Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
Much to my chagrin, Levi decides to stay the night, bedding down in our small camp.
“We’ll reach the border by mid-morning tomorrow,” he says, feeding another branch to our small fire. His eyes never leave me for long, tracking my movements with an intensity that’s unsettling.
Relief wars with a sickly sinking feeling in my chest. Seeing Levi should feel like coming home.
And part of it does. He’s pack, he’s safety, he’s proof that Shadowmist survived my absence.
But the way he watches me, the careful hunger in his yellow eyes as they catalog every detail of my appearance, makes my skin prickle with awareness.
He knows.
I can see it in the tightness around his eyes, the way his nostrils flare slightly when he catches our mingled scents. The knowledge sits between us like a blade, unspoken but razor-sharp.
I’ve always known about Levi’s feelings, the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention, the distance he maintains to keep from crossing lines I’ve never invited him to toe. Seeing him now is deeply uncomfortable.
Guilt. That’s what this feeling is. Guilt that I can’t return what he’s offering, guilt that I’m grateful he interrupted us, guilt that part of me wishes he hadn’t found us at all.
“How far to the main den from the border?” Kier asks, his voice neutral as he sharpens a stick with his knife.
Levi’s jaw tightens. “Another half-day’s journey. I’ll have you there by sunset.”
The way he says “you” makes it clear he sees Kier as separate from me—a temporary addition, not a permanent fixture.
I catch Kier’s eye across the fire, but his expression reveals nothing. He’s letting me handle this, respecting that these are my pack dynamics to navigate.
I rub at the raw skin beneath my restraints. “Will Elias be able to remove these?”
Levi nods. “He’ll have something in his toolbox that’ll work.”
“And the pack?” I ask. “How have they fared with Kitara gone?”
Levi tilts his head to one side. “Kitara?”
I swallow, glancing away. “Has Ryker gone feral?”
Levi leans back. “No? Why would he?”
“Because Kitara’s gone.”
Levi scratches his head. “Lithia, what are you talking about?”
I frown. “Kitara. She’s dead.”
“Who told you that?”
“Zella.” I straighten. “Are you saying—?”
He reaches across and places a hand on my knee. “Kitara is alive and well. Zella is a liar.”
The relief that floods through me is so powerful it makes my chest ache. All this time, all these months thinking she was gone, that I’d failed her completely—and she’s alive. The weight of that guilt suddenly lifts, leaving me dizzy with emotion.
I close my eyes, breathing deeply.
She’s alive.
“I should check the perimeter,” Kier announces, rising smoothly to his feet.
I recognize what he’s doing—giving us space, though the slight tightening around his eyes betrays his discomfort at leaving me alone with Levi.
“I’ve already secured the area,” Levi says, not bothering to hide his distaste with Kier.
I try not to roll my eyes.
“I guess I’ll go for a stroll then,” Kier replies with a casual shrug, before disappearing into the darkness beyond our camp.
The moment he’s gone, Levi turns to me fully. “I don’t like him.”
His bluntness shouldn’t surprise me—Levi has never been one for subtlety—but I find myself unprepared for it nonetheless.
“Kier saved my life,” I say carefully. “We survived together. I owe him a debt.”
His lips curl back. “So you’re fucking him to repay that debt?”
“Levi!” I stand, turning from him. “If these cuffs were off, you’d be on the ground paying for that.”
He huffs, running a hand over his face. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry. I just… Lithia. It’s been three months.”
“Levi—”
“Three months,” he cuts in, his voice tight. “Three months of not knowing if you were alive or dead. Of imagining what they might be doing to you. I searched every cave, every abandoned building, followed every whispered rumor.”
His hand finds mine, gripping with an intensity that borders on painful. “I never stopped looking. Not for a single day.”
The raw need in his voice resonates in my chest. Levi and I have a history—not romantic, but something deeper than simple friendship.
We’ve trained together, fought together, protected the pack side by side for years.
There had always been potential for more, an undercurrent of possibility we never fully acknowledged.
“I know,” I say softly. “And I’m grateful.”
“Grateful,” he repeats, the word bitter on his tongue. “I didn’t do it for your gratitude, Lithia.”
Before I can respond, he releases my hand and stands. “Get some rest. We leave at dawn.”
I watch him move to the opposite side of the camp, his broad shoulders tense beneath his shirt. The space he leaves behind feels colder somehow, heavy with unspoken words and expectations I’m not sure I can meet.
When Kier returns from his circuit, he says nothing about Levi’s mood, simply settles beside me with a respectful distance between us—close enough for comfort, far enough for propriety.
“Try to sleep,” he murmurs. “Tomorrow might be overwhelming.”
I curl into my makeshift bed of pine boughs finding myself caught between two worlds—the one I left behind, and the one I found in darkness.
Without Kier’s heat, sleep is elusive. My mind races with thoughts of what awaits us at Shadowmist. Will the pack accept Kier? Will Levi’s possessiveness create problems? How will I explain what happened, what I learned about Zella’s plans?
When dawn breaks, we break camp in silence. Levi takes point, setting a brisk pace through the forest. Kier and I follow, the silver restraints slowing our movements but not our determination.
As we cross into Shadowmist territory just before noon, I feel it immediately—a shift in the air, in the scent of the forest, in the very energy around us. My wolf surges against the silver’s suppression, recognizing home.
But my attention isn’t on the familiar pine and granite that marks our borders.
Instead, I find myself watching Kier, cataloging every micro-expression as he experiences Shadowmist for the first time.
The way his gaze sweeps the towering pines, how his nostrils flare as he scents the rich earth and clean mountain air, the subtle shift in his posture as he takes in the sheer vastness of our territory.
Do you see what I see? I wonder. Do you see the beauty and possibility of this place? Does it feel like home, or another cage?
There’s a tightness in my chest I don’t want to examine too closely—a desperate need for him to understand why it’s worth protecting, why I’ve chosen to settle here.
You want him to stay. The admission whispers through my mind before I can stop it. You want him to choose this. Choose us. Choose you.
My wolf whines softly, pressing images at me of Kier running these trails, learning our territory, finding his place among our people. It’s a fantasy I have no right to entertain, but seeing the careful way he studies everything around us, I can’t help a small part of me from hoping.
“Welcome back, Beta Lithia,” Levi says formally, his role as Gamma, third in command, momentarily overtaking his personal feelings.
The journey through Shadowmist territory is both familiar and strange. Trees I’ve known since childhood seem taller, streams deeper, the mountain paths wilder after my absence.
By mid-afternoon, we encounter the first border patrol—four wolves who shift into human form when they recognize me, their faces transformed by disbelief and joy.
“Beta,” their leader gasps, dropping to one knee. “Moon be praised.”
“Up, Tomas,” I say, uncomfortable with the deference. “I’m still just Lithia.”
“News will spread fast now,” Levi says as we continue our journey. “Ryker will know we’re coming before we reach the den.”
Sure enough, as we approach the final ridge overlooking the main den, I see a welcoming party assembled at the base of the stone steps carved into the mountainside. My heart leaps at the sight of familiar faces—pack members waiting with barely contained excitement.
Levi moves closer to my side, his hand coming to rest at the small of my back. “Your pack awaits,” he says, his voice low and intimate.
I feel Kier’s eyes on us, but when I glance back, his expression is carefully neutral. Only the slight tension in his jaw betrays his awareness of Levi’s possessive gesture.
As we ascend toward the waiting pack, Levi never leaves my side, his hand a constant pressure at my back, guiding me forward as if I might disappear without his touch.
The contact feels wrong—too possessive, too claiming for something I’ve never offered him.
My skin crawls under his palm, every nerve ending wanting to pull away from the unwelcome intimacy.
It’s not that Levi’s touch is unpleasant exactly, but it’s not Kier’s, and that difference feels like a betrayal of something I can’t even name.
I find myself hyperaware of the space between Kier and me, the deliberate gulf he’s maintained since we encountered Levi.
Gone is the easy closeness we’d found during our weeks together, the casual touches and shared warmth that had become as natural as breathing.
Now he walks behind us, close enough to offer protection but far enough to make his message clear—whatever intimacy we’d shared belongs to the road, not to real life.
The loss of his nearness feels like a physical ache, even as a treacherous part of me whispers that this is exactly what I wanted. Separation. Safety. Protection from feelings that could destroy me. I should be grateful for the space, relieved that the temptation to fall further has been removed.
So why does it feel like I’m bleeding internally?
This is what you wanted, I remind myself firmly. No attachments. No vulnerabilities. No one else to lose.