THORN
Sleep eludes me the rest of the night.
The moment I stepped away from her, both of us panting like we’d run for miles, I knew I’d made a mistake.
I should have claimed her.
The scent of her still clings to my memory, cedarwood and jasmine. It’s burned into my blood now. My hardness won’t ease, no matter how many times I stroke it away, chasing the ghost of her scent through clenched fists and growled breaths. Nothing’s working.
Could this be it? Could the trials, after nine long years of waiting, finally be showing me my mate? And if so, why did I walk away?
I pace. My bare feet slap the cold stone of my quarters. Back and forth. I can’t breathe here. I can’t sit still. I need to know who she is. I need to find her.
The urge drives me out of my room on the first floor and into the hall.
Shifting into wolf form, muscles stretching and lungs expanding with the quiet snap of bone before I burst into fur.
Nose to the ground, I slip into the halls and hunt for my mate.
The floors are old stone, so odors don’t stick to them like carpet.
The scent is faint, but I catch a whiff of jasmine on the stairs. I follow it.
Up the stairs. One flight, then two. My paws pad soundlessly across the ancient steps. The scent sharpens on the third floor, the far West Wing. That’s where the rooms for the Shadow pack are.
Down the hall, past several doors. It lingers at the very end. The last door on the left side.
She’s here.
I shift back, the cold brushing over bare skin, grounding me. My hand raises. It hovers, poised to knock.
What the hell am I doing?
This is against everything I stand for.
For years I’ve trusted the trials, I’ve been patient, believing in the ancient ways. And now I’m about to break tradition just to lay eyes on a female I’ve only smelled?
But she’s more than that. Her scent alone filled places I didn’t know were empty. Still, this isn’t how it’s meant to happen.
I clench my fist and force it down to my side, slowly backing away from her door. One step. Then another. I count each step as I walk back to focus on anything other than her scent.
Today is the trial of Touch.
I will wait. I must.
“Thorn?” The voice stops me cold.
I slowly turn to see Cullen standing in the hall, arms crossed. His chestnut hair is tied back, eyes sharp and knowing. “I thought I heard something. Are you looking for me?”
I nod, quickly adjusting. “Yes. But I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Nonsense, you vanish to your icy corner of the North in a few days, come hunt with us. What is going on?”
I sigh. “I think … I think this is it.”
Cullen stiffens for a breath, then his features soften as understanding dawns. He slaps me on the back, “Yeah? So, it’s going well?”
“I think I’ve finally found her.”
The morning sun filters down from directly above. Casting the field in pale gold. My paws strike the earth as Cullen and I run across the golden valley and into the tree line, his chestnut wolf weaving through brush and shadow beside me.
It feels good to run. Clears the head, or it’s supposed to. But even as I stretch my legs and breathe the scent of the wild, all I smell is her. Something rustles behind us, loud and fast. It can’t be a predator that loud and clumsy. No one would be that dumb. So, I slow and turn to face it.
When a reddish blur comes crashing into the clearing, sending birds into the sky and scattering prey in every direction. I sigh through my snout. So much for the hunt.
The little wolf shifts into human form mid run, panting, “Sorry.” Ember’s little companion says sheepishly. “Came in a little hot there.”
I chuckle, shifting and standing tall again. “A little? You scared everything off for miles.”
“Oops.” He flashes a toothless grin. “Where did Cullen go?”
“Through the brush.” I nod.
Just as I say it, Honi appears from the opposite side of the glade in her human form, leaves tangled in her brunette hair. “Roman, you scared all the rabbits away.”
“I said sorry,” he mutters, glancing downward.
“Ember still asleep?” Honi asks, brushing the twigs and leaves from her hair.
“Yeah,” Roman mutters. “She was pretty wound up.”
“Mating season will do that to you,” Honi says with a smirk, casting a quick, knowing glance at me.
“You’ll understand when you’re older,” I tease.
Roman furrows his brow. “It’s weird. I’ve never seen her like this.”
“Like what?” Honi tilts her head.
“Quiet. Distant. I mean … she’s still Ember, but different.” He shrugs.
“Well…” Honi glances at me again before continuing, “some things aren’t meant to be talked about with little brothers.”
Ah, so he’s her brother. That tracks. They both have similar red hair. It’s the eyes that are different. While hers are as blue as the endless sea, his are green as the leaves on the trees.
“You guys seem close,” I state, but it’s more of a question. Ember is an anomaly. She talks to me like I’m just another person. She obviously cares for her younger brother like a son, and she’s a virgin. Something about this woman makes me want to learn more.
He looks at me then, really looks at me. His guard drops a little. “Very close. She’s my everything.”
He says it with such conviction that something tugs in my chest. The kind of bond they have is rare. Sacred.
I envy it. He has something I never had, a bond that tethers him to someone from the start. Unlike me, who’s been alone for longer than I can remember. But Roman? He’s obviously had someone fighting for him every step of the way.
He’s probably worried she’ll leave the cave for a season, maybe longer.
I’ve seen him from my window running around with Honi and Cullen through the woods during the day.
It’s nice they have that kind of bond with the packmates.
After my parents died, I had no one to look out for me. I was completely and utterly alone.
The wind rustles through the trees, high and whispering just like it did the last time I heard my father’s howl.
Back home, the Pine pack lived in treetops in the heart of Maine — massive wooden platforms woven into the ancient pines, connected by rope bridges and hanging lanterns. Our lives were balanced in the canopy, suspended between earth and sky. And for a long time, I believed we were untouchable.
I was ten when the vibrations started — subtle, rhythmic tremors underfoot. I thought it was the wind at first. But then came the howls.
My mother shifted in front of me without a word, her rage sharper than her claws as she dove from the platform to meet the enemy. My father followed, his massive gray form streaking down like a falling star.
I raced to the edge of our platform, heart pounding, too small to fight, but too scared to turn away. Humans. Arrived on metal contraptions and could shoot fire. The explosions lit up the night sky.
My parents fought like the trees themselves had come alive, my mother circling wide, my father anchoring her center. They moved in rhythm like the dance of wolves that had always belonged to each other. I watched my father fall. I heard my mother’s last snarl.
When I climbed down, the air reeked of blood and pine. I buried them at the roots of the oldest tree, as is tradition.
That was the last time I let anyone close.
The Pine pack offered me little in the way of family. The pack fought the humans off, but we had to relocate. I couldn’t look at the pine trees without seeing their blood. I couldn’t listen to the northern winds without hearing their final howls.
So I left.
After my first Mating Trial, I followed the Aurora pack home. Cold, disciplined, distant, exactly how I felt after my parents died. But even after all these years, I still carry the ways of the old forest. When everything burns down, only what’s rooted survives.
“After my parents died,” I say quietly, returning to the moment, “I didn’t have anyone. You’re lucky to have each other.”
He looks up at me, nods solemnly before changing the subject, “What about you, Mr. Alpha man?” Roman asks, breaking me out of my thoughts. Another wolf that talks to me normally and not with fear. It must run in the family.
“What about me?”
“Any young females catch your eye?”
My jaw tightens. “My eyes are one thing. My heart is another.”
Roman grins. “Oh, aren’t you a romantic.”
Honi slaps me on the shoulder, “Thorn’s always held out for the real deal. No flings. No claiming for convenience.”
“Here’s hoping this is his season,” Roman states, strangely sincere.
Even though Roman is younger than I was when tragedy struck, I can see the cloud of loss behind his eyes.
If there’s one thing that bonds people, it’s losing the one they love.
He’s formed an irreplaceable bond with his sister, and I’d hate to be the one who tears them apart.
“Here’s hoping,” I echo, staring at the line of trees bending to the wind.