The night air is cool, crisp against Dew's skin. The mark on his neck still tingles—a phantom weight he can't shake, no matter how much he tries to ignore it.
He's restless. Frustrated. His body feels off, like something is pulling at him, urging him toward a presence he doesn't want to acknowledge.
And yet…
Before he even realizes it, his feet carry him outside.
And, of course, Tee is there.
He leans against the stone wall of the training hall, arms crossed, looking entirely at ease. Like he knew Dew would come. Like he was expecting this.
Dew stops a few steps away, scowling. "You need to stop haunting me."
Tee tilts his head, amused. "I'm not haunting you. You came to me."
Dew grits his teeth because—damn it—he's right.
The silence stretches between them, thick and charged. The tension, the awareness—it's unbearable. And Tee isn't helping. He's just standing there, calm, patient, watching Dew like he has all the time in the world.
It drives Dew insane.
"You think this is funny?" he snaps.
Tee shrugs. "Not funny. Interesting."
Dew exhales sharply. "I don't get it."
Tee raises an eyebrow. "What don't you get?"
"This." Dew gestures vaguely between them. "This bond. This—" He hesitates. "Pull. I know how mates work for wolves. But you're—"
"Not a wolf," Tee finishes for him, nodding. "No, I'm not."
"Then how? Why?"
Tee finally moves, stepping closer. Not enough to touch, but enough to feel. His voice is calm, measured.
"You think I don't wonder the same?"
Dew swallows hard.
"You felt it, didn't you?" Tee continues, softer now. "You still feel it."
Dew clenches his fists. He hates that Tee is right.
Tee exhales, glancing up at the moon. "It's rare. Almost impossible. But not unheard of."
Dew shifts. "...What is?"
Tee's golden eyes flick back to him, glowing faintly in the dark.
"A mate bond between a wolf and a vampire."
Dew stiffens. The weight of those words sinks into his chest, heavy and unshakable.
"No," he mutters. "That doesn't make sense. Our kinds—"
"Are not meant to mix," Tee agrees. "Yes. But I am not just a vampire."
Dew frowns. "...What do you mean?"
Tee watches him, eyes unreadable. "I am one of the originals."
Dew's breath catches.
The Elders. The first of their kind. The strongest. The most dangerous.
Tee is one of them.
That means this—this impossible, undeniable connection—
It's real.
And Dew doesn't know what to do with that.
"I didn't choose this," he mutters, jaw tight.
Tee's gaze softens. "Neither did I."
Dew looks away. His heart is racing, and he doesn't know if it's from anger or something else.
Something he doesn't want to name.
Something that makes the air between them feel heavier.
More charged.
The silence stretches. Too thick. Too tense. Dew needs to break it. Needs to do something.
So he does the worst thing possible.
He looks at Tee. Really looks at him.
And for the first time, he sees it.
Not just the deadly, cold vampire. Not just the unreadable warrior.
But him.
Tee.
His mate.
The realization slams into him like a freight train.
Tee is watching him, silent, patient, but there's something else now. A flicker of warmth in his golden eyes. A quiet knowing.
And that's when Dew notices—
The way Tee's gaze drops, just slightly.
The way his breath is a little shallower.
The way the space between them feels… wrong. Too far.
Tee is waiting.
For him.
For Dew to close the distance.
For Dew to accept.
And the worst part?
Dew wants to.
It's instinct. Pure, raw instinct. He wants Tee closer. He wants to feel him. He—
No.
No, no, no.
Dew forces himself back, shoving down the wildfire in his chest.
Tee's expression doesn't change. He simply tilts his head, considering. "Resisting it won't make it go away."
Dew glares at him. "Watch me."
Tee smiles—just barely. Like he's entertained. Like he already knows how this will end.
Dew clenches his fists. He needs to leave. Needs to get away before he does something stupid.
Before he lets himself give in.
So he does the only thing he can.
He turns and walks away.
But even as he does, he hears Tee's final words, low and certain.
"You can run, Dew. But you'll always feel me."
And Dew hates that he already knows it's true.
-----
Win grips his wrist, forcing himself to stay still.
He watches Dew and Tee from afar, the weight between them impossible to ignore. But his focus isn't on them.
Not really.
Because Bright is too close. Close enough that Win feels it again—the phantom pull, the static crackle under his skin.
His instincts scream at him to step away. To breathe. To get distance.
He doesn't.
He won't.
But it takes everything in him to hold his ground.
Bright has known since the beginning. From the moment they met.
Win has not.
And that's the problem.
Werewolves feel the mate bond in their bones. It's immediate. Undeniable.
But Win doesn't.
Because Bright isn't a wolf. He's a shapeshifter—something different, something wrong.
The bond exists, but it doesn't click into place the way it should.
Not for Win.
Not unless Bright touches him.
That's the only time Win feels it—the sharp current, the ache deep in his chest, the way his entire body responds to Bright's presence like a match catching fire.
And he hates it.
Because he doesn't understand it.
His voice is quieter than usual, strained. "Something's wrong with me."
Bright doesn't react. He's too unreadable for that, his golden eyes steady, unwavering. "Or something's finally right."
Win swallows hard. Looks away.
He doesn't like things he can't control. Doesn't like this.
The idea that something is deciding his future for him—some invisible force, some bond that refuses to make sense—makes his skin crawl.
He doesn't want to be claimed. Doesn't want to belong to something he never chose.
And Bright?
Bright watches him with an understanding that burns.
Because Bright knows.
Knows Win is unraveling. Knows Win feels it, even if he refuses to admit it.
Knows he can't fight it forever.
But Bright doesn't push.
Instead, he does something worse.
He reaches out—slow, deliberate—and lets his fingers brush against Win's.
And Win—who never flinches, who has been trained to be calm, to be steady, to be unshakable—
Win jerks away like he's been burned.
His breathing is sharp. Shallow. Too fast.
Bright says nothing. He doesn't smirk, doesn't tease, doesn't gloat.
He just watches.
And somehow, that's worse.
Because Win is the one reacting. Win is the one losing control.
And Bright?
Bright is just waiting.
Because no matter how far Win runs, no matter how much he fights—
The bond will always pull him back.
-----
Nani moves through the hallways of Stormveil's estate with steady steps, but his mind is anything but calm.
Something feels off.
It's not just a hunch—it's deeper than that, a gnawing unease at the edges of his senses. He doesn't know what is wrong, only that something is.
And he refuses to sit still while Sky makes decisions without him.
As he approaches Sky's study, he catches sight of something unexpected.
Pond and Phuwin, sprawled out on one of the long couches in the lounge area.
Fast asleep.
Phuwin—who never truly lets his guard down—has unconsciously curled against Pond's warmth, his smaller frame practically tucked beneath the Alpha's arm.
And Pond—who always claims he doesn't care—has instinctively positioned himself protectively around the Omega, his arm resting just close enough to shield.
Neither of them planned this.
Neither of them would ever admit to it.
But their instincts betray them.
Nani stares for a long moment, lips pressing into a thin line before shaking his head.
Then he keeps walking.
Because his focus is elsewhere.
Because Sky owes him answers.
---
Sky barely looks up when Nani pushes open the study doors without knocking.
It's late. His desk is littered with maps and reports, his expression calm but sharp as he scans over the latest updates.
But before he can speak—before he can even acknowledge Nani's presence—
"You're hiding something from me."
Sky finally lifts his gaze.
There's no greeting. No pretense.
Just challenge.
Nani steps further into the room, shoulders squared, eyes steady. "Something is wrong. And don't tell me otherwise—I feel it."
Sky watches him carefully. He doesn't react immediately, doesn't rush to soothe.
Because he knows Nani.
Knows he doesn't want comfort.
He wants answers.
"I know you've already made plans," Nani continues, voice sharp. "What are they?"
Silence.
Sky leans back slightly, exhaling through his nose. "It's nothing for you to worry about."
Wrong answer.
Nani bristles, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Don't do that. Don't act like I'm not involved in this."
"You're not."
"Excuse me?"
Sky meets his gaze evenly. "Not in the way you think you are."
Nani's jaw clenches. "You don't get to decide that."
Sky sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. He doesn't want to do this. Not like this.
But Nani is relentless.
So Sky gives him the truth.
"You are involved," he admits. "But that doesn't mean you need to be in the middle of it."
"And who decides that?"
Sky's voice is quiet, but firm. "Me."
Something snaps between them.
The tension that's always been there—unspoken, unacknowledged—now thrums between them like a storm waiting to break.
Nani steps closer, his presence defiant. "I don't need protecting."
Sky stands, slow and deliberate, closing the distance between them in an instant.
"Yes, you do."
Nani refuses to back down. "You don't get to decide that for me."
Sky tilts his head slightly, eyes dark. "I do when you refuse to take care of yourself."
The weight of those words hangs heavy.
Because they both know the truth.
Nani is strong. Smart. Independent.
But he pushes himself too far. Takes on more than he should.
And Sky—
Sky feels it.
The need to shield him, to protect what is his.
Even if neither of them will say it.
"You can fight me all you want," Sky says, voice lower now, rough at the edges. "But you know I'm right."
Nani's breathing is unsteady. His heart is pounding.
Because Sky is too close. Because the air between them is too charged.
Because the worst part?
Sky isn't wrong.
But Nani refuses to admit it.
Not yet. Not now.
So he does what he can do—
He steps back.
And without another word, he turns on his heel and leaves.
Because if he stays any longer—
He won't be able to pretend this isn't already happening.
-----
Sky finds him in the quiet of the estate, just beyond the tree line where the night air is crisp and cool. Nani stands alone, arms crossed, staring out into the darkness like it holds answers he can't quite reach.
Sky doesn't say anything at first. He just steps closer, his presence familiar, steady.
"I shouldn't have kept you in the dark," he says finally. His voice is calm, but not distant. Not with Nani. "That was never my intention."
Nani doesn't look at him.
"But you did," he mutters. "You always do."
Sky exhales. "Because it's instinct," he admits. "Because no matter how strong you are, no matter how much you fight it—"I feel it."
That makes Nani's jaw tighten.
Sky takes another step closer. Not crowding, not forcing—just there.
"I know you feel it too," Sky continues, softer this time. "Even if you won't say it. Even if you're still trying to fight it."
Nani finally turns, eyes sharp. "You think I'm scared?"
Sky shakes his head. "No. I think you're angry," he says simply. "Because you don't want this to control you. Because you think if you acknowledge it, it means you're losing a part of yourself."
Nani doesn't answer.
Sky watches him carefully. Then—without thinking, without hesitation—he reaches out.
His hand finds Nani's face, fingers pressing lightly against his jaw.
Nani stiffens, but he doesn't pull away.
Sky's touch is warm, grounding. Deliberate.
"I would never take your choices away from you," Sky says quietly. "Even when it goes against every instinct I have to let you walk away."
Nani swallows.
Sky's thumb brushes against his cheek, the touch unbearably gentle.
"But you need to know something, Nani."
He leans in, close enough that their breath mingles, close enough that if either of them moved—just a little—
"Even if you keep running, even if you keep fighting this—"I'm not going anywhere."
Nani's heart pounds.
Sky isn't forcing him. Isn't demanding anything.
He's just there. Unshaken. Unwavering.
The way he always is.
Nani grips Sky's wrist—not to push him away, but because he needs to hold onto something.
Because the weight of this, of them, is too much.
Too much—and not enough.
Sky watches him, waiting.
Always waiting.
Finally, Nani exhales. His grip on Sky's wrist loosens, but he doesn't let go.
And neither does Sky.
They stand like that, suspended between what they are and what they will become—
Until Nani finally, finally whispers—
"…Okay."