Chapter 62 – Dain
DAIN
The fire crackled low in the center of the camp, casting lazy shadows over the clearing.
Most of the squad had settled into their bedrolls or were trading halfhearted jabs across the circle—low voices and tired laughter.
Another mission done, another nest of Dravareth’s lackeys put down.
They bled into Kareth like ants these days.
That’s when I heard it—soft, padded steps brushing through the grass. A pale silver shape slipped past Reyna’s tent and into the firelight, fur shimmering like moonlight. His low, rumbling breath carried ahead of him, eyes glinting silvery blue.
Kalias. Or rather, his wolf.
He didn’t make a sound. Just walked straight to Azaria, stopped in front of her, and dropped with a heavy thud, head resting across her boots. His tail flicked once, then stilled.
She blinked down at him. “You’re getting too comfortable.”
A huff.
“Don’t get smug.”
The heat pouring off him was staggering, like sitting too close to a forge. Even I could feel it from where I stood. Azaria relaxed, fingers sliding down to scratch behind his ear. The wolf leaned into her touch with a low, satisfied groan.
Thorne muttered from his corner, “He never acts like that around the rest of us.”
Kael smirked. “Probably because you smell like dirt and grumpiness.”
Kalias’s wolf sprawled across Azaria’s boots like he owned the ground she walked on.
Her touch was light, absentminded, yet tender.
Her eyes softened, her shoulders uncoiled, her whole frame at ease in a way I rarely saw.
Not the captain who fought with grit and command in every line of her body. This was something else. Unshielded.
There was more than comfort here. He wasn’t just protective—he was tethered to her, like some ancient thread had pulled him across the continent and refused to let go. I’d seen him fight: the controlled, lethal brutality in every move he made. But with her, he melted.
Across the fire, Quin watched. Not Azaria, but the wolf. His jaw was tight; his expression grim. I pushed off the crate and walked over to the brooding mage.
“She’s made quite an impression,” I said low.
“Is that what you call it?” he muttered, eyes never leaving her.
“She calmed the second he arrived. Like some part of her finally stopped screaming.”
“I noticed,” he said, voice too dry to be casual. He wore his emotions too plainly for a man who thought himself unreadable.
“You’re not losing her, Quin.”
By the fire, Azaria leaned her forehead briefly against the wolf’s neck. His tail flicked once in silent approval.
“I hope not,” Quin muttered.
I studied him. “But you can’t keep her in the dark for long.”
His head snapped toward me. “What are you talking about?”
“I think you know.” My voice stayed quiet. “If you don’t want to lose her, then tell her about your magic. If she finds out from someone else, you’ll lose her for certain.”
His jaw worked. For a long moment, he said nothing, just stared at the fire where Azaria sat with the wolf, her fingers buried in silver fur.
“You think I don’t know that?” he finally said, low and rough.
“I know what I should do. I just—“ He stopped, dragging a hand through his hair. “How do I tell her I’ve been feeling her emotions without her consent? That every time she’s scared, or angry, or hurt, I know? That I can’t turn it off even if I wanted to? ”
“You tell her the truth. You explain what it is, that you didn’t choose it, that it’s blood magic, and it just happened.”
“And if she hates me for it?”
“She might,” I said honestly. “But she’ll hate you more if you keep lying by omission. Trust is everything to her, Quin. You know that.”
He looked back at Azaria, and something in his expression cracked. “I know. I just… I finally have her. After all this time, she’s mine. And I’m terrified that the second I tell her, I’ll lose her.”
“Then you’d better find the right words. Because the longer you wait, the worse it’ll be when she finds out.”
He exhaled slowly, shoulders sagging. “I’ll tell her.”
“Make it soon,” I said. “Before someone else does. Or before she figures it out herself.”
He nodded, but the tension didn’t leave his frame.
The next morning, camp was packed and ready for the ride back to Tempest. I was about to mount when I heard Azaria’s voice, low and cutting, like she was in the middle of a heated argument.
With Kalias’s wolf.
“I’m not,” she snapped.
The wolf huffed, nudging his muzzle toward her chest. He was massive next to her. She could have ridden him into battle if she wanted.
“I’m fine, Kalias,” she said, with more edge this time.
She was talking to him. And truth be told, it wasn’t the first time. At first, I was amused. It looked like the sort of nonsense people did with their dogs, pretending the animal had opinions and talking back like it made sense. Sweet and harmless.
But she kept doing it every time. And when I’d finally asked how she knew what the wolf was saying, she’d just shrugged and said she could hear it in her head, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
It wasn’t. None of us could hear a thing.
“I’ll rest when we get back. You can join me later if it stops you from nagging,” she told him now.
The wolf yelped a sound that almost passed for happy.
Azaria pointed a finger at him. “No, not on the bed. Do you have any idea how big you are?”
Another huff, then he padded off. Azaria opened her mouth like she meant to add something, then just shook her head. “Unbelievable,” she muttered.
I gathered my reins and swung into the saddle. As I rode, the thought kept needling at me. I hear it in my head.
The way she’d said it, like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t strange that a wolf could speak to her in words none of us could hear.
I’d have to bring it up with Kalias. He’d know if this was normal, or if it was something else entirely.