Chapter 5 Xadiel
XADIEL
“Where are you, Little Moon?” The question rasps out of me, low and rough as I leave her nest. It’s snowing out, the late evening quickly turning dark, and my female is nowhere to be seen.
I don’t like it, and neither does my wolf.
His senses are sharp, more alert than usual—demanding that I find her. It’s there in his constant, low growl, the sound a warning but not from anger…
No. This is pure, unadulterated need.
The kind that burns through reason until instinct is all I have left.
Patting my chest, I try to soothe him, but the animal’s claws rake my insides. His impatience, the driving force to find Isabella, becomes my sole reason to exist.
Mine.
Closing my eyes, I breathe in deep, searching for her scent…
Jasmines. Soft, dangerous, and sweet enough to drown in. It’s surrounded by a trace of my scent, twisting into something uniquely ours.
Then, there’s her magic.
It hums in the air. Its tethers like woven silk tugging me in her direction, pulsing yet delicate.
Always toward home. Because that’s what she is.
My home. My life. My love.
“She was here,” I say, jaw tight. I can still feel the echo of her heartbeat through our bond—the tug at my chest forcing me to walk away from the private nest I’d built for her in the Alaskan wilderness.
I’m following a map no one can see, but I know like the back of my hand. My mark on her throat and the traces of her scent let me find her anywhere, even if she cloaks herself with spells.
Because that’s what this is.
She can’t hide from me.
Not when I’ve been an excellent student.
“My female,” I mutter, exhaling steam into the cold. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
The air crackles then, and the moon rises high. It’s All Hallows’ Eve, a night where the veil thins and magic runs wild—my instincts sharpen to match it. Every year, we steal away from the world to feed this obsession that burns and thrives between us.
No crown. No pack. Just us.
These woods are empty. Our pack has left the area to hunt or has gone home to England so that their royal pair can have some privacy.
They know the law. Know my wrath.
I’m a fair alpha, but anyone—outside of a lost pup—who trespasses on our night will be dealt a swift death. That is the punishment, and it fits the crime. I do not share my female, and tonight, she will run wild and free as I chase, then mount my prize.
Except—she seems to be hiding from me.
I should be angry about this. I should be running, chasing her in wolf form. But instead, heat curls low in my gut.
She’s made this into a sexy game of hide and seek.
A grin splits my mouth, sharp and hungry. I can feel the pull of her spell somewhere north, like a faint, teasing brush of her fingers over my senses.
You started this feral game, my love.
I start moving. The bond tightens as I do, drawing me forward through the snow, each breath filling me with more of her scent. Stronger. Sharper.
Excitement coils beneath my ribs, my cock straining against my trousers. The engorged head throbs, and beads of my seed pool, then slide down the shaft.
My knot also swells.
It’s been sensitive all day, the skin tight, and each thought of her makes it harder to focus on anything but locking myself inside of her warm, wet cunt.
“I’m coming for you.”
* * *
The trees close around me, heavy with snow. Every crunch beneath my boots is swallowed by the hush of winter. The world narrows down to impulses—the smell, sound, and the faint rhythm of her heartbeat echoing through the tethers that bind us.
Jasmine again, but stronger. And under that, I smell her blood.
Not enough to harm, just a drop offered in spell-work—the taste a ghost across my senses, lighting a spark through my veins. I don’t know how long I trek through the woods, but I’m drawn to a fallen log with a note on top. It’s folded neatly, edges rusted with frost.
Her aura surrounds it—me—here, a soft and warm tether trapped in paper.
Nothing else. No illusion.
Just her essence is a signature.
I reach for it carefully, my fingers brushing the edge when a jolt of power lashes through me. My eyes flash bright, then darken, the irises black as my wolf rises. He’s pacing, pushing me to find his mate before I lose all rationality.
Already, I can feel the change.
It starts deep, an ache under my skin that turns molten in a single breath. My pulse hammers, heat flooding through me until the cold can’t touch me, and every inch of me throbs for her. My vision sharpens as the bond pulls taut, and her scent is all I can see and understand.
Baser needs. Animalistic focus.
Nothing exists outside of her touch, her kisses—the way her cunt tightens right before my knot locks us together. I will not stop, either. Wolf and man have one singular focus, and that’s to breed their female.
Shaking my head, I clear out the beginning rut-fog and take in her handwriting. It’s elegant and clean—every word deliberate and utterly her.
To my king of fangs and moonlight…
I read the rest, jaw clenching while my upper lip curls into a snarl—my fangs drop, breaking through the gums almost violently. Each line is a touch I can’t feel, a kiss I’m being denied. My mate is daring me to find her. Challenging her wolf to take the bait.
“Sneaky little witch,” I growl, though the words taste like worship. Yet worse than the taunt is the lingering magic stroking the thick imprint of my cock over my trousers. It’s slow, almost a bloody caress, and the rut answers before I can fight back the change.
Heat crashes through me, blood roaring as my muscles contract painfully, hunger tearing at the seams of my restraint.
My beast rises.
Claws break through my skin, blood dripping from each black-tipped talon as power threads through every place on my body she’s ever kissed or bitten. Where she’s marked me, irrevocably owning the man who lives to worship his female.
Dropping to one knee, my fingers dig into the snow as steam curls around me.
The world blurs in and out of focus as the fever takes hold. Winter presses in—pine, snow, and silence fight to control my senses—yet my focus is locked on her.
Jasmine. Always jasmine.
I bury the note beneath the wet ground, claws slicing through mud and frost, sealing her words away before the scent drives me mad. Lifting my head, I draw in a lungful of cold air. Her trail is faint but constant, a thread of warmth woven through the cold.
The howl tears from me before I can bite it back. It’s raw, jagged, and full of need. The bond snaps in answer, hard enough to steal my breath as it yanks me forward a step at a time.
I have no control. It demands I move, hunt, and find.
My clothes tear, seams giving way to muscle and fur.
Claws rip through the soles of my boots, my feet sinking into the snow as the mid-shift claims me.
I am neither man nor beast—something in between and built to destroy.
I’m seven feet of hunger and purpose, the blood throbbing in my veins calling her name.
She’s moving fast. Too fast.
The forest blurs around me as I run, white clouds exploding under each stride.
The northern lights bleed across the canopy, guiding me toward the place her riddle promised.
My breath comes rough, steaming in the frigid air.
Every inhale brings another lie meant to confuse me.
The taste of her arousal bleeds into her sultry perfume; the mix is heady, and I grip myself with clawed hands.
With every ten steps, I stroke myself down and then up. I’m a monster. Feral and brutal. And yet, the only part of me that will hurt her is swollen, and the skin is taut, leaving behind a trail of pre-come on the white forest floor.
I bare my teeth, licking a fang. Run and hide, Little Moon. Make me earn you.
The mindlink between us remains silent, but I know she heard. It’s there in the love filtering through from her end, the small whine she can’t control after a few minutes. No words, but that sound is enough to set my pulse ablaze.
Moreover, I fuck my hand as I replay that sound over and over. It’s my preferred soundtrack as I head deeper into the Alaskan wilderness, where very few wander. Her clue was direct. I know the place well, but the thought of her out here alone doesn’t sit well with me.
Isabella should be in her nest, cozy and warm and spread out for me like the gift she is.
My steps pick up their pace to match hers, heading in the same direction while ignoring the few fake trails that carry her essence. Meant to trick and deprive, but both man and beast cannot be deterred.
I run. The forest blurs past me, rushes of shadow and white as my strides shred the distance.
Her trail veers through trees, weaving between birch and pine, dipping into hollowed earth and curling back again.
Then, there’s the illusions that flicker, movement to my left one second, then the right, and it’s always flowy strands of red hair that curl at the ends.
The sight is accompanied by her giggle. Bright. Warm. Playful. A complete contrast to the wind cutting across my face, sharp as a blade, the sting pushing me harder. Faster.
Find me, my wolf.
Her words through the mindlink catch me off guard, my body tensing, but I’m able to jump over the large root sticking up from the ground. My wolf snarls at her through our connection, not that it does much as she snorts.
I’m coming for you, Isabella. This is your only warning.
Before she can reply, I cut the connection and turn left, where an old bridge connects to a denser crop of trees leading to a ravine. But more importantly, it’s where I find a small piece of white fabric I’d recognize anywhere. Soft satin stitched at the hem with our initials.
X. I.
I slow as I reach it, picking it up and bringing it to my nose.
It’s her. Potent and decadent. Mine.
Movement ahead catches my attention, but I pretend otherwise. Ignoring my mate, I run the piece of fabric across my swollen head, swiping the pearl-like beads there, marking the satin.
I’m not going to bring it with me, but bend and place it where she left it, her scent and mine combined, as it always should be. She’s watching this, the small mewl she makes, proof of her inability to stay away either.
I also catch her sharp intake of breath. Scenting me. Noting the change.
Isabella is where the ridge breaks and the forest dips into shadow, just as the riddle stated.
And when I cross, my clawed feet firmly planted not far from her hiding spot, my mate steps out.
Gone is her dress; she’s wearing nothing but her favorite cloak over her bare skin.
Soft, creamy flesh is on display while the ravine walls are slick with ice and moss, blocking us from the storm above.
No sound. No breeze.
Even the snow hangs motionless atop the trees, as if afraid to fall.
This is where my clever female traps a predator. Her king.
She’s chosen a place carved by time like an altar, and the air itself thrums with magical energy. What she didn’t account for, though, was her alpha giving in to the rut. Or maybe she did.
Not that it matters either way…
“I found my precious little moon.”