Chapter 9
“Sapphire, my darling, there’s something I want to tell you,” the woman murmured, her voice like velvet in the hush of the room. Her fingers threaded gently through her daughter’s hair, her nails scratching lightly against the scalp in a soothing rhythm. The girl hummed in response, the sound little more than a breath as sleep pulled at her consciousness. Her limbs were heavy, her mind wrapped in a warm fog.
“You shifted quite early, dear,” the woman continued, her voice low and close, “but your wolf won’t be able to identify your mate until you turn eighteen. If you happen to find him before then, you’ll still feel the pull—you’ll still see him as the most attractive creature in existence. That is, if he’s older, and his wolf recognises you first.”
The woman’s hand paused briefly as she swallowed, then resumed its slow movement through Sapphire’s hair.
“Please, my love… if you ever feel that pull—if your chest tightens, if your breath hitches when you see someone—run. Run as far and as fast as you can.”
“Why, Mummy?” Sapphire whispered, her voice slurred with sleep.
“Because,” her mother said softly, leaning closer, her breath warm against her daughter’s cheek, “if you don’t recognise the signs before you turn eighteen, and he finds you first… he could imprint himself on your heart. And once that happens, you’ll never be able to free yourself from him. Not truly. And that… that will trigger the curse.”
She fell silent then, brushing her lips lightly against her daughter’s temple. The room was dim, golden light slipping through gauzy curtains and painting soft patterns across the floorboards.
“So please, never forget this, my sweet girl,” she whispered. “It might one day save your life.”
“Yes, Mother,” Sapphire murmured, her voice barely audible.
And just like that, the warning—the fear, the weight behind her mother’s words—drifted away on the gentle tide of her dreams, lost in the soft exhale of sleep as night settled gently over them both.
Zinnia yips as she runs, her paws thudding rhythmically against the forest floor. Cool earth presses between her pads with every stride—damp soil, brittle leaves, and the occasional crackle of crushed insects. The scent of pine needles, rabbit musk, and distant water fills her lungs. She listens to every flutter, every rustle of wing or twitch of branch. The world is alive around her, and for once, so is she.
It’s been six months since I last let her out properly—six long months trapped inside skin that doesn’t stretch the way hers does. The last time, she’d barely been free for thirty minutes before I forced her back, terrified someone would find us. But tonight, Scarlette keeps watch from above, leaping from tree to tree with effortless grace, and Zinnia has been running for nearly two glorious hours.
She deserves this. My wolf deserves happiness—pure, untainted joy. It’s a cruel truth that neither of us will ever have it fully. But I give her what I can. It’s not our fault we’re like this. Not our fault we were born with a truth that could get us killed if anyone found out what kind of wolf I possess. We deserve more than this life of shadows and survival. Not luxury—just freedom. But that’s not our fate. So we run. And when they discover us, we’ll fight until there’s nothing left.
“Stop thinking about death and have some fun!” Zinnia chirps, her voice a bubbling laugh in my mind. She lets out a joyful howl, rolling mid-run in a spray of dead leaves.
Scarlette had ridden on her back for a while, before switching to the trees—her senses are sharper up there. Zinnia’s already caught a family of rabbits and a boar; she didn’t even get to hunt the last time, so every second now is a feast.
After lapping up lake water until her thirst fades, Zinnia races back toward the pond where we started. It’s time to shift back. She’s more than satisfied, tail wagging, tongue lolling with delight.
We switch back afterwards.
The sensation of fur retracting and bones reforming pulls a wince from me—it never gets easier. My skin prickles as the cool air kisses it. Zinnia retreats, stretching out inside my mind like a cat in sun, panting with joy. I smile to myself, gathering up my discarded clothes from the bush where I left them and slipping them back on.
“Cannonball!”
Water splashes over me in a cold shock, needles of icy sensation peppering my arms and legs. I recoil with a groan, gritting my teeth against the bite. My glare sharpens as I turn to Scarlette—she floats in the pond, laughing so hard she snorts.
I throw her a scolding look. She flips me off with a grin.
“Come on, Sapphire! The water’s amazing! Just you, me… and ducks!” She gestures theatrically toward a cluster of quacking birds paddling along the far end of the pond.
I giggle despite myself and shake my head, beginning to pull my panties back on. I really need new ones—the elastic’s worn, and they’re starting to itch.
“Oh, come on! It’ll be fun!” Scarlette sings, twirling dramatically before disappearing under the water again. Ripples bloom outward where she sank, the surface shimmering with sunset light.
I hum to myself, tapping my foot and combing fingers through my hair. The melody Scarlette sang earlier is stuck in my head, even though I don’t know the words. It’s rare, but I feel it—a tiny, fragile thing fluttering in my chest.
Happiness.
She resurfaces, gasping for breath with a triumphant whoop. Her laughter is like chimes, bright and chaotic. “Join me, my fellow S-mate!”
I shake my head again, scooping my hair up to braid. “Stop being such a chicken, Sapphire!” she teases. “After that run, you need a dip to cool off your panic. It’s over now, isn’t it?”
I raise a hand and wave her toward the edge. She rolls her eyes dramatically but swims over.
Scarlette lives for water. She calls it her ‘temperament.’ But once she’s in it, she never pays attention to anything else. That’s the danger. Her senses dull in the water. She forgets the world exists.
“Sapphire, the water is so—wait. Did you hear that?” Her voice changes mid-sentence, sharp with alertness. I take a few cautious steps forward, my attention snapping to the trees. My eyes dart back to Scarlette—she’s tensed, her ears twitching.
“Crap. Someone’s coming!” she hisses. “No—more than someone! Sorry, Sapphire, gotta go!”
See what I mean? If she hadn’t been in the water, she’d have heard them earlier. And if I hadn’t been worried about her, I would’ve noticed too.
Scarlette scrambles out of the water, dripping wet, but she doesn’t get far. An ash-blonde wolf crashes through the trees, leaping high. He soars over my head like a streak of muscle and fur, landing squarely across her back.
“What the—?! Aaaah!” Her shriek echoes through the clearing. She crashes to the ground with a sloppy thud, limbs flailing under his weight.
He doesn’t even try to pin her with precision—just flattens himself on top of her, as if touch alone is enough.
Panic grips me.
I lunge behind a nearby tree, chest heaving. My fingers claw at the bark as I peer around the trunk. Scarlette thrashes beneath him, shouting curses, kicking wildly.
“Get the fuck off me, you heavy meat!”
I stand frozen, heart hammering, eyes wide with horror as I watch the chaos unfold. My fists clench by my sides, trembling. Should I shift? Should I charge in and tear him off her? Or do I wait—trust that Scarlette can handle this on her own? She’s a hunter, after all. She’s supposed to be dangerous.
But she’s struggling—really struggling.
His weight pins her down completely, and her efforts to buck him off are frantic and failing. Something’s not right.
If Scarlette truly had the strength her stories claimed, she would have thrown him across the clearing by now. I force a breath in, chest rising with tension, and shut my eyes for a brief moment to think, to feel. My skin is buzzing, and Zinnia is pacing in my mind, ears perked and growling low.
When I open my eyes, the wolf is licking her face. Scarlette turns her head, sobbing—not from fear, but from revulsion.
She doesn’t even fight back. Not fully. She could get him off her. I know she could. She just… won’t.
Why?
Why the hesitation?
She’d have to hurt him, I realise—and for some unfathomable reason, she doesn’t want to.
My brain scrambles for answers as my gaze locks on his coat—thick, soft, and unmistakably ash-blonde. That isn’t a colour I’ve ever seen in our pack. No one here has that pelt.
And then it clicks.
Another pack visited today for mate hunting.
My stomach drops.
Oh, fuck.