Northern Heart (Frosthaven Academy: Northern #3)

Chapter 1

Chapter one

The Healing Center was quiet at this hour.

I signed in with Margaret at the front desk, took the familiar route down the corridor toward the recovery wing, and knocked on Stone's door. Three weeks since the council vote that let the ferals stay, and I still made this walk every morning before dawn.

The new security protocols meant keypads and cameras now, but they also meant privacy. No one hovering outside Stone's room. No one watching through reinforced glass like he was still a monster instead of a man fighting his way back to himself.

Just a door. And the man behind it.

"Come in."

Human. His voice was human—low and rough, like it had been dragged over gravel, but human.

That still mattered. After years lost to the feral darkness, every word Stone spoke was a victory.

I pushed through the door and the bond flared instantly. That pull in my chest, the one that had been there since the mountain, tightening like a rope drawn taut. My body knew he was near before my eyes found him.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, bare feet on the floor, wearing the grey sweats that had become his uniform.

His blonde hair was tangled, falling across his forehead, and his beard had grown in thick and rough, shadowing the sharp cut of his jaw.

He was too thin still—weeks of healing hadn't undone years of starvation—but even diminished, he was big.

Broad shoulders, long limbs, the kind of frame that spoke of the alpha he'd been before everything was taken from him.

His whole body was held with the kind of rigid control that made my chest ache.

He wasn't relaxed. He was containing himself.

The bond pulsed between us, and I felt the edges of what he was holding back—exhaustion, fear, something darker underneath. The wolf, always the wolf, pressing against the walls he'd built to keep it caged.

I wanted to touch him. Wanted to cross the room and put my hands on his face, his shoulders, anywhere. The bond demanded closeness, ached for it. But I'd learned that Stone needed space to breathe. Needed to know I wasn't going to crowd him when he was barely holding on.

So I stayed by the door. Let him come to me if he wanted.

"Early," he said. His gold eyes lifted to mine, and my breath caught the way it always did. Those eyes—wolf eyes in a human face, bright and burning and full of things he couldn't say.

"Couldn't sleep."

"Liar." The corner of his mouth twitched, but his eyes didn't match. "You slept. I felt it."

Of course he had. The bond ran both ways. He felt me the same way I felt him—a constant presence at the edge of awareness, impossible to ignore.

I crossed to the chair by his window—my chair now—and sat. Close enough to touch if he reached for me. Far enough to give him room.

"You didn't," I said.

Stone didn't answer. His hands rested on his knees, fingers spread, like he needed to feel the solidity of his own body.

"Bad night?" I asked.

"Not bad." He stared at his hands. "Just... loud. Everything is loud now."

I waited.

"Before," he said slowly, "when I was... gone. The wolf didn't think. Didn't remember. It was just survival. Instinct. There wasn't any—" He stopped. Swallowed. "There wasn't any weight."

"And now?"

"Now I remember." His voice was rough. "Not everything. Pieces. But enough to know that I did things. Hurt people. And I can't—"

The door opened behind us.

A staff member—new, young, moving too fast. She was carrying a tray of breakfast, probably trying to be helpful, not realizing that helpful meant slow and announced and never surprising him.

Stone's head snapped toward the sound.

I watched it happen—the way every muscle in his body went rigid at once. His shoulders bunched, the tendons in his neck standing out like cords. His jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jump beneath his beard.

The wolf surged up behind his eyes. His lips pulled back, exposing teeth. A sound escaped him that wasn't quite human—low, guttural, a warning from something ancient and feral.

The staff member froze. The tray rattled in her hands.

"Stone." I kept my voice low, steady, letting it carry through the bond like a lifeline. "It's okay. It's just breakfast. She's leaving."

The staff member backed out, pale-faced, pulling the door shut behind her.

Stone shuddered. His breath came in ragged bursts.

The wolf retreated—slowly, reluctantly, claws scraping as it pulled back from the surface.

I moved to him without thinking. Sat beside him on the bed and placed my hand on his back, smoothing my palm over the warm expanse of muscle. I felt the tension coiled there—his whole body wound tight as a spring, ready to snap.

His muscles twitched under my touch but didn't soften.

I kept my hand there anyway, tracing slow circles between his shoulder blades. His skin was fever-hot, his heart pounding so hard I could feel it in his ribs.

"You stopped," I said quietly. "You heard her come in, and you stopped."

He dropped his head into his hands, breathing hard.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"You didn't do anything." I let my hand slide up to the back of his neck, fingers brushing the hair at his nape. Still rigid. Still holding on so tight it had to hurt. "You stopped, Stone."

"Barely."

"Stopping is what matters."

He exhaled slowly. Some of the tension bled out of his shoulders—not much, but enough that I noticed.

"It only becomes bearable when you're here," he said quietly. "When you touch me. When I can smell you." He shook his head, like he didn't understand it himself. "The noise in my head goes quiet. The wolf stops clawing. For a few minutes, I can just... breathe."

I didn't know what to say to that. Didn't know why my presence worked when nothing else did.

He was quiet for a long moment. I felt the turmoil through the bond—shame, frustration, exhaustion, and underneath it all, a fear that never quite went away.

"Everyone thinks the breakthrough was healing," he said finally. "They think I'm better now. Getting better."

"Aren't you?"

"I don't know." He lifted his head, met my eyes.

The gold was brighter when he was struggling—closer to the surface.

"Being human isn't... it isn't relief, Lumi.

It's exposure. Everything I couldn't feel before, I feel now.

Everything I couldn't remember, I remember. And I don't know how to carry it."

My throat tightened.

Humanity had given him his mind back. It had also given him his pain.

"You don't have to carry it alone," I said.

"I know." He looked away. "That's the problem."

I didn't understand. Before I could ask, he stood. Moved to the window. Put distance between us.

"I can hold it," he said quietly. "The wolf. The memories. All of it. I just... don't know for how long."

"Stone—"

"Go to breakfast." His voice was carefully controlled. "You have class. I'll be here when you get back."

I wanted to argue. Wanted to push.

But I could feel through the bond that he needed space. Needed to rebuild the walls that kept him functional.

"I'll come back this afternoon," I said.

"I know." Almost a smile. "You always do."

Ivy was waiting in the dining hall.

She'd claimed our usual table by the windows, her tray loaded with enough food to feed three people, her dark hair piled in a messy bun that was already falling apart. When she saw me, she waved her fork like a weapon.

"You look like death," she announced as I sat down.

"Good morning to you too."

"It's not a good morning. It's a 'my best friend is running on four hours of sleep and probably hasn't eaten since yesterday' morning." She pushed a plate toward me. "Eat. Now. Before I force-feed you."

I took the plate. Toast, eggs, fruit. More than I wanted, but arguing with Ivy was pointless.

"How's the scary wolf man?" she asked, quieter now.

"Which one?"

"The scariest one. The one you sneak off to see before dawn when you think I'm sleeping."

I bit into the toast. Chewed.

"Stone's struggling," I admitted. "The breakthrough was real, but... being human is hard for him. Harder than being the wolf."

Ivy's expression softened. "That actually makes sense. The wolf doesn't have to think about trauma. The human does."

"Yeah." I set down the toast. "I don't know how to help him. I can ground him when he starts to slip, but I can't fix what's broken."

"Maybe that's not your job."

I looked at her.

"I'm just saying." She shrugged. "You can't save everyone by yourself. Even if you really, really want to."

She wasn't wrong. But that didn't make it easier.

A shadow fell across the table. James slid into the seat beside me, his tray loaded with food.

"Morning." He pressed a kiss to my temple, then studied my face. "You okay?"

"Stone had a rough night."

"I felt it through the bond. You were restless." His hand found mine under the table, squeezed. "Want to talk about it?"

"Later. After classes."

James nodded, accepting. That was one of the things I loved about him—he knew when to push and when to wait.

"We should head out soon," he said. "Reeves hates when people are late."

Ivy groaned. "I don't know how you two survive PE first thing in the morning. I'd die."

"You'd adapt," I said.

"I'd complain the entire time." She shrugged and grinned.

PE had been brutal—Reeves had us running laps until my legs burned—but at least James had been there to suffer alongside me.

Psychology was a blur of attachment theory and developmental stages.

James sat beside me, close enough that our arms brushed when we wrote.

I took notes without really processing them.

My mind kept drifting back to Stone.

Everything I couldn't feel before, I feel now.

"Miss Orlav?"

I blinked. Larkin was looking at me expectantly.

"I'm sorry. Could you repeat the question?"

"I asked for an example of compensatory attachment behavior."

My pen tapped against my notebook. "Hyper-independence. Learning to meet your own needs because relying on others feels too risky."