Chapter Twenty-Four – Unspoken Truths
Cass didn’t stop running until the trees blurred into memory and her breath threatened to collapse her lungs. Her paws pounded against forest floor, her heart keeping a rhythm of panic and betrayal.
Not from what she’d seen.
But from what she’d felt.
She shifted just outside the perimeter of the agreed-upon path, skin scraping over gravel as her body returned to human form. The cold didn’t faze her. The ache didn’t either. Only the echo of his touch, the bond, the hollow where his absence now throbbed.
Caius was already there, pacing near a crumbling outcrop of rock with tension written in every line of his frame.
When he saw her, he stopped short. Relief and wariness battled in his eyes.
“Where the hell have you been?” he asked.
Cass didn’t answer right away. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly aware of the dirt, the blood, the rawness in her bones. “I found her pack,” she said. “I found the place they’re keeping her.”
Caius’s jaw tightened. “And?”
“They’re preparing her. I don’t know for what yet, but there’s something coming. I think it’s tied to a ritual. Or a bond they want to force.”
“You saw them?”
Cass nodded. “I was inside the pack’s borders. Talked to the innkeeper. Saw wolves coming and going like they’re preparing for something big. She’s there, Caius. I know it.”
His shoulders dropped, but his eyes never left her. “That’s not all you found.”
Cass blinked. “What?”
“You’re leaving something out.”
She looked away.
He stepped closer. “What happened?”
“I told you everything you need to know.”
Silence stretched between them. Thick. Unforgiving.
Caius nodded slowly. He didn’t press.
But the fire in his chest told him everything he needed.
Whatever had shaken Cass wasn’t just the mission.
It was personal.
And if he didn’t rise now—if he didn’t claim the destiny he’d spent years avoiding—he’d lose her.
He’d lose them both.
He turned toward the shadows of the north, toward the seat he’d never wanted.
It was time to take the crown.
Caius turned back to Cass, his voice quieter now, but no less resolute. "We’re going to the royal kingdom. To the queen and king. It’s time."
Cass looked at him sharply, surprise flickering across her face.
He reached into his satchel and pulled out a folded cloak and travel leathers, handing them to her. "You’ll need these. It’s a long ride, and we can’t go as we are."
Cass took them wordlessly, her fingers lingering on the fabric. Her hands trembled slightly.
She was shaken. Not just from exhaustion—but from something deeper.
Caius saw it, but he said nothing.
Instead, he nodded toward the trees. "We leave before dawn. We’ll ride hard and fast."
Cass gave a silent nod, and together, they disappeared into the forest—toward the kingdom, toward the throne.
Toward everything they had spent their lives running from.
They rode hard through the next day—through dense woods and over narrow ridges, the silence between them stretched tight with everything unsaid. By nightfall, they had pushed their horses to the edge and stopped just past a ravine, where the trees opened to a wide, sheltered glen.
Caius built the fire without a word. Cass helped without asking. It was a rhythm—one they both knew too well.
The flames caught and cracked, casting their shadows long and jagged across the mossy floor. Cass sat opposite him, cross-legged, staring into the fire like it held answers. Her mind hadn’t stopped racing since the river.
She thought of her mate. Of the bond. Of the ache that hadn’t faded.
Caius offered her a ration of dried meat and bread, and she took it silently. But she didn’t eat.
Hours later, with the fire long reduced to embers, Caius finally slept.
Cass lay on her side, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. There was peace in his face—something rare, something unfair. She hated that it made him look younger.
Her fingers hovered just above his chest.
She didn’t know what she was doing. Only that the ache inside her was unbearable. That maybe, if she could just feel something else—something solid, something real—it might quiet the storm.
She moved slowly. Her lips grazed his collarbone. Her hand slid under his shirt, trembling.
And he stirred.
His brows furrowed, but his eyes didn’t open.
Still, his hand came up, catching her waist.
His breath hitched—not from surprise, but from need.
“Cass,” he murmured, barely conscious.
She didn’t speak. She kissed him.
And he didn’t stop her.
His hands found her hips, his grip tightening. The kiss deepened. It wasn’t sweet—it was desperate. It was a release they both needed, even if they wouldn’t speak of it come morning.
Clothes were pulled away in pieces. Her hands were frantic. His breath caught in her mouth. They moved together with the urgency of people trying to forget everything else.
It wasn’t love.
It was grief, dressed in heat and skin.
And for one night, that was enough.
Miles away, Alder shot upright in his bed, drenched in sweat.
Pain tore through his chest—not physical, but raw and searing, deep in the bond. He clutched at his sternum like something had cracked open beneath the skin.
He’d been dreaming of her.
Of her scent. Her skin. The bond that refused to let go.
But now it burned.
Soured.
Tainted.
“No,” he growled, stumbling out of bed, breath ragged.
He felt it—her. Not dying. Not gone. But with someone else.
His vision blurred with rage. With disbelief.
She had touched another.
The bond recoiled like a wound.
And Alder felt every inch of it.
He punched the wall, hard enough to crack the plaster, knuckles splitting as blood bloomed across his skin.
“You’re still mine,” he snarled to the empty room, voice shaking.
But the silence that followed only echoed what he already knew.
He wasn’t the only one bleeding anymore.
Rage coiled through him like smoke, thick and poisonous. He paced the length of his room like a caged animal, every instinct demanding action—violence, possession, retribution.
She let someone else touch her.
The thought was acid in his throat.
His wolf snarled beneath his skin, not with pain, but with fury.
She was supposed to be his.
He didn’t care that he hadn’t known her name. Didn’t care that he’d let her go. That moment in the river had meant something. It had marked her.
Mine.
Alder braced his hands on the windowsill, breathing hard, eyes locked on the dark horizon. Somewhere out there, she was with someone else.
He didn’t know who.
But he would.
And when he found him—when he found her—they would both remember who she belonged to.
“She wants to burn the bond?” he said aloud, voice low and venomous. “Then I’ll show her what it feels like to burn.”
His eyes narrowed. The blood dripping from his knuckles hit the stone like a promise.
“She’ll hurt. Just like I do. Worse.”