Night did not fall all at once.
It settled slowly, like a breath finally released after being held too long. The forest exhaled with it—leaves whispering, branches creaking, the air cooling just enough to make awareness sharpen instead of dull.
I sat near the fire Alaric had built, watching the flames curl and fold in on themselves. Not staring into them, exactly—just letting my eyes rest somewhere that didn't demand anything from me.
My body still felt… strange.
Not shaken.
Not fragile.
Just awake in a way it hadn't been before.
Kael's words lingered like an echo I refused to chase. They were still there, somewhere at the edges of my thoughts, but they no longer pressed into my chest. They no longer felt like truth.
They felt like noise.
Rowan sat across from me, poking at the fire with a stick, humming something under his breath—tuneless, lazy, deliberately unimportant. Silas leaned against a nearby tree, arms folded, gaze drifting between the forest and me, never lingering too long. Alaric stood a little apart, cleaning his blade with methodical precision.
None of them spoke about what had happened.
That, somehow, mattered more than any reassurance.
The bond stirred faintly.
Distant.
Watching.
The Alpha was closer tonight. Not physically—but aware enough that the thread between us hummed like a taut wire. I felt his tension like a pressure change in the air. Not anger.
Uncertainty.
I drew my knees closer, wrapping the cloak Alaric had given me tighter around my shoulders. It smelled faintly of smoke and something clean beneath it—steady, grounding.
"You cold?" Rowan asked casually.
I shook my head. "No."
He nodded, accepting the answer without commentary. A small thing. A kind thing.
Silas shifted his weight. "We'll take turns on watch."
"I can help," I said.
Alaric glanced up. "You can. If you want."
Not you should. Not you must.
If you want.
The words settled gently.
"I want," I said.
Something in Alaric's expression softened—not triumphantly, not possessively. Just acknowledgment.
Rowan stretched, standing. "I'll take first watch. You all look like you need… processing time."
Silas snorted quietly but didn't argue.
Rowan wandered off into the trees, whistling softly, presence light but not careless.
The quiet that followed was different from before.
It wasn't tense.
It was… open.
I stared at the fire for a while longer, then finally spoke. "He said those things because he wanted to hurt me."
Silas answered first. "Yes."
No hesitation. No qualification.
"And because he was afraid," Alaric added calmly.
I glanced up at him. "Afraid of what?"
Alaric met my gaze. "Of being irrelevant."
The word struck something deep and fragile.
Silas nodded once. "People like him confuse control with connection. When control fails, they reach for cruelty."
I exhaled slowly.
"That doesn't make it hurt less," I said.
"No," Silas agreed. "But it makes it smaller."
I considered that.
The bond pulsed faintly again—curious this time, unsettled.
The Alpha was listening.
Good.
"I believed things like that once," I admitted quietly. "That desire had to feel overwhelming. That it had to take something from you to be real."
Alaric's gaze sharpened slightly. "And now?"
I hesitated.
Now… I felt aware of my body in a different way.
Not tense.
Not braced.
Just present.
"I think," I said slowly, choosing the words carefully, "that wanting doesn't have to hurt."
Silence followed.
Not awkward.
Respectful.
Silas was the one who looked away first.
Alaric didn't.
Something passed between us—not heat, not hunger, but recognition. Like two people acknowledging the same truth from opposite sides.
The bond pulsed again.
Sharper.
The Alpha's presence surged, reacting to the closeness—not physical, but emotional.
I felt his confusion bleed through the thread.
This is not how it's supposed to feel.
I almost laughed.
Later, when Rowan returned and Silas took his place near the edge of the camp, the night deepened fully. Stars scattered across the sky, sharp and bright.
I stood, stretching slowly, testing the way my body moved. Still sore. Still tired.
But not small.
"I'll take watch with Silas," I said.
Alaric inclined his head. "Wake me if you need anything."
Anything.
Not me.
The difference mattered.
Silas and I walked a short distance from the fire, settling where we could see the path between the trees. He didn't crowd me. Didn't loom. Just stood beside me, presence solid and quiet.
"You didn't ask him to apologize," Silas said after a while.
"No," I replied.
"Why?"
I thought about it.
"Because I didn't need him to," I said. "And because apologies from people like him are about easing their own discomfort."
Silas nodded slowly. "You're perceptive."
I shrugged. "I'm learning."
The bond flickered—approval? Alarm?
The Alpha shifted on the other end, restless.
Good.
"You're not what he expected," Silas said.
"I don't care what he expected."
Silas glanced at me then, something like respect in his eyes. "That's new."
I smiled faintly.
When my watch ended, I returned to the fire. Alaric was already awake, sitting with his back against a rock, gaze lifted toward the stars.
"You don't sleep much," I observed.
He smiled slightly. "Enough."
I hesitated—then sat beside him, close enough to feel warmth, not close enough to touch.
"I don't know what I want yet," I said quietly.
"I know," he replied.
I frowned. "How?"
"Because you're not trying to perform certainty," he said. "You're letting it arrive."
The words sent a strange warmth through my chest.
The bond surged sharply—jealous, uncertain, strained.
The Alpha was closer now. Too close.
I felt his attention press against me like a hand hovering just short of contact.
Alaric noticed immediately.
"He's near," he said.
"Yes."
"Does it frighten you?"
I considered the question honestly.
"No," I said. "It doesn't."
The admission surprised me.
Alaric studied me, then nodded once. "Good."
I breathed in slowly.
"I don't want to be claimed," I said. "Not like that."
"I know."
"And I don't want to be wanted because someone thinks they deserve me."
"I know," he repeated gently.
The fire crackled.
The bond trembled—confused now, destabilized by something it couldn't categorize.
Choice.
"I want," I said, voice steady, "to want."
Alaric didn't touch me.
Didn't lean in.
Didn't even move.
He just said, "Then take your time."
And something in me—something tight and wounded and cautious—finally loosened.
Not into desire.
Into trust.
Far away, the Alpha felt it.
The bond did not scream.
It did not rage.
It recoiled.
Because for the first time, what connected us was no longer dominant.
It was optional.
And I sat by the fire, wrapped in borrowed warmth, surrounded by men who did not demand, did not diminish, did not define—
Knowing with quiet certainty that whatever came next…
It would be chosen.