We rode out of the circle of tents with ten riders tight behind us. The moon was still full, turning the river silver. I could hear the other side now, it was howls, branches snapping, Sveinn's voice shouting orders like he was still the big man in charge.
We hit the tree line and Gunnar reined in. "Stay behind me," he said over his shoulder. "No hero shit. You're still weak."
"Fuck you," I muttered, but I gripped his jacket tighter anyway.
The first Shadowpine wolf burst through the brush ten yards ahead. It was one of Sveinn's cousins, I recognized the brindled fur. It lunged straight at us. Gunnar's horse danced sideways and his sword flashed down. One clean arc. The wolf yelped once and dropped.
More came. Five, seven then ten. Teeth and claws and pissed-off snarls. Matthías roared and shifted mid-leap, landing as a massive black wolf that took two attackers at once. Blood sprayed the leaves.
I scanned the chaos for Sveinn. I saw him on the far bank, still human, silver hair bright under the moon. He had a bow drawn. Aimed right at me.
"Elva!" he yelled. "Get off that bastard or I put this through your heart!"
He released the arrow Gunnar twisted hard, taking the hit high in his shoulder instead of my chest. He grunted but didn't fall. The shaft stuck out of him like a damn flag.
Rage boiled up in me so fast my vision tunneled. "You piece of shit!" I screamed across the water. "You rejected me, threw me in a cell, and now you want me dead?"
Sveinn nocked another arrow. "You're mine to end. Not his."
Gunnar's voice came low and deadly. "Matthías. Take the archer alive."
His second broke from the fight and charged the river like a freight train. Sveinn's eyes went wide. He dropped the bow and shifted fast, but not fast enough. Matthías slammed into him and they rolled into the shallows in a mess of teeth and fur.
The fight turned ugly after that. My old pack warriors were good on their home turf but these Lycans fought like they were born for it. One of Gunnar's men took a bad bite to the leg and went down laughing. Another pinned a Shadowpine wolf and snapped its neck with a casual twist.
I felt useless. Just dead weight on the back of a horse while blood flew. That fire under my skin kept building though. Not a wolf yet, but something. My bitten arm burned hotter than the cut should. I pressed my hand over the rag and swore I felt claws trying to push out under my nails.
Gunnar yanked the arrow from his shoulder with a squelch. Blood soaked his jacket. "Enough!" he bellowed across the river. "Sveinn Ragnarsson. You lost her fair. The moon chose. Keep coming and I end the treaty your father begged for last winter."
Sveinn's wolf shook itself, blood dripping from its muzzle. He shifted back human, naked and furious on the bank and bleeding. "She's defective. You want a broken Luna? Fine. But her father owes me answers. Jakob!" He jerked his chin toward the trees.
My dad stepped out. Jakob Bjarnarson, Beta of Shadowpine, looking like he'd aged ten years in one night. He wouldn't meet my eyes.
"Tell him, Jakob," Sveinn snarled. "Tell the Lycan King why she never shifted. Why she's poison."
My father's voice came out flat. "The bloodline. Her grandmother wasn't pure Shadowpine. She carried Lycan blood from an old raid. We thought it died out. It didn't. Elva's wolf is… different. Stronger. But it won't rise for a weak Alpha."
The words landed like a second arrow. Stronger? Different? I stared at my father. The man who nodded at me on the altar like everything was fine. "You knew? All this time you knew and you let Sveinn treat me like shit?"
He finally looked at me. "It was for the pack. We couldn't risk a half-breed Luna causing trouble."
Gunnar laughed once, short and mean. "Half-breed. That's rich coming from the pack that just lost their best bargaining chip." He turned the horse so I faced my father full on. "She rides with me now. Tell your Alpha I'll send her father's head back if any more wolves cross my border tonight."
My father flinched, staying back and for a second I saw real fear in his eyes.
Matthías dragged a half-conscious Sveinn out of the water by the hair. "Orders, King?"
"Keep him. We'll talk terms in the morning." Gunnar looked down at me. "You good?"
My arm still burned. The spark had turned into a steady roar now, like something pacing behind my ribs waiting to get out. I nodded anyway. "Yeah. Just… get us out of here."
We turned the horses back toward camp. The surviving Shadowpine wolves melted into the trees, howling their retreat. Gunnar's shoulder kept bleeding but he rode like it was nothing. I kept one hand pressed to his back, feeling the heat of his blood and that stupid bond pulling tighter with every step.
* * * * * * *
Back at the tents the men were already dragging bodies into a pile and patching the wounded. Someone handed Gunnar a fresh shirt. He stripped the bloody one off right there in the firelight. Scars everywhere. Old ones, new ones, and now mine in a way. The arrow wound looked serious but already closing. Ha, Lycan healing. Lucky bastard.
He caught me staring. "See something you like?"
"Shut up," I said, but my voice came out rough. The spark flared again. I wanted to touch the wound. Wanted to press my mouth to it. *What the actual fuck, Elva.* I thought.
Matthías tossed Sveinn into a spare tent and tied the flap. "He's out cold. We'll question him at first light."
Gunnar nodded then looked at me. "You're not sleeping in my tent tonight."
My stomach dropped. "Why the hell not?"
"Because if you do, that bond's gonna push us both further than you're ready for. And I don't break women who aren't asking." He jerked his chin at another tent nearby. "That's yours. Guard outside. We ride for Ironfang Keep at dawn."
I wanted to argue, wanted to tell him I wasn't scared of the bond or him or any of this. But my legs felt like jelly and my arm hurt like a bitch and the weight of everything: the rejection, blood, my own father's betrayal, hit me all at once.
I walked to the tent. Inside it was basic. Bedroll, lantern, a clean shirt someone left for me. I peeled off the ruined robe, wiped the blood off my skin, and pulled the shirt on. It smelled like Gunnar. Of course it did.
Lying there in the dark I listened to the camp settle. Low voices. Someone laughing about the fight. The river rushing in the distance.
My thoughts wouldn't shut up. *Stronger blood. Lycan blood. That's why my wolf wouldn't rise for Sveinn. It was waiting for someone who could actually match it.* The spark pulsed in agreement.
I closed my eyes but sleep didn't come easy. Every time I tried to sleep, I saw Sveinn's arrow flying at me. Gunnar taking it. My dad's blank face on the altar.
Then the tent flap moved. I sat up fast, my heart slamming in my chest and I was ready to fight or scream, I didn't know which one yet.