new. And the bond makes you… visible.”
“I didn’t ask for any of that,” I snap, then regret it instantly.
Elena’s face softens. “I know. But now we deal with it.”
She sits across from me but doesn’t touch her tea. “I lost your father to wolves who didn’t care about the consequences. All they saw was a threat to their order. To their control.”
I nod slowly.
“I’m not going to lose you the same way,” she finishes.
“I’m not him,” I say.
“No,” she says. “You’re something else.”
I don’t know what that means.
But I feel the truth of it in my bones.
I push my chair back slowly. The legs scrape lightly against the kitchen tile, and the sound feels louder than it should in the quiet between us.
“I need to think,” I say.
Mom looks up, and I see the question in her eyes—Are you okay? Should I say more? Is this the part where I try to protect you again?
“I’m going to bed,” I add, softening my voice.
She nods, mouth tightening like she wants to say something but doesn’t have the words.
“Thanks for dinner,” I say, pushing the chair in. “And the tea.”
She gives a faint smile. “You’re welcome.”
I pause at the doorway, hand resting on the frame. “Goodnight, Mom.”
“Goodnight, Maya,” she murmurs. Her voice is low, weighted, like she knows there’s more coming tomorrow than either of us can prepare for.
I head down the hallway, each step echoing the thoughts crowding my head.
I sleep poorly.
Dreams of fire and silver eyes haunt me.
By morning, I’m half-ready to skip school. But I don’t. Because hiding won’t help. Besides, I have a quiz in Chem and Rick will definitely fail without me.
I make it to lunch without any major disasters. But as I shove my books into my locker, I hear it.
Whispers.
The kind that die the second I step into earshot.
“She’s not even full—”
“My cousin said her mom’s human—”
“Can you even shift if your blood’s tainted?”
Taunted words. Hanging in the air like poison.
I turn slowly.
Cassie’s across the hallway, smiling sweet and innocent, like she has no idea what just floated out of her fan club’s mouths.
But her eyes? Her eyes practically glitter.
It’s not a challenge this time.
It’s defamation.
She can’t challenge me again. So now, she’s trying to isolate me.
My throat tightens.
Because she’s playing a different game now. A quiet one. One I can’t shift my way out of.
And if she succeeds—if the humans start putting the pieces together—I won’t just be unwelcome here.
I’ll be hunted.
I catch Cassie whispering to a junior who works in the office. The one who prints attendance sheets and runs errands to the council chambers. Whatever she’s planning, it’s already in motion.