Chapter 25
Chapter
Twenty-Five
Restlessness coils through my limbs making it impossible to stay still. I’ve tried lying down, tried reading, tried organizing tomorrow’s mission gear for the third time. Nothing works. The walls of my quarters feel like they’re closing in, suffocating me.
Tomorrow we hunt monsters. Tomorrow I lead my pack into danger, knowing some of us might not return. And tonight, I’m hiding in my room like a coward, too afraid to cross two doors and claim what my heart demands.
Pathetic.
My wolf stirs beneath my skin, impatient with me. She knows what she wants—has known since the moment we heard his voice through the prison wall. She’s tired of my excuses, my fears, my stubborn refusal to listen to what every instinct is screaming.
Go to him, she demands. End this.
I push to my feet, decision crystallizing. Enough.
The corridor is quiet at this hour, most of the pack settled for the night. My bare feet make no sound on the stone as I pad toward his guest room, my heart hammering against my ribs with each step.
When I reach his door, I hear him speaking. I’m about to retreat when his door swings open, revealing Kier dressed in dark clothing and sturdy boots.
He freezes when he sees me, golden eyes widening in surprise. “Lithia.”
“Sorry,” I say quickly, suddenly self-conscious about appearing at his door in sleep clothes. “I didn’t realize you were busy—”
“I’m not.” He steps aside, gesturing for me to enter. “I’m speaking to myself again. Turns out the hallucinations aren’t so easy to let go.”
I step into his room, closing the door behind me. “Are they getting worse?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Not worse, exactly. Just… persistent. Elena says it’s normal after prolonged isolation and trauma. The mind creates voices to fill the silence, and even when the silence is gone, the pathways remain.”
I lean against the window ledge, watching him. “Are they the same from when you were inside?”
“Mostly. Sometimes it’s Adelaide, sometimes my old pack members. Other times it’s prisoners asking why I left them to die.” He meets my eyes, pain flickering in the golden depths. “And lately, you.”
“Me?”
“A version of you that tells me I’m not good enough for this pack.
That I’ll mess this up somehow, hurt you, disappoint everyone.
” He shakes his head. “Elena says they’re manifestations of my own fears and guilt, not real external voices.
She’s been working with me on grounding techniques, ways to distinguish between what’s real and what’s my damaged psyche trying to protect itself. ”
I reach for his hand, threading our fingers together. “How long does she think it will take?”
“Months, maybe longer. Maybe I’ll never get rid of them.
Three years of that kind of isolation…” He shrugs.
“The brain doesn’t heal quickly. Elena’s been having me practice reality checks—touching something real, naming five things I can see, focusing on physical sensations.
I can differentiate what’s real by trying to touch them.
If they move, I know they’re false. It helps, but the voices still come. ”
“Is that what you were doing when I knocked? Reality checking?”
A rueful smile tugs at his lips. “Adelaide was lecturing me about going out alone tonight. She likes to tell me I make silly decisions when I’m emotional.
I was explaining to her that she’s not real and I’m perfectly capable of making my own choices.
” He squeezes my hand. “Though she might be right.”
“You survived three years of hell,” I say firmly. “That’s incredible strength.”
“Elena says the same thing.”
“She’s right. Can I help? Is there anything I can do?”
He shakes his head. “You’re already doing it.
” He brings our joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles.
“Elena’s explained that healing isn’t linear and setbacks are normal.
She offered medication, but I want to see if I can manage it with the other strategies we’re building.
She also says having real connections and relationships will help, as this was brought on by the trauma of isolation. ”
Before I can respond, he clears his throat and changes the subject. “Did you need me for something?”
“Where were you headed?” I ask, noting his outdoor gear.
“Running trail. The kind that requires four legs.” He studies my face in the lamplight. “Couldn’t sleep either?”
“Too wired. Too much energy for tomorrow.”
Understanding passes between us—that electric tension that comes before battle, when your body knows violence is coming and prepares accordingly. We’re both predators, both warriors. We both feel the storm approaching.
“Want company?” The offer slips out before I can second-guess it.
His entire expression shifts, something hungry and hopeful flickering behind his controlled facade. “You sure? I was planning to hit the northern trails. Rough terrain.”
“I know those trails better than anyone,” I counter, lifting my chin. “Question is, can you keep up?”
His grin is sharp as a blade. “Try me.”
Within minutes we’re outside, the crisp night air filling our lungs as we strip down and shift. My wolf emerges with a satisfied growl, stretching muscles too long confined. Beside me, Kier’s wolf is breathtaking—powerful shoulders, intelligent eyes, coat like burnished copper in the moonlight.
Perfect, my wolf purrs, and I can’t disagree.
I take off at a sprint, leading us into the forest depths.
Behind me, Kier’s paws thunder against the earth as he gives chase.
The familiar trails blur past—streams we leap, logs we vault, rocky inclines that test our agility.
With each mile, the tension in my body transforms from anxiety into exhilaration.
This is what I needed. Wild movement. Primal freedom.
When we reach the meadow clearing where the mountain trail begins in earnest, we shift back to human form. Both of us are breathing hard, energized rather than tired.
“Where to now?” Kier asks, his eyes bright with adrenaline.
I point toward the steep path that winds up the rocky face. “The summit. Best view in the territory.”
“Lead the way.”
The climb is challenging even for seasoned wolves, requiring careful placement of paws on the narrow, rocky trail. We ascend in companionable silence, both focused on the technical aspects of the route.
By the time we reach the top, the moon has moved across the sky, bathing everything in silver light. The view from the summit takes Kier’s breath away—I can see it in the way he goes completely still, drinking in the panorama of forest and mountain that stretches endlessly in every direction.
We shift back to human, standing shoulder to shoulder as we take in the view.
“Now I understand,” he says quietly, his voice full of reverence.
“Understand what?”
“Why you’d fight so hard to protect all this.” He turns to face me, moonlight catching the planes of his face. “This isn’t just about Shadowmist territory, or the pack. It’s about legacy.”
His words pierce straight through my defenses, hitting something deep and vulnerable I rarely let anyone see.
He doesn’t just appreciate the view—he comprehends what it represents.
I’m a continuum of the generations of wolves who’ve called this home, the blood that’s been spilled to keep it safe.
There’s a responsibility that comes with guardianship, one that’s been bred into me and carved into my bones.
When our lips meet, it’s different from the desperate moments we’ve shared before—deeper, more deliberate, full of promise rather than desperation.
My hands slide into his hair, pulling him closer, trying to pour everything I can’t say into this kiss.
I want you. I need you. I’m falling so hard I can’t see the bottom.
The words burn in my throat, but I can’t force them out. Instead, I let my body speak for me, arching against him, my hands mapping the solid strength of his shoulders with desperate reverence.
“Lithia,” he breathes against my mouth, his voice rough with desire. “I need you.”
“Then take me.”
He lowers me gently to the soft grass, his hands reverent as they explore my skin.
Every touch sends fire racing through me, and I want to tell him how he makes me feel—safe, wanted, alive in ways I’d forgotten were possible.
But the words stick in my throat, caught behind walls I’ve spent years building.
So I show him instead. My hands trace the scars that map his chest, my lips following the path, trying to convey through touch what I can’t say aloud.
You’re extraordinary. You make me want to be brave.
“You’re trembling,” he whispers, his golden eyes searching my face with concern.
I am trembling, but not from cold or fear. I’m shaking with the weight of feelings too big for words, with the desperate need to claim this moment, this man, this terrifying hope that maybe I don’t have to face everything alone.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, pressing kisses along my skin. When he reaches the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder, I arch beneath him with a soft gasp.
His mouth trails heat along my collarbone, over the swell of my breasts, teasing one nipple into a tight, aching peak before he sucks it deep into his mouth.
I cry out, clutching at his shoulders, gasping his name as his tongue circles, flicks, licks—his hands slipping down to part my thighs.
“Cold?” he asks as I shiver under him.
“No.” I’m shaking from need. From want.
From you.
He touches me, and I pour everything into the sounds I make—every gasp, every moan, every whispered plea. My body becomes my voice, telling him things my mind isn’t ready to acknowledge.
Don’t leave.
“Kier—”
“Gods, I need—” He cuts himself off with a shaky breath, sliding lower, pressing my thighs apart with a low, feral growl.
When his tongue drags through the slick heat between my legs, I shudder violently, thighs clenching around his shoulders.