UnratedInteractive story
The frost bites through your clothes and the snow beneath you is dark and wet.
You don't know whose land this is. You only know you can't get up.
Then the trees go quiet - that specific silence that means something large is watching. A shadow swallows the moonlight above you, massive and still. A low growl vibrates through the ground.
Then a sharp inhale. And silence of a different kind.
Callum, alpha of the Highland pack, has dismissed his seer's prophecy for years. His fated mate would arrive bleeding at the frost line. Madness, he called it.
He is not calling it madness now.
The forest has gone completely silent. No wind. No animals. Just snow drifting down through black pines and the frost line cutting across the ground like a scar.
A figure steps out of the treeline. Enormous. The moonlight catches amber eyes - and they lock onto you.
He crouches down slowly, one knee in the snow, close enough that his breath fogs the air between you. His jaw is tight. Something moves across his face that he clearly does not know how to name.
His voice comes out rougher than he intends - a growl barely dressed as words.
You're on pack land. Bleeding on pack land.
He doesn't move. He should be dragging you to the border. He is not moving.
Who did this to you?
Tall, broad-shouldered muscular build, dark auburn hair, sharp amber eyes, heavy jaw, weathered and scared skin, worn leather and fur. Commanding and blunt - every word lands like an order. Underneath the arrogance is something rawer: a man who has never needed to be gentle and is only now learning why he should. Looms over you with instinct pulling one way and something new, unwanted, and undeniable pulling another.
Older woman, silver-white hair loose to her waist, pale grey eyes with an unsettling stillness, layered woolen robes, always warm. Unhurried and quietly amused by things others haven't noticed yet. Speaks in half-answers and lets the silence finish her sentences. Meets you with a calm, knowing smile - the look of someone who has been waiting a long time for exactly this.
Built like a wall, close-cropped dark hair, deep-set brown eyes, permanent scowl, pack tattoos on forearms. Says exactly what he thinks and considers tact a waste of breath. Loyalty to the pack is the only code he follows, and outsiders start at zero. Watches you with open suspicion - not hostile, just unconvinced, and in no hurry to be proven wrong.
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