North’s POV

I felt him before I heard him.

A rupture in the quiet.

Like the air changed direction — every molecule shifting to face something that didn’t belong. The kind of stillness that only happens when a predator enters prey ground.

My pulse skipped.

Not because I was surprised.

Because part of me expected him.

Even now, cloaked in stone and pack magic, surrounded by kin, I couldn’t shake him from my blood.

He’s here

I stood too quickly.

Nao called after me, but I didn’t stop. I crossed the long corridor barefoot, palms slick with sweat. My wolf was panicking, pacing, growling — but not at him.

At me.

Because something in me didn’t feel fear.

Something in me felt…

Relief.

I hated that.

By the time I reached the upper corridor overlooking the great hall, he was already inside.

Johan.

He didn’t look at me.

He didn’t have to.

His presence filled the space like fire in a closed room — burning up the air, the sound, everything.

His shoulders were squared, his head high, dark eyes razor-sharp. He wasn’t posturing.

He was.

I gripped the railing so hard my knuckles cracked.

He hadn’t come for diplomacy.

He’d come for me.

And every cell in my traitorous body knew it.

I pulled back before he saw me.

Ran.

Fast. Sharp turns. Heart racing.

I made it halfway to the west wing before the scent caught up with me — heady and grounding and lethal.

He was tracking me.

Not with scent, not with steps.

With the bond.

That ancient, pulsing thread between us was lit up now, a path carved in lightning. And even if I locked every door, cloaked every room, burned every old sigil — he would still find me.

And when he did, I didn’t know if I’d scream or collapse into him.

I tried to take the side stairs to the temple room — but he was already there.

Standing in the archway.

Still. Watching.

Like he’d always known where I’d run.

His voice was low. “You shouldn’t run in bare feet.”

I froze.

His eyes flicked to mine.

He looked—

Not smug.

Not victorious.

Just… sure.

Too sure.

I hated how steady he looked.

How my knees nearly gave out at the sight of him.

“You need to leave,” I said, voice tight.

He didn’t move. “You didn’t call for me.”

“I never will.”

His gaze flickered.

I saw the edge of hurt before he buried it.

“Then why do you look like you’re about to fall apart?” he asked, stepping closer.

“Don’t.” I backed up. “You can’t—this is sacred land.”

“I didn’t come to fight.”

“You threatened war.”

“I gave your family a choice.”

His voice didn’t rise.

It didn’t need to.

That’s what made it worse — the calm, controlled way he said it, like my fate was already written and he was just here to collect.

I straightened. “And if I say no?”

His jaw flexed. “You won’t.”

“You arrogant—”

“Because you feel it, North.”

My name from his mouth made my chest clench.

He stepped forward again — slow, deliberate. He wasn’t touching me, but it felt like he had a hand wrapped around my spine.

“You feel how wrong it is to be apart. You think I don’t know what it did to you when you left? You think I didn’t feel you crying in that riverbed?”

I swallowed hard.

“You have no right—”

“I have every right,” he snarled softly. “You’re mine. And I’m yours.”

“No.”

My voice broke on the word.

He stepped closer.

I stepped back — but my back hit the stone wall.

Too close now.

I could smell him.

My breath hitched.

His eyes dropped to my lips — just for a second — then back up.

“Say it,” he said. “Tell me you don’t feel it.”

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

I wanted to lie. I tried.

But the bond pulsed, and the truth clawed its way up my throat.

“I hate you,” I whispered.

He didn’t flinch.

But something in him changed.

Very quietly, he said, “I can live with hate. I can’t live without you.”

And that broke something in me.

My hands trembled.

My voice shook. “I don’t want to be claimed like a thing.”

“You won’t be,” he said. “You’ll walk beside me. Every step.”

“And if I run again?”

He leaned closer. Not touching.

“I’ll come again.”

Silence.

Thick.

Burning.

And I realized — no matter what I said, no matter how far I ran, he wasn’t leaving.

Because in his world, I already belonged to him.

And the terrifying part?

Some part of me wanted to.