Chapter 21

Chapter 21
Hollow Howl

Claire's POV

The cold bit into me long before the wolf did. My back pressed to the base of a pine tree, the bark digging into my spine, sharp and merciless. Blood trickled from the gash in my thigh—warm for a moment, then gone cold in the wind.

Branches snapped under heavy paws. The violet-eyed wolf emerged from the fog like a shadow dragged from a nightmare.

I couldn’t breathe.

Its fur shimmered oddly—black as pitch but streaked with something unnatural, violet threads that pulsed like veins of light.

And its fangs... I’d never seen anything like them. They gleamed violet too. Poison. My kind of poison. My curse.

“You’re not real,” I whispered. My voice cracked. My lungs were trembling too hard to give it strength.

The wolf stalked closer.

My heart slammed against my ribs, fast and frantic, but I didn’t move. Couldn’t. If I tried to shift, I’d bleed out faster. If I tried to run, I’d die.

So I waited for the bite.

It lunged—
I flinched—
But it didn’t touch me.

The beast stopped, mere inches from my face, its breath hot on my cheeks, reeking of smoke and rain. Its gaze locked with mine, and for a terrifying, suspended moment… I saw it shift.

Not the body.

The eyes.

I choked out, barely believing it. “No. No—this isn’t you.”

But something in my chest already knew the truth. Even if this wasn't him, it was something born of him.

The wolf tilted its head.

I lifted my hand slowly, ignoring the pain burning in my side, and let my fingers hover near its jaw. Close enough to feel the heat, to smell the forest clinging to its fur, but not touching.

“You’re not a beast,” I whispered, voice steadier now, something ancient settling in me. “You never were.”

The wolf inhaled sharply, like it understood.

Then it vanished—
Not ran.
Not shifted.
Vanished.

Turned to mist.

I collapsed back, panting. My vision blurred. Pain roared in as the adrenaline faded. Every part of me screamed. And yet... my pulse raced not from fear, but from the ghost of something else.

Something felt.

“Claire!”

His voice shattered the silence like a thunderclap.

I blinked.

Branches thrashed behind me. Then Blake tore through the trees, his bare chest slick with sweat and dirt, golden eyes wild and locked on mine.

“Claire—” He was on his knees, arms catching me before I could slump over. “Damn it, I knew—fates you’re bleeding—”

“I’m fine,” I rasped, weakly pushing at his chest. “Don’t… don’t touch—”

But he pulled me closer instead, wrapping me in his arms like he needed to confirm I was real. His scent was woodsmoke and danger. His heartbeat, against my cheek, was racing as fast as mine.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I whispered. “Mirabel said—”

“Don’t say her name,” he growled, low and raw. “I’m done listening to liars.”

He shifted his grip and cupped the side of my face with a trembling hand, forcing my gaze to meet his.

“What happened here?” he demanded. “Who did this to you?”

“I thought it was a rogue,” I said. “But it was something else. It looked like a wolf. But not one of ours. And its eyes… Blake, its eyes were—”

“Violet.” He finished for me. His throat worked hard. “I know.”

“You saw it too?” I whispered.

He didn’t answer. His jaw clenched. Instead, he touched the side of my leg where the wound pulsed angry and deep. I flinched.

“You’re not shifting,” he said, voice flat.

“It’s too deep. I didn’t have time.”

He ripped the hem of my shirt and wrapped it tight around my leg, pausing only to glance at me once, his fingers brushing the inside of my thigh. Too high. Too fast. My breath caught.

“I came because I felt something—like the bond was burning,” he said roughly, not looking at me. “Like I was being pulled here.”

“By me?”

“No,” he said. Then added, “Yes.”

My pulse skipped. I hated the way that made me feel—like maybe, maybe something about this connection between us mattered. That even when he didn’t want to care, he still did.

His hand brushed my waist. I sucked in a breath.

He froze. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” I murmured.

His eyes met mine. A beat passed. One too many.

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because I don’t know which version of you I’m going to get,” I snapped. “The one who saves me, or the one who suspects me.”

Silence fell between us like a knife.

Blake didn’t look away. His eyes darkened, but not with anger. With something heavier. Something unspoken.

“I wanted to hate you,” he said at last. “But I don’t. Even when I try.”

I stared at him, stunned.

“You’re not dying for this pack,” he added. “Not for them. Not for me.”

“Too late,” I said bitterly, gesturing to my wound. “I’m already halfway there.”

He didn’t laugh.

Instead, he leaned in, breath brushing my lips. “Then let me save what’s left.”

His mouth almost touched mine. I could feel the heat, the electricity zipping between us like wildfire. But then—he pulled back. Not far. Just enough to drive me mad.

“You don’t get to do that,” I said. “You don’t get to come in here, break the rules, hold me like this—”

“You think I care about rules now?” he bit out. “You think I care about anything but getting you back alive?”

Something in me cracked. Something stupid and soft and desperately in love with a man I shouldn’t trust.

“I felt you, Claire,” he said, voice suddenly raw. “Through the bond. Through everything. And you were scared. And I—”

He went silent.

I didn’t push.

His hand slid to my waist again, his thumb brushing skin. A shiver raced up my spine.

“You didn’t come here alone,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“No.”

“What were you looking for?”

“I thought I could find answers.” I hesitated. “I thought I could prove I wasn’t the monster.”

“You’re not.”

His voice left no room for doubt.

And that—broke me a little.

But before I could say anything else, heat flared against my skin.

“Claire…” Blake’s voice dropped to a whisper. His hand hovered above my collarbone. “What is that?”

“What?”

He brushed my hair aside.

My skin burned.

I looked down and froze.

Right above my heart, a mark had appeared—faint but glowing. Silver. Laced with violet threads.

It pulsed once. Twice.

Blake leaned in, breath caught.

“Claire,” he said. “That’s not just any mark.”

I looked at him, lips parted, breath gone.

“What does it mean?” I asked.

He met my gaze.

And then he said the last thing I expected.

“I’m not sure.”