Rosa awoke to the sound of a heartbeat that wasn't her own.
For a moment she thought it was the echo of her dream, but this rhythm was steady and real, pulsing somewhere close by. The room around her was dimly lit, the scent of smoke and rain heavy in the air.
Her senses flooded her at once—the faint scuff of boots in the corridor beyond, the soft hiss of the wind brushing against stone, even the distant flutter of wings far above ground. Each sound was sharp and almost hurtful.
Her breath caught as she realized she could also scent emotions: fear from the guards outside, worry somewhere down the hall, and something else all too warm and grounding emanating from the man standing at the window.
Marshal.
He stood stock-still, the gray light of the morning filtering through the narrow window and delineating his broad shoulders. His shirt was undone to mid-chest, and there were faint marks of battle still apparent against his skin, serving as a reminder of the night that had nearly torn Lunar apart.
He turned at the sound of her stirring, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a mix of relief and restraint.
"You're awake," he said softly.
Rosa sat up slowly, pressing a trembling hand to her temple. "What happened? Why can I hear everything?"
He crossed the room, unhurried and yet full of purpose. "Your blood is still shifting," he said. "The awakening wasn't just power. It's rewriting what you are."
She shook her head; the pulse raced in her throat. "It feels wrong. Like I'm… connected to everything. To you."
His jaw tightened as he hesitated. "You are."
Her eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
He stopped beside the bed, his voice low and deliberate. "The Moonblood doesn't respond to anyone unless it recognizes its counterpart. It's binding to me as if I was chosen long before either of us were born."
The words hit her like a physical blow. "Chosen? You make it sound like fate."
He smiled a little, without humor. "Fate rarely asks permission."
Rosa's chest tightened. She wanted to believe it was some mistake, some strange trick of her new senses. But the truth pulsed between them like a living thing, undeniable and growing stronger.
She could feel him even when she looked away: the warmth of his presence, the rhythm of his breathing, the steady pull that drew her closer despite her will.
"I can't," she whispered. "I can't feel this. Not now."
Marshal's eyes rounded with innate compassion, though his voice refused to waver. "You don't get to choose the bond, Rosa. None of us do."
"I need space," she said, swinging her legs off the bed. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet, but the sensation grounded her. "If I stay near you, I can't think."
He reached out and caught her wrist before she could take a step away. "You walk out of this room, and that bond will be following you. It'll drag you back.
The touch sparked a jolt in her body, so strong she gasped. The world went hazy for a fraction of a second and she saw flashes-silver light, a moonlit field, two figures standing close enough that their shadows merged. Then it was gone.
She tore her hand free, breathing hard. "What was that?"
Marshal looked the most taken aback. "It's the memory of the bond. It's showing us what it wants.
The door opened before she could reply, and in stepped the silver-haired elder. His presence cut through the charged atmosphere like a blade of cold air.
"This is dangerous," the elder said without any preliminaries. "You know what happens when the Moonblood chooses."
Marshal's shoulders tensed. "We don't know that yet."
The elder's eyes flashed to Rosa. "You feel it, don't you? The pull. The heat. It will only grow stronger. And when it does, every wolf in this pack will be able to sense it. They will either bow or turn against you."
Rosa swallowed hard. "I didn't ask for this."
"Neither did the last one," the elder said. "She burned her pack to the ground before the moon cycle was done."
Marshal stepped forward, his voice sharp. "That will not happen again."
The elder's face had turned grim. "You cannot promise that. The Moonblood always demands a choice-love or power. Never both."
The words hung between them, like a curse.
When the elder finally left, silence reemerged, heavy and suffocating. Rosa's eyes stared into the closed door as her mind raced. "Love or power," she whispered. "Which one destroys the other?"
Marshal didn't respond. His gaze was fixed on the window, upon the horizon, thick with clouds that turned dark.
Outside, from the city's edge came the first warning howl.
Rosa stiffened. "Another attack?"
Marshal's face went hard. "Not yet. But something's coming."
Through the narrow window, shadows moved—thin, fast shapes gliding across rooftops, carrying flickers of gold in their eyes. Messengers.
"They're not wolves," Rosa whispered.
"No," Marshal said quietly. "They're his."
Her pulse spiked as realization struck. "The man with the red eyes?"
He nodded once. "He's sending his scouts. He knows where to strike next."
The room seemed to shrink around her. She wanted to move, to help, but the moment she stepped closer to him, the air shifted. The bond pulsed between them again, harder this time.
Marshal's hand stroked her wrist, and light exploded beneath her skin-silver and gold colliding in a wave that lifted the air around them. The walls groaned under the pressure, and for one breathless moment, everything shimmered as if caught between worlds.
Rosa stumbled back, gasping. "What's happening to us?"
He steadied her, his touch firm but trembling. "The bond is accelerating. It's feeding off the danger, off every emotion we try to suppress."
She looked up at him, her eyes wide. "Then we need to break it."
Marshal's eyes clouded over. "You can't break something written before birth."
Her heart twisted painfully. "Then what are we supposed to do?"
He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face; his thumb lingered against her cheek. The tenderness of the gesture almost undid her.
"Stay alive," he said finally. "That's all that matters now."
She wanted to push away, to tell him that the closeness made it all worse, but she couldn't. The space between them just disappeared, and in that one moment, everything else outside-the howls, the whispers, the storm getting closer-didn't exist anymore.
"I do not know what this bond wants," she said softly, "but I'm afraid it will destroy us."
The breath caught in Marshal's throat, his voice barely more than a whisper. "If this bond strengthens," he said, the skin of his hand still against hers, "neither of us will be able to walk away." The words vibrated through her, heavy with truth and something dangerously close to longing.
And outside the window, one of the golden-eyed shadows turned its face toward Lunar and smiled. The storm had already begun.