"Lyra."
The way he said my name wasn't soft.
It wasn't tender.
It sounded like restraint.
Like he'd almost crossed a line and forced himself back.
"What?" I asked.
Fenris didn't answer immediately.
His golden eyes stayed fixed on me, intense enough to make my skin prickle.
"That shouldn't have happened," he said finally.
"What shouldn't have?"
"That pull."
My stomach tightened.
"It was adrenaline."
"No."
I folded my arms. "You don't get to decide what I felt."
His jaw flexed once.
"I'm not talking about you."
That landed heavier than it should have.
The forest around us had gone still again, but not peacefully.
It felt aware.
Watching.
"You felt it too," I said quietly.
He didn't deny it.
"That doesn't mean anything," I added quickly.
Fenris stepped back.
Deliberately.
Putting space between us like it was necessary.
"It means something," he said. "I just don't know what."
For the first time since I'd met him—
He sounded uncertain.
And that unsettled me more than if he'd growled.
"We're not pack," I said. "We're not aligned.
Whatever that was, it doesn't fit."
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"Not everything asks permission to fit."
I hated how that made my pulse spike.
"Don't," I muttered.
"Don't what?"
"Look at me like that."
His eyes darkened.
"Like what?"
Like I'm already yours.
But I didn't say it.
Instead, I turned and started walking.
He followed, matching my pace.
We didn't return to a territory.
Rogues didn't have territory.
They had ground they could hold — temporarily.
By the time the moon climbed higher, we reached a rocky ridge where a handful of wolves lingered in loose formation.
They weren't a structured pack.
Just wolves who moved where Fenris moved.
Because it was safer that way.
Conversations stilled when he stepped into the clearing.
No one greeted him.
They didn't need to.
Respect didn't require ceremony.
A female rogue leaned against one of the stones, arms crossed.
Dark hair. Sharp eyes.
Her gaze flicked from Fenris to me.
Then back.
"So Silverhide didn't kill you," she said lightly.
Fenris didn't respond.
He walked past her like she was part of the landscape.
She pushed off the stone anyway and followed.
"We heard howling near the border," she continued. "Sounded tense."
"It was," he said flatly.
Her eyes slid to me again.
"And she's the reason?"
Fenris stopped.
Then turned slowly toward her.
"She has a name."
The female arched a brow.
"I didn't ask for it."
His expression didn't change.
"Then don't refer to her."
The air shifted.
The female studied him for a moment longer.
Then she smiled faintly.
"Interesting."
She stepped closer.
Too close.
Her fingers brushed his forearm deliberately.
"If Silverhide is circling," she murmured,
"you'll need allies."
Fenris looked down at her hand.
Then at her.
"Remove it."
He didn't raise his voice.
He didn't threaten her.
But she hesitated only a second before withdrawing.
That was the difference.
He turned away from her without another word.
Then his gaze found mine.
"You'll take the higher ridge tonight," he said quietly.
Positioning me somewhere safer.
"What about you?" I asked.
"I don't sleep deeply."
"That wasn't my question."
His eyes held mine for a second longer than necessary.
"I'll be close."
Not possessive.
Not romantic.
Just a matter-of-fact statement.
The female rogue noticed.
Of course she did.
Jealousy flickered across her features before she masked it.
"Bringing pack strays into rogue ground,"
she muttered under her breath.
Fenris heard it.
So did I.
He didn't move toward her this time.
Didn't threaten.
He simply said—
"If you see her as a stray, you're free to leave."
Silence followed.
No one argued.
No one challenged.
That was rogue leadership.
Later, the clearing quieted.
One by one, the rogues settled into watchful rest.
I sat near the ridge, staring at the tree line.
"You're staring again," I said without turning.
Fenris didn't deny it.
"You shouldn't sit exposed."
"I can handle myself."
"I know."
That again.
He knew.
But he still moved closer.
Close enough that his shoulder almost brushed mine.
Almost.
"You were different back there," I said.
"With her."
"She was testing boundaries."
"And me?"
His gaze shifted slightly.
"You're not a boundary."
My breath caught.
"That's not an answer."
"It is."
Frustrating.
Infuriating.
And honest.
Silence stretched between us, but it wasn't
uncomfortable.
The pull from earlier hadn't faded.
It had settled.
Low.
Waiting.
"If Rowan tries something," I said quietly,
"you don't owe me intervention."
Fenris didn't hesitate.
"I'm aware."
I turned to look at him.
"That wasn't what I meant."
His eyes met mine.
"I know."
The space between us thinned again.
Heat.
Awareness.
He could close it.
So could I.
Neither of us moved.
After a long moment, he stood.
Creating distance first.
Again.
Control.
I leaned back against the stone and pretended to rest.
But I wasn't relaxed.
Not even close.
The rogue clearing had gone quiet, but my mind hadn't.
Fenris stood across the clearing now,
watching everything.
Watching the wolves who aligned
themselves with him out of instinct.
Watching the female rogue glance toward
him more than once.
And sometimes
Watching me.
I could feel it even with my eyes closed.
That steady awareness.
Like he was measuring distance.
Or risk.
Or something else entirely.
Finally I opened my eyes.
He was already looking at me.
"What?" I asked quietly.
"Nothing," he said.
Lie.
Even from across the clearing, I could see it in the way his jaw tightened slightly.
He looked away first.
Not because he lacked control.
But because if he kept looking
He might step closer.
And somehow, I knew.
If he did this time—
He wouldn't step back.