Page 26 of Shifting Hearts 1
She’s drenched, rain dripping from her torn clothing, soaking into the worn floorboards beneath her. Her skin is pale, moonlight against ash, too stark for this place, too fragile for the storm she must’ve come through. She’s shaking enough for me to notice, enough for everyone to notice.
I take another step forward. No one says a word, but I can feel the shift, the quiet expectation settling in the air. It’s always like this. They wait for me to react, to decide what happens next, and I don’t hesitate.
I crouch beside her, close enough to see she’s passed out from exhaustion.How long was she running?No one would beenough of a fool to follow her in here, knowing what pack land she’s entered.
Her scent is all wrong. Wolf clings to her like a memory, but beneath it is something colder, sharper. Not human. Not prey. Something ancient. Somethingmine. She’s like nothing I’ve ever encountered before. It pulls at me, something unfamiliar but not weak. Something untamed, waiting.
No one speaks, but the room tightens. Chairs creak. Glass stills midair. They feel it too. Whatever she is, she’s not just another stray.
I lift her in my arms. She’s heavier than she looks. Solid, real, but limp in my arms, her breath shallow against my chest. Rain clings to her like a second skin, cold and slick, but her pulse is there. Unsteady but alive.
The room doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe.
They know better.
I turn toward the hallway behind the bar, the one that leads to the back rooms. No one follows, no one questions. That’s the rule here. When I move, they stay still.
But I feel their eyes. The Brotherhood watches like wolves scenting blood, like they know something’s shifting beneath the surface. They don’t understand it yet. Hell, I don’t either.
But Ifeelit.
Her scent curls around me; frost, cedar and something wild, something that doesn’t belong to any pack, to any bloodline I’ve ever known. It doesn’t repel me. Itpulls.
I push open the door to my room, kick it shut behind me, and lay her on the bed. The sheets are rough, the mattress firm—nothing soft, nothing gentle, but she doesn’t stir.
I crouch beside her again, studying the curve of her jaw, the way her hair fans out like spilled ink across the pillow. There’s a faint mark beneath her wrist, a crescent, barely visible.
I’ve seen that shape before. Burned into enemies, carved into traitors.
But never like this. Never natural, never born.
I reach out, fingers brushing the edge of the mark, and something shifts.
Not in her. In me.
A low hum vibrates through my chest, deep and ancient, like a chord struck in a forgotten song. My dragon stirs—not violently, not with fire—but with recognition.
Fated.
The word hits hard. I don’t say it, don’t even think it fully but it’s there, buried beneath instinct and blood.
I pull back, my jaw tight.
This changes everything.
She’s not just a stray, nor just a rejected mate. She’s something else entirely. My mate.
And the moment she wakes up, I’ll have to decide what that means.
She looks up, slow, hesitant, and meets my gaze. Ice-gray, storm-heavy, haunted eyes find mine. She doesn’t flinch. At least, not at me but there’s something buried deep in her expression, something that tells me she’s been running too long, too fast, without knowing where the hell she’s going.
The moment our eyes lock, something inside me tightens.
I don’t know what she is but I feel it, her new powers emanating from her porcelain skin. Not in the way a shifter recognizes their own kind, not in the way dominance settles between alphas and challengers. It’s deeper. Older. Unshaped, but undeniable.
It presses against my ribs, curling like static beneath my skin as if it’s searching for something in me, as if it recognizes me even though I don’t recognize it.
I keep my voice steady, quiet, edged with something unreadable.
