Ethan stared at the last line on his screen until the letters blurred.

  Have a nice run, Ethan. See you tomorrow.

  He'd typed, deleted, and retyped two different replies. Deleted them again.

  Nice would be if you were beside me.

  He almost flinched at the sudden thought. That was so cringe. Must have been the inversion talking. He could almost hear Nell punching him in the shoulder for even thinking it.

  In the end, he sent the only safe thing.

  Sleep well, Kelsey. Goodnight.

  Now the room felt too small. Her other words still sat like stones in his chest.

  I'm sorry this is happening to you because of me.

  She was distressed. Every cell in him had flared at that. Instinct translated it automatically, nagging at the back of his mind.

  Danger. Protect. Remove the source of distress.

  Yeah, right. Like it was that easy.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face, then dropped the phone on the desk and pushed back his chair.

  A sharp knock landed on his door.

  "Two minutes," Nell called quietly. "Lara is already outside. Don't make this weirder than it has to be."

  He opened the door. She stood there in a dark vest and jeans, hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, eyes too clear for this time of night.

  "You good?" she asked, eyebrows drawing together.

  "I'm functional," he said. "That's what matters."

  She snorted softly. "Great. Remember the plan. Run, hunt if you need, burn some of it off. Stay away from the Blackwell border. Do not veer. Do not pick a fight with some other pack member. Do not, and I can't emphasize this enough, pick a fight with Lara."

  "Yes, boss," he muttered, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

  She pressed her lips together. "Don't make fun of me while I'm trying to save your bloodkin-baked ass."

  Ethan held her gaze a minute longer, the small smile still there. "You're doing great, Nell."

  She squeezed his forearm once, quick, then stepped back to let him pass.

  Jason was in the downstairs hallway, leaning against the doorframe that led to the side yard. He didn't say anything when Ethan came down, just straightened, gave his son a long, measuring look, and a single short nod.

  You're doing good. Proceed.

  Ethan dipped his chin.

  I will.

  The whole conversation fit in that single glance.

  Ethan looked at his jacket hanging on a hook beside the front door. What was the point in taking it? It's not like he'd need it for long. With a sigh, he stepped out into the cold, and immediately saw Lara waiting at the edge of the trees.

  She stood with her hands in her pockets, breath smoking in the air, golden hair loose around her shoulders. The smell of her carried on the breeze, sharp and lupine, edged with anticipation.

  Normal. Sane. Right.

  It tasted like cardboard.

  "About time," she said, but there was no real bite in it. Her gaze slid over him, reading tension, pupils tightening just a little. "You look like hell."

  "Thanks a lot," he said, tone dry.

  Something unreadable flickered across her face, then she jerked her chin toward the treeline.

  "Come on," she said, voice lowering just a shade. "Let's burn some of that off." A faint smile curved her mouth. "Might do you good."

  He forced one back in reply.

  They slipped into the dark.

  They shifted a little way in, out of sight of the house.

  Clothes folded and tucked into a hollow under an old spruce. The night closed around them, chill against bare skin.

  Ethan let himself fall forward, bones flowing into new lines, fur rippling over muscle. The familiar, gentle burn of the change chased up his spine. Paws hit the leaf litter. The forest rushed in, clear and sharp and overwhelming.

  The world exploded into a painting made of scent and sound.

  Lara was already a wolf, light and quick, pale fur glowing in the starlight as she shook herself out. She trotted a circle around him once, testing his scent, then bumped his shoulder with her nose.

  You in there?

  He huffed back, short and firm. Yes.

  Then her presence brushed against him properly and everything inside him recoiled a little.

  The feeling was wrong. Not wrong like bad. Wrong like not Kelsey.

  Without conscious thought, his head swerved eastward toward Blackwell land, searching for a scent that wasn't there.

  His chest clenched.

  He wanted her here instead of Lara.

  It was an impossible, idiotic thought.

  At this point he couldn't even tell if it was the inversion talking or his own mind.

  He wasn't sure there even was a clean line anymore.

  His body buzzed with the need to run, to take the pent-up frustration and burn it underneath his paws.

  Lara barked once, sharp and impatient, then launched herself into the dark ahead of him.

  His thoughts darkened. A challenge. Impulse rose, hot and raw.

  He shot after her.

  Branches clawed at the sky, black against a skim of stars. The ground sloped and rose, roots reaching, rocks lurking under moss and leaves. Ethan fell into the rhythm because his body knew it too well not to.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Air tore through his chest. Muscles burned.

  For a few minutes, the need quieted. The humming under his skin dropped from a roar to a low buzz.

  Lara ran ahead, toying, provoking, then dropped back, nipping at his shoulder to push him faster. She threaded around trees, agile, efficient, the way a lupine raised to be an alpha female should.

  He let her set the pace. He followed the game.

  He tried to let it be enough.

  It was not.

  The space where Kelsey's scent should have been remained beside him like an empty seat. Each time the wind shifted, his body braced, hungry for that bright, vibrant note.

  It never came.

  ***

  They picked up the boar's trail halfway down a shallow ravine.

  The smell hit like a slap. Heavy, musky, threaded with old mud and bruised vegetation. Huge male. Perfect. He wanted a challenge.

  Lara's ears pricked forward. She flicked her tail, excitement sparking off her scent.

  Here.

  Ethan lowered his head, nostrils flaring. The trail was fresh enough to sting, leading along the ravine up toward denser thicket.

  He gave a short grunt, signal received, then veered left to skirt wide. Lara mirrored right. They slid into their old positions without thinking. Flank and flank, far enough apart that the boar would have trouble goring both at once.

  The simplicity of the hunt, at least, made sense.

  The forest narrowed around the trail. The smell grew stronger. Ethan caught the first glimpse of dark bulk rooting under an old log, tusks scraping the undergrowth, ears flicking.

  He stilled, muscles coiling, and counted.

  Four breaths.

  On the fourth, Lara's gaze met his across the gap. Ready.

  He launched.

  The boar exploded into motion with a sound like a boulder kicked off a cliff.

  It spun, tusks slashing where his chest had been a second before. He twisted midair, teeth finding the thick muscle of the boar's shoulder. He clamped down hard, tasting hot blood and rough coat.

  Pain flickered along his ribs as the boar's immense weight threw him sideways. He dug his claws into the ground and hung on.

  Lara streaked in from the other side, jaws targeting the back leg, forcing the animal off balance.

  He reacted instantly, releasing boar's shoulder and striking at the throat, quick and efficient. Painless, as much as a kill could be. His jaws closed with a loud snap, crushing everything between them. The animal squealed, twitched, then stilled.

  For a moment the world narrowed on a single focal point. Nothing existed except the kill. Not school. Not politics.

  Not Kelsey.

  It struck him, a mixed stream of consciousness and instinct, nowhere near a coherent thought.

  Kelsey wasn't here. Couldn't be here. God, how he needed her here. Or to run and follow her scent to Blackwell land until he was by her side instead.

  But he couldn't go to her. Everything would explode if he did.

  The last bits of his rational mind fled as something surged inside him, hot and violent.

  More, it whispered. Harder. Tear. Rip. Break. Maybe if you push enough, the need, the ache, the emptiness, will stop.

  His jaw locked. He shook his head harder than necessary, feeling flesh give under his teeth, bone threatening to crack. The boar was already dead, but Ethan didn't know or didn't care.

  Lara barked once in his ear. She darted back for space, glaring at him.

  But Ethan still bit down.

  The craving had swerved into violence and would not let go. His muscles burned, but he pushed past the point of sense, worrying the boar's throat until something did crack.

  Still, his teeth did not release.

  Lara slammed her shoulder into his flank, harder this time. A warning. Dangerously close to the line.

  The snarl that ripped out of him was not meant for her, but it was still sharp enough that she froze.

  He realized he'd snarled only after he already had.

  The realization hit like cold water. He forced his jaws to unclamp and jumped back, panting, heart pounding against his ribs like it wanted out.

  The boar carcass dropped into the grass.

  Silence wrapped around them like a blanket.

  Lara's fur stood on end along her spine. She stared at him, eyes bright, chest heaving, a growl vibrating low in her throat.

  What was that?

  He couldn't answer in wolf form.

  He shifted.

  The return to human form hurt. His body didn't want it. His mind protested.

  Every bone felt like it had been set wrong. He ended up on one knee in the dirt, naked, smeared in blood and dirt, lungs hauling air like he had been drowning.

  Lara shifted a second later, dropping to a crouch in front of him, hair falling messily around her face.

  "Ethan, what the hell? You almost took its head off," she said. "After it was already dead."

  He dragged a hand through his hair, leaving a smear of dark across his forehead.

  "What does it matter if it was dead?" he said hoarsely.

  "It matters and you know it," she snapped. "And you snarled when I tried to pull you off."

  He shut his eyes briefly. The memory of that snarl made his stomach clench. There had been a moment, a split second, where anything that was not the boar had read as interference.

  It hadn't seen Lara. It had seen obstacle.

  "I didn't mean to," he said. "You know I didn't."

  "That is the problem," she replied. "The fact you didn't mean to, yet you still did. You're an alpha-in-waiting, you don't get to lose control like that." Her jaw clenched. She leaned in closer, eyes searching his face. "This is still about her, isn't it? About that damn bloodkin."

  His jaw tightened. The truth pressed behind his teeth, aching to get out. But saying it out loud felt like crossing a line he wasn't ready to acknowledge.

  "Do not." His voice was low, too low for a growl, too loud for a whisper.

  "Do not what?" she asked. "Say the thing everyone thinks? That the bloodkin is in your head? That you're balancing on a razor's edge on one foot?"

  His teeth ground together.

  "She's distressed," he said before he could stop himself.

  Lara's brows jumped. "Excuse me?"

  "She is distressed," he repeated, more slowly now, hearing how it sounded in human words. "Her father is unwell. Her whole life turned upside down. She is both a Blackwell and prey-coded in a town full of predators triggered by her scent. That makes her a political bomb, Lara, in case you haven't connected the dots. Of course she's in my head. It's my duty as heir to make sure this thing doesn't escalate."

  Lara stared at him for a long beat, then let out a small, humorless laugh.

  "You can say whatever you want. Justify it all you like. But you are not fine," she shot back. "And I'm not stupid. I have eyes. The pack has eyes. You think the others don't see the way you look at her?"

  He looked away, jaw working.

  He thought of Kelsey sitting in math class, dark circles under her eyes, hand shaking on her pen, whispering, Said pot to the kettle.

  He thought of her text.

  I am sorry this is happening to you because of me.

  He had told her she'd done nothing wrong. He'd do it again. Every time.

  "She didn't choose this," he said quietly. "That is not on her."

  "She's bloodkin. It's on her by default," Lara said. "Involuntary or not, it's happening. You denying it doesn't make it go away."

  He finally looked back at her. He straightened slightly, claiming just enough space to send a message.

  "Remember who you're talking to, Lara," he said. "I'm not denying that I feel the effect. But I'm not under it. It doesn't make my decisions. I am aware of my duties to this pack. To my family. To you."

  "Are you?" she asked. "Even if we ignore the boar and the fact that you snarled at me, again, what was that little stunt where you nearly took us toward Blackwell land?"

  He blinked.

  "What?"

  She huffed, rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

  "Halfway through the run," Lara said. "Before we caught the boar. The wind shifted. You did too. Hard. Veered so sharp I almost lost your trail. You know where you were heading."

  He replayed the route in his mind. Trees. Ravine. Slope. That split second where the air had hit his face, sweet and sharp, and his whole body had wanted to turn. He didn't remember actually following it.

  His gut went cold.

  "Blackwell," Lara said. "Straight toward their inner circle. You think I don't know that path?"

  "It was instinct," he said. "Nothing more."

  "And instinct is not you," she replied dryly, watching him.

  He met her eyes. "No," he said. "Of course not. I felt it. I corrected. That's the difference, and you know it."

  She studied him, searching for cracks.

  For a moment he thought she was going to keep pushing, peel him open right there in the dirt.

  Instead she let out a slow breath and looked away.

  "Fine," she muttered. "I'll accept that for tonight. But don't insult me by pretending this is nothing. You aren't the only one who has to live with the fallout if you lose it in the wrong place. It's my standing, too."

  He felt the words hit, heavy and accurate.

  "I know," he said.

  "Good," she replied. "Then we run back, and you go home, get some sleep, and tomorrow we repeat that circus at school like it's all perfectly normal."

  She stood, muscles rolling under skin, and shifted again in one smooth ripple.

  Pale wolf. Bright eyes. A short huff that might have been frustration. Then she turned toward home.

  Ethan stayed kneeling for a second longer.

  He thought of his phone on his desk. His last message to Kelsey. Sleep well.

  He pictured her curled under a blanket in her room, curtains drawn, safely on the human side of the world.

  He hoped that was true.

  He shifted back to fur and followed Lara into the trees.

  On the way home, the wind twisted, carrying a scent from Blackwell land, both a cruel joke and a tantalizing ghost.

  The moment it hit, his whole body leaned toward it before he caught himself.

  And then his thoughts flickered back to the boar, and the need that drove him overboard.

  If Kelsey was there like he had so desperately wanted her to be, what would have happened?

  Instinct wanted her close, safe, there. It drove him to want to press her against him, to breathe her in until she filled out his every pore.

  But if he was honest with himself, really honest...if he dared to admit something he'd never dare utter aloud...at that moment instinct had no measure.

  An attempt to hold could have easily become break.

  A sickening feeling clawed up his throat as the cold shiver slid down his spine.

  Never. Never. Never. Instinct is not me, he told himself again, digging his claws into the earth. I'm its master, not the other way around.

  But the tiniest part of him remembered what Nell had told him about the broken state of Gabriel Blackwell and suddenly he wasn't sure whether the only path that didn't lead into madness might be succumbing to the very chains he was trying to avoid.