Chapter 8
The roar of the pack faded behind her, swallowed by the hush of the trees.
Eris drew a deep breath, desperate, but it didn’t help.
Her chest stayed tight. The weight of it all—the prophecy, the spirits, the fire burning in her veins—pressed against her ribs like a chain.
It had all happened too quickly. Too soon.
Her identity was slipping through her fingers, and she didn’t know how to hold on.
She pressed a hand to her heart, as if she could keep herself from breaking.
Just one moment. That’s all I need.
And then, she wasn’t alone.
She felt him before she saw him, a shadow at the edge of the trees, watching, waiting. Golden eyes burned through the dark.
Eris exhaled sharply. “Are you tracking me now?”
He paused for a long moment, offering no answer. Then he spoke, voice low. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
Her laugh was dry. “You think I can’t handle a few trees?”
His jaw flexed. “I think too many people already see you as prey.”
Her pulse kicked.
“And you? What do you see?”
Kareon didn’t blink. “Something I can’t afford to lose.”
Something inside her shook. She turned away, needing space.
A mistake—because he moved fast. Too fast.
Before she could take another step, he was there, a blur of heat and muscle, blocking the path like he’d always known she would run. Like he had been waiting for it. She startled, not because he caught her, but because of how effortlessly he did it.
She inhaled sharply. Wildfire and steel clung to the air, his nearness burning like something barely restrained.
“Tell me something, Eris,” he said, voice low and rough. Too close.
She turned and hit solid bark. A tree. Her heart slammed. Turning back, Kareon was in front of her now, a wall of heat and unspoken things. She had backed herself into a trap.
His hands braced the bark on either side of her head, not touching her, only caging her in. “When you ran,” he asked, “was it from them…” A pause, long enough to ache. “Or from me?”
Eris sucked in a breath but did not push him away. Not yet. She refused to flinch, to let him see her shudder. Instead, she lifted her chin, defiant.
“You think this is about you?” she scoffed. “Not everything is about you, Kareon.”
His golden eyes flickered with something dark and knowing. He was done pretending.
“This is.”
Her stomach dropped. A thread of knowing twisted beneath her ribs, something she did not want to name. It felt like a warning and a promise, suspended in the space between them.
She wanted to laugh, to deny it, to say something sharp and dismissive, but she said nothing. She remained where she was, caught in the gravity between them.
Kareon exhaled, slow and rough. “You feel it too,” he whispered.
His breath was warm against her skin. A shiver ran down her spine.
No. She did not.
Liar.
She needed to move. Her hands flexed, every muscle screaming to push him away, but she couldn’t.
The air between them thickened, humming with tension.
His presence tugged at her, magnetic and inescapable, and he felt it too.
His golden eyes dropped to her lips. He leaned in, his mouth close enough for her to feel his breath but not to touch.
His restraint trembled. He was waiting for her to close the last inch.
And for a moment, she nearly did. Desire collided with fear.
Fire tangled with dread. Then panic struck, like falling into something she could not control.
Air stalled in her throat. Her pulse thundered. His heat curled around her like a vice.
She had to move, to do something, anything. She shoved him. Hard.
Kareon barely staggered, but he let her go.
His golden eyes burned. “You can fight it all you want, but it won’t change what we are.”
Her breath caught. “And what is that?”
He paused, his voice dropping, certain. “Bound.”
The word sank into her like a brand. She wanted to laugh. Or scream. Instead, she snapped, “You think because you want something, that makes it fate?”
Kareon stilled. He was not angry. It was worse. He understood. “And you think because you love him, nothing else can exist.”
Her breath locked in her chest. The words hit harder than they should have, because he saw her. All of her.
“It doesn’t,” she said. “I love Stephan. Always have. That won’t change.”
He did not react, but something shifted in his shoulders. “Then why are you shaking?”
Her hands curled at her sides, fingers digging into her palms to keep from breaking. “Because you don’t listen.”
He stepped forward, close enough to feel, but still not touching. “Because I don’t believe lies.”
Her pulse surged. “You don’t get to decide how I feel.”
“Then say it.”
Her lungs seized. “Say what?”
“Say you feel nothing when I touch you,” he said, voice rough. “Say you didn’t want me to kiss you just now.”
Fire roared through her, untamed. She opened her mouth, but no sound came.
Kareon exhaled bitterly. “I thought so.”
She slapped him, not hard and not soft, just enough for him to feel it. Not because he was wrong, but because he was right, and she hated that truth.
He did not flinch or blink. He only smiled, not cruel or smug, but knowing. Like a man who had seen her naked soul and chosen not to look away.
“You will come back,” he said quietly, “when you finally admit the truth.”
She turned and walked away. If she stayed, she might shatter, and Kareon would see every fractured piece. She did not know what frightened her more—his gaze, or how much of her he already saw. Like he had memorized her shadow before she ever stepped into the light.
Firelight caught in her eyes as she stormed back, wild, into the den. Kareon followed, silent and watchful, the tension still thick in the air between them.
Taric leaned against the cavern wall, arms crossed. “What do you think just happened?”
Varis smirked. “Either they finally kissed, or they’re about to kill each other.”
Taric let out a low whistle. “Or both. Think we should ask?”
Varis snorted. “Not if you value your life.”
Neither of them looked away as Kareon passed, his golden eyes burning with something raw and unreadable.
Eris did not stop. She did not turn. She went straight to Kaelioth, who was already watching her, unreadable as ever.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
Her fingers curled. Her heart still pounded from Kareon’s words, from his touch, from the truth she refused to name.
She exhaled. “Yes.”
Kaelioth’s lips curved with quiet amusement, but he said nothing. He simply motioned for her to follow.
They climbed in silence, the hill rising before them. The air cooled with every step, steeped in ancient stillness.
Behind them, the den dissolved into shadow, swallowed by the forest.
At the crest, the grove unfolded.
Ancient oaks cradled the clearing, their limbs stretching skyward like hands reaching for the heavens.
Towering stone monoliths ringed the space, carved with runes that glowed faintly.
At the center, a spring bubbled from the earth, its crystalline waters spilling into a slender stream that wound through the trees like a silver thread.
Kaelioth stepped forward, his presence steady and rooted, a part of this place. “This is the Heart of the Hollow,” he said, reverently. “The spiritual core of the Lycans. Here, the boundary between worlds is thin.”
Eris knelt by the spring and brushed her fingers through dew-drenched grass.
“It feels alive,” she murmured, her emerald gaze tracing the runes as they shifted beneath her touch, as if breathing.
Kaelioth lowered himself across from her, his dark robes woven with vines and roots, an extension of the earth itself. “It is.”
“The spirits are in all things: stone, water, sky, flame. They flow through us as they flow through the world. And through you, most of all, Eris. Your blood remembers. Your gift is their voice made flesh, shaping emotion as they shape the earth.”
Eris met his gaze, uncertain. “I do not understand.”
Kaelioth nodded calmly. “You do not need to. Not yet. Close your eyes. Listen. The spirits are speaking in the breath of the trees, in the pull beneath your skin. Let this place remind you of what your blood already knows. Feel them. Let them move through you.”
She closed her eyes. The world narrowed, growing quieter, sharper. The rustle of leaves carried more than sound; it breathed longing. The stream’s pulse hummed with patience. Beneath her fingers, the grass whispered calm.
Then the current shifted. The rhythm changed. What once felt like wind and water now beat with hearts. The pack stirred at the edge of her senses—a swell of pride, unease, and curiosity, tangled and consuming. Emotions surged, vast and unmoored.
For a moment, she lost the edges of herself, her thoughts and breath blurring.
“Breathe,” Kaelioth said, his voice cutting through the haze steadily. “Let them pass through you. Do not cling. Watch them, but do not let them become you.”
Slowly, the storm calmed. The emotions unraveled—not a wave, but threads, distinct and traceable. One burned brighter than the rest: ancient, deep sorrow.
Her focus turned toward Kaelioth, and what she felt tightened her chest. A grief buried deep, settled like stone, never fully healed.
Eris’s eyes opened. Her voice was shaken. “I felt your pain. It is tied to someone you loved, is it not?”
Kaelioth met her gaze, unreadable, and let the silence stretch longer than necessary. This moment wasn’t about him, so he shifted the focus. “What you felt—what you took in—is only part of the gift. Now you must transform it. And give it back.”
Eris understood. He was not ready to speak of it, so she let it go for now. “Transform it?” she asked. “How?”