"Some fires you can smother. Others? They smother you while winking."
ELIAS POV
The forest swallowed me whole, greedy and silent, as I tore away from him. My boots crunched pine needles and frost-bitten moss, each stride sending sharp air into my lungs, but none of it, not the bite of winter, not the ache in my calves, was enough to cool the molten heat clawing through my chest.
Black was practically singing in my head. He found us.
"Shut up," I hissed, my breath puffing in quick clouds. My wolf ignored the command because, of course, he made his voice a low, eager hum. Our Alpha.
"He is not ours," I snapped. "He's the Alpha King, and that is different."
Black's answer was a smug, tail-wagging energy that made my molars grind. Titles are titles. Bonds are bonds. I did not dignify that with a response, mostly because the truth clung to me like wet clothes, heavy, stubborn, and impossible to shake off. Even now I could feel the ghost of his firsthand me. The heat of them, like he had been forged into a star and had not cooled since. And those eyes molten gold, searing through the dark until I had forgotten how to breathe, much less look away.
I pushed harder through the thickening trees, lungs screaming for mercy. My cabin was not far, hidden deep in Roanridge's mountainside, tucked away like a secret I intended to take to the grave. Somewhere safe. Somewhere far from whatever that was. The clearing opened, silvered by moonlight. My cabin stood where it always had dark cedar siding, a wide wraparound porch, and big windows reflecting the winter night. Built against the forest itself, it looked like it had grown here on purpose, sturdy, solitary, unyielding. Just the way I liked to think of myself.
I reached the heavy oak door, slipped the key in, and shoved it open. The bolt slid home with a satisfying clack. One by one, every window latch followed, my hands working from muscle memory. Then came the perimeter check motion sensors blinking green, CCTV showing only the restless sway of pine and birch.
Still, my shoulders stayed tight. Black grumbled, his mental tone dripping with judgment. You are being ridiculous. He was not going to hurt us.
"I don't know that," I muttered, stalking into the kitchen. My hand trembled only slightly as I reached for a glass in the cupboard.
The cabin greeted me with its usual warmth, the faint scent of cedarwood from the fireplace, and rosemary from the herb pots on the sill. I kicked off my boots, shrugged off my jacket, but the weight in my chest did not lift. There was only one solution: the shower. Steam, scalding water, something to scrub away the way my body still hummed from its nearness. I stripped, stepped into the small, tiled stall, and braced my palms against the wall as the first rush of heat hit my back.
It did not help at all. His scent clung like sin, sweet citrus, the hint of strawberry, and that darker note beneath, rich and male, which curled in my lungs and refused to leave. My wolf purred with every breath of it, tail thumping like he had finally found the chew toy of his dreams. Images flashed Alaric shirtless under the moonlight, smirk sharp enough to cut. That unbearable press of his presence against mine, not just physical but deeper. Bond-deep and Black, my wolf all but wriggled.
"Stop it," I growled. Not sure if it was to me, to him, or the memory of those damn eyes.
By the time the water turned lukewarm, I was no cleaner than before, just wetter, more annoyed, and a little dizzy. Towel around my waist, I stalked back to the kitchen. Cooking was safe. Me, a knife, ingredients, and no room for thoughts of Alaric Vayne's smug, infuriating face. I diced vegetables with surgical precision. Seasoned the venison roast I had thawed earlier. Slide it into the oven and let the smell start to fill the cabin, warm, rich, comforting.
Black sighed happily. He would like this.
I nearly dropped the wine bottle. "He's not coming here for dinner."
I poured the wine, anyway, checked the CCTV, still all clear, and sat at my small table by the window. The forest beyond was quiet, silver frost on every branch. The kind of night that usually calmed me. Tonight, it felt calm before something I did not want to name. I ate mechanically, ignoring Black's smug little hum in the back of my mind.
He is ours. You cannot run from that forever.
"I can damn well try." I snapped. Half an hour later, dishes washed, kitchen dark, I did my nightly round of locks, alarms, and cameras. All was fine and safe, but I was not. I slid into bed, and I stared up at the rafters, moonlight painting stripes across the ceiling. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt his breath against my skin, the rumble of his voice, the sharp, predatory focus in his gaze.
Black's voice was velvet and certain. You felt it too. Stop pretending you did not. You moaned when he kissed you, and even like he did. Your body trembled, and you kissed him back. You cannot lie to me, I am your wolf."
"Shut the fuck up," I whispered into the dark. "I can't want it."
But my wolf did not care about my logic. Or about the fact that Alaric Vayne had a fiancée. He only cared that when our scents had tangled, something ancient had answered deep, instinctive, undeniable.
I turned on my side, dragging the blankets up like they could shield me from a bond. My skin prickled, my muscles tight, and the truth kept slipping through the cracks in my resolve: one touch, and Black had bowed. I tossed and turned, the sheets tangling around my legs. Every time I found a comfortable position, Alaric's face was their molten gold eyes, that scent in my lungs, the heat in my chest. I rolled onto my stomach, burying my face in the pillow like I could smother the bond itself, and it did not work. The bond was not skin-deep; it was bone, blood, breath. Black was quiet now, but not gone, lingering on the edges of my mind, smug like a cat who had stolen the cream. He did not have to say Told you so as he was thinking it loud enough for both of us.
Time blurred, and eventually, exhaustion won out over stubbornness. My heartbeat slowed, the creaks of the cabin softened, and the wind became a lullaby. My last thought before sleep dragged me under was of his scent, warm, dangerous, permanent. When I woke, the faint light through the curtains was subtle, the chill of the morning air, the soft insistence of birdsong from the tree line. Morning had come, whether I was ready for it or not.