Chapter 4

Cain was across the room, back against the wall, staring at his own wrist.

Same mark. Same angry red lines, twisting up from the pulse point like something had branded us both.

"What did you do to me?" My voice came out raw. Shredded.

He didn't look up. "I didn't do anything."

"Liar." I tried to push myself up. My arms gave out. I hit the floor again, hard, and the impact knocked the air out of me.

That's when he moved.

Not fast. Careful. Like I was a trap that might snap shut.

He crouched a few feet away, holding out a blanket. Grey wool, scratchy looking. He didn't come closer. Just left it within reach and backed off.

"You need to cover up," he said.

I grabbed it and wrapped it around myself, fingers clumsy and numb. Everything hurt. My shoulders, my spine, my jaw. Like I'd been stretched on a rack and then crammed back together wrong.

"What is this?" I held up my wrist. The mark was raised, hot to the touch. It looked like a scar, but fresh. Still bleeding in places.

Cain's jaw tightened. He flexed his own hand, and I saw the same mark there. Mirror image.

"A bond mark," he said.

I waited. He didn't say anything else.

"That's it? That's all you're giving me?"

"It means we're stuck."

"Stuck how?"

He stood up, turned away. Ran a hand through his hair. When he spoke again, his voice was flat. Dead.

"It means if you die, I die. If I die, you die. It means the wolf in you recognized something in me, and now we're linked. Permanently."

I stared at him. At the back of his head, the set of his shoulders.

"That's not possible."

"Yeah, well." He laughed, but there was nothing funny in it. "Tell that to your wrist."

I looked down at the mark again. It pulsed, faint but steady. Like a second heartbeat.

"I don't want this," I said.

"You think I do?"

His voice was sharp enough to cut. I flinched, and hated myself for it. Hated that my first instinct was still to make myself smaller, quieter.

He must've seen it. His shoulders dropped.

"Look," he said, quieter now. "I don't know why it happened. Bonds are rare. They usually only form between pack wolves, or mates, or—" He stopped.

"Or what?"

"Doesn't matter. Point is, we're stuck with it. And if the Guild finds you, they'll kill you. Which means they'll kill me too."

I pulled the blanket tighter. My brain felt slow, like it was dragging through mud.

"The Guild?"

"Hunter's Guild. The people I used to work for. The ones who'll come looking once they hear there's a rogue wolf this far north."

"I'm not a rogue," I said. "I didn't even know I was—" I couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't say the word out loud.

"You shifted," Cain said. "That makes you a wolf. And you're not registered, not claimed by a pack. That makes you rogue."

He finally turned around. His eyes were still cold, but there was something else there now. Something that looked almost like exhaustion.

"Can you stand?"

I didn't know. I tried anyway.

My legs shook, but they held. Barely. I leaned against the wall, breathing hard.

That's when I tasted blood again. Fresh, welling up from somewhere inside my mouth. I coughed, and red splattered onto the blanket.

Cain crossed the room in two strides.

"Let me see."

I jerked back. "Don't touch me."

"You're bleeding."

"I'm fine."

"You're not." He reached out, slow, like he was approaching a wounded animal. "Your gums are torn up. Happens with the first shift. Your teeth changed, and your human mouth wasn't ready for it."

I wanted to shove him away. But another cough came, and more blood, and I couldn't stop it.

He caught my chin, gentle but firm, and tilted my head up.

"Open."

I did.

He looked, frowned, then let go and walked to the counter. Came back with a wet cloth.

"Bite down on this."

I took it. Pressed it to my gums. The pressure hurt, but the bleeding slowed.

Cain wiped the blood off my mouth with the edge of his sleeve. His hand was steady. Callused. Nothing like Derek's hands.

Derek's hands were always soft. And they always left bruises.

Cain pulled back.

"You'll heal fast now," he said. "One of the perks."

"Perks." I laughed, bitter. "Yeah. Great."

He didn't answer. Just stood there, looking at me like he was trying to solve a problem he didn't want.

"Why didn't you kill me?" I asked.

The question hung in the air.

"I don't know," he said finally.

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I've got."

I wanted to push. Wanted to make him explain. But I was too tired, and my mouth hurt, and the mark on my wrist was still burning.

I sank down onto the floor, back against the wall. The blanket slipped off one shoulder. I didn't bother pulling it back up.

Cain watched me for a second, then turned toward the door.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"To check the perimeter. Make sure no one's close."

"And if someone is?"

He didn't answer. Just grabbed a knife off the counter—silver, long, the kind that wasn't meant for cutting food—and opened the door.

Cold air rushed in. I shivered.

"Stay inside," he said. "Don't open the door for anyone. Not even me, unless I knock three times."

Then he was gone.

I sat there, alone, staring at the mark on my wrist.

Bonded.

To a hunter.

To a man who'd spent his whole life killing things like me.

I pressed my forehead to my knees and tried not to scream.

Time passed. I didn't know how much. Could've been ten minutes, could've been an hour. Everything blurred together.

Then I heard it.

Three knocks.

I stood up, legs still shaky, and opened the door.

Cain pushed past me, moving fast. His face was hard, locked down.

"We need to go," he said.

"What? Why?"

He didn't answer. Just started grabbing things—knives, a pack, a canteen. Shoving them into a bag.

"Cain. What's happening?"

He stopped. Looked at me.

"Get dressed. Now."

The edge in his voice made my stomach drop.

I grabbed the clothes he'd left on the chair earlier—too big, smelling like wood smoke and gun oil—and pulled them on. My hands were shaking again.

"Tell me what's going on."

He slung the pack over his shoulder and moved to the window. Pulled the curtain back just enough to look out.

"I found tracks," he said. "Fresh. Multiple sets. They're doing a grid search."

"Who?"

He let the curtain fall.

"The Guild."

My breath stopped.

"How do you know?"

"Because I used to run their tracking teams. I know how they move."

He turned to me, and for the first time I saw something in his eyes that wasn't cold.

Fear.

"We need to move now, or we don't move at all."

I nodded. Couldn't speak.

He handed me a jacket—heavy, lined, too big. I put it on.

Then I heard it.

Three sharp notes, metal on metal, cutting through the trees.

A whistle.

Cain froze.

Another whistle answered from the east. Then a third, closer, from the south.

He looked at me, and I saw it.

We were already surrounded.