Back when I bound myself to him, there was this wolf who tried to talk me out of it three times running.

I'd spill my heart about love, and he'd counter with bedroom talk. "Preston's too buttoned-up, trust me-he'll be just as dull between the sheets. And you? You need a wildfire."

I laughed it off. "Who's the wildfire? You?"

He arched a brow, playing coy. "Crystal, I'll bet my tail you two crash and burn inside five years. If I'm right, give me first dibs."

"I'm still single, so yeah, that promise still holds," came the familiar voice on the line, yanking me back to the present.

"A moon from now, I'll be unbound. But I don't need love-I just need a wolf to fool around with, cut loose for a spell."

He barked a laugh. "Hell yeah! Sweetheart, I'm game-let's play."

I hung up and headed home to spruce myself up, prepping a bit for tomorrow-Mom's death day. Elaine's, that is.

Sire always made a big deal of her anniversary every year.

Come morning, Sire and I met up, and when no sign of Preston showed, his face soured. "He bailing again? Can't spare an hour?"

I looped my arm through his, forcing a breezy grin. "Dad, we're breaking the bond-I pulled the plug. Whether he shows or not? Water under the bridge."

Sire eyed me for a long beat, then ruffled my hair. "Smart move cutting your losses, pup. My girl's got her head on straight."

We lit a stick of incense for Mom's portrait, then hit the kitchen to whip up her favorite home-cooked grub-the stuff she craved back when she was with us.

We'd just plated up a full spread when Preston's folks, Robert and Helen, stormed in like a thunderhead, red in the face. Without a how-do-you-do, Helen hauled off and slapped me hard enough to rattle my teeth. "Gregory! Look at the she-wolf you raised-stabbing my son and leaving him high and dry in the hospital. Some mate she is!"

I shook it off and stepped up, planting myself between her and the fury building in Sire. Without missing a beat, I swung back and cracked her one right across the jaw.

Then I snatched her phone and punched in Preston's number.

One ring, and he picked up.

Quick on the draw, wasn't he?

I sneered into the line. "Your folks are over here throwing their weight around-get your tail over here and leash 'em. It's Mom's death day."

Preston's tone was his usual flatline cool. "I'm... still stuck in the hospital. Can't get out yet."

"Preston, which sofa d'you think fits that villa you gifted me? Give it a test-sit and weigh in."

Madeline's wheedling whine floated from the background.

I clamped down on the phone like a vice, words bubbling up-then I caught him murmuring, "You can't have anything cold right now."

Click. Dead air.

I stood there frozen, stare drilling into the floor.

Helen snorted. "You clocked me and expect him to take your side? In your dreams. And let's not kid ourselves-you never had his heart, not in five damn years."

As she crowed, she swaggered over and swept the whole table clean-the food we'd laid out for Mom, still waiting for her "call." Plates shattered, shards flying, and Mom's portrait toppled, cracking on the tile.

I snapped to, grabbing Sire's arm before he launched-he was quaking with rage. I turned on the in-laws I'd tiptoed around for five years. "I put up with your crap because Preston mattered. Now? He's yesterday's news. And you? You're less than dust."

With that, I whistled up my two guards-a wolf and a she-wolf-piled into the ride, and gunned it straight for Robert and Helen's house.

The guards kept the path clear; I did the dirty work myself. Snagged a baseball bat from the trunk and started swinging-from the living room clear to Helen's precious walk-in closet.

Her shrieks peaked over her baubles getting bashed, and that's when Preston barreled in, snagging my wrist. "You done throwing your tantrum?"

I panted, craning up at him with a grin. "Found some time after all, huh? Zipped over in under fifteen."

I shoved him off, ditched the bat, and stalked for the door.

Someone hovered there, peeking like a nervous pup. Spotting me, she babbled, "So sorry-it's my fault Preston's tied up. He didn't mean to ghost you..."

Madeline's innocent act? I blew right past it.

As I brushed by, she backpedaled with a string of apologies, then yelped and dropped like a stone. "Ow... my belly... it hurts so bad..."

"Madeline!" Preston charged out, steadying her-and his elbow clipped me light.

It shouldn't have buckled my knees, but my gut seized up, twisting like a knife. The world blurred black; I hit the floor on all fours.

Sweat beading cold, I dragged my gaze up-and there, not two feet off, Preston was cradling her like she was spun glass, all soft and doting.

Madeline's cheeks bloomed pink; whatever he'd been feeding her, she was glowing-no sign of a damn thing hurting.

He caught the thud of my knees hitting and scowled. "You pulling a fast one on Madeline? Gonna play the victim card?"

Helen cackled.

I wanted to howl with laughter myself.

Me, the Chase pack's golden pup, Daddy's little shadow-how'd I let this bond grind me down to a whipped stray?

I ground my teeth and hauled myself up the doorframe, inch by bloody inch.

Helen smirked. "Madeline's got that sweet disposition-suits Preston to a T."

"Damn straight," I wheezed, nodding. "A pack that bites the paw that pulled 'em from the brink? Deserves a daughter-in-law you can buy for eight hundred a pop down on Skid Row."

"Shut your trap!" Preston lunged forward, barking it sharp. Madeline hooked her foot out, riding the momentum to slam it square into my ribs.

I staggered, claws scrabbling at the doorframe to stay upright-three lurching steps before I locked in.

My gut throbbed like fire, and the muddy boot-print blooming on my chest burned just as fierce.

I stared at that gray smudge, numb. It was a brand of shame, summing up my whole sorry bond in one filthy mark.

Preston, cracking under his own cool? A sight for sore eyes.

Too bad it was over a streetwalker from the wrong side of the tracks.

I'd dug into her dirt: just some low-rent she-wolf who had him jumping at shadows, fretting, losing his head.

And now? Riding my coattails to claw at my throat.

I dragged my eyes up slow, cold sweat stinging into them, smearing Preston's face into a blur that didn't match the wolf who'd once set my pulse racing.

Maybe we'd both turned into ghosts of ourselves.

"Clean yourself up before you head out-I bound with a lady, not some rabid stray." His words landed flat, like frost on glass.

"Preston," I tilted my head, flashing teeth in a crooked smile, "how the hell are you still breathing?"

I lunged, utility knife from my palm slashing for his throat.

Second time I'd stuck him, and he froze solid, mind blanking out.

Even as Robert and Helen scrambled to yank me off in a tangle of paws, he just gawked at my eyes, voice cracking like thin ice. "You really... want me dead?"

My eyes burned red, the "yes" scorching my throat-until Helen's screech sliced it off. "She's... she's bleeding buckets!"

Every head whipped her way-and there it was, a dark stain unfurling across my skirt, deepest at the root of my thighs.

"Crystal!" Preston jackknifed up, ignoring his own gash, scooping me close. Panic edged his voice for the first time ever. "What's wrong? Somebody... get the ride! Now!"

My vision tunneled, unfocused, but my grip locked on the hallway rail like a lifeline, breath whispering out. "Guards... get me to the healer's... guards... housekeeper..."

"I'll take you! You'll pull through, I swear..." Preston fumbled at my fingers, prying frantic-couldn't budge 'em.

"I don't buy it!" I wailed, raw and ragged. "You wouldn't lift a paw for me-you never gave a damn... you won't... Guards! Guards! Help!"

Only when the she-guard's paw closed over mine did I let go, slumping into the dark.

Preston cradled me all the way to the ride, his hand cupping my head trembling feather-light.

All these years, he'd braced for my snarls, my flares-always on the attack.

Never this: me, frail as a wind-whipped reed.

Drenched in sweat and blood, the fierce string I'd been drawn tight on his account withered to a splinter-ready to snap at a breath.

He pressed his cheek to my clammy one, murmuring "It's okay" over and over...

No telling if it was for me. Or him.

I came to in the dead of night, room swallowed by shadows.

"Crystal, how you holding up? Want me to fetch the healer?" The she-guard hustled over.

Just her and the male guard in the house.

"Where's Preston?" My voice scraped out soft.

"Madeline... she's in for the night. He bolted to the next room an hour back."

She paused, then added, "Your sire rang. Told him you were out with the girls."

"Good call." I snagged my phone, scrolled to the stockpile of vids I'd kept handy in the gallery, and fired off one of me sipping cocktails at a lounge-enough to ease Dad's mind.

Logged out, and bam-a new friend request pinged.

I tapped accept, and "Madeline" unloaded a barrage of pics.

*That day I lost the pup, Preston stuck by my bedside, conked out right there on his paws.*

*Midnight, I rang him sobbing about the empty ache-he raced over to hold me, still in his healer's scrubs.*

*Just now, I whined about my gut, and he spoon-fed me porridge, peeled fruit like a pro. Crystal, you know how slick your mate is with a blade on an apple?*

I stared at that pic: one perfect peel, thin and even, knife work like a surgeon's.

In my head, I echoed: *No clue.*

*Hate me all you want, Crystal-Preston's got my back, and that's plenty. You bleeding out like that? Pitiful. So I nudged him to pop in and check on you.*

A minute ticked by. Then Preston pushed through the door.

He fixed on me, those deep eyes churning with something I couldn't pin down.

Right on cue, the head healer bustled in. Preston jumped her. "Why... why the hemorrhage?"

She shot him a puzzled glance.

Opened her mouth to lay it out: the miscarriage aftermath, skimping on that first moon's rest.

I cut the healer off before she could spill the beans. "I know my own body-no need to grill me about it."

Preston eased down on the edge of the bed, studying me for a long stretch before taking my hand, light as a whisper. "I had the pack cook whip up some porridge. How about a bite?"

I mustered a smile that felt all wrong, twisted. "Sure."

He popped the lid on the thermos, ladled out a small bowl, and scooped up a spoonful, holding it to my lips.

Madeline's brand of porridge.

The same doting moves he'd pull for her.

I swatted his hand away, the whole bowl tumbling to the floor in a splatter.

I grabbed a tissue and wiped my palm slow, deliberate. "Sorry 'bout that. I can't stand red dates-or sweet slop like this. Five years on the job, and the cook still doesn't know my tastes? Wasted effort on your part. Fire him."

Preston buzzed the guards to clean up the mess, his cool holding steady. "What sounds good? I'll have him rustle up something else."

I clammed up.

He rang the cook, quizzing her on my prefs, then rattled off dish after dish, watching for a twitch from me.

"Shrimp and grits-that's the one," he said finally.

I shot back icy. "This mess with me? None of the Lewis pack's business. Hit the trail-no point wasting your time here. We're unbound anyway!"

He tuned me out, ducked into the washroom for a fresh towel, then came back to dab at my hands and face.

Back when I'd begged him to show, ears deaf.

Now I was shoving him out the door, and still? Deaf.

I chucked the water glass at him. "Get lost!"

His shirtfront soaked through; he didn't even glance down. Just swept everything off the nightstand into my reach. "Keep hurling. Once you're out of ammo, we'll finish the wipe-down. Sticky with sweat like that? You're the one squirming."

So I pelted him-everything within paw's reach.

When the barrage ran dry, he gathered it all up, set it back in my lap.

Third round, I was tapped out. Let him tend me like some bedridden elder, sponging me down gentle.

He spoon-fed me the meal after, and then his phone chimed that special tone.

He stood. "Madeline's still in her recovery moon-body's fragile. Gonna check on her."

All night, he never circled back.

Morning rounds, my healer buddy swung by and cornered me. "Why hide the miscarriage from him last night? When he hauled you into emerg, his chest wound was gushing-folks begged him to get it wrapped, and he blew 'em off. Waited till you were out of the chop shop. Crystal, if you'd clocked that lost-pup look on him, you'd know he cares. Deep."

"I know-I had a sliver of awareness, felt it hit," I said, staring out the window till the light stung my eyes shut. "That's what scares me. If he aches for me even a whisker, I'll tumble right back in. My bar for him... it's basement-low."

But a life stretched between us-a ghost he'd never vault to reach my heart.

This bout wrecked me, down to the bones.

I holed up in the hospital five days, then ghosted home for a full week's bedrest.

Those five days, Preston cleared his slate-first time ever-and stuck by me like glue. The next week? Off on pack business.

But from the taunting vids and snaps Madeline kept firing my way, I knew he'd dragged her along for the ride.

Preston always hated mixing work with play. Early in our bond, when I'd beg to tag along and smooth his trail, he'd shut it down-said I was too flighty.

Now? Who knew how many exceptions he'd carved out for her.

*Never hit Shalandra Town before-told Preston, and boom, he hitches me on. Your mate's a real softie, huh?*

*He shows me the spinning lounge, Disney's wonderland-swears he'll open up the whole wide world for me someday.*

*These shots? All his lens work. I'm snap-happy; he humored me two hours straight. Your mate's patient as a saint, and the eye? Killer!*

Not one of those perks had ever come my way.

No clue his heart ran that tender, that pliable. Or that he could frame a shot like a pro...

Pathetic, really.

Piecing together my own mate from scraps off another she-wolf.

I thumbed back: *No bedroom pics? You holding out on him?*

Dead air, instant.

Phone tossed aside, I hollered for the housekeeper. "Pack up every last thing of Preston's. Box it."

This house? Dad's gift to me for the bond-a love nest I'd dreamed up and decked out myself, back when my head swam with stars.

Week out, unbound time. The one hitting the road? Him.