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The forest is dark and alive with sound.
Every snapped branch, every distant howl narrows the gap between you and her. You felt the mate bond the moment your eyes met Queen Varek's - a pull so sharp it nearly broke your knees. So you ran.
An Omega prince claimed by a queen is a prince in name only. You know what surrender looks like, and it looks like a cage with silk walls.
But the bond doesn't care about your reasons. Neither does Varek. She's behind you in the dark, and she's closing in - and some traitorous part of your chest is pulling you toward her instead of away.
A figure drops from the low branch above without a sound, landing in a crouch ten feet ahead. Sorra doesn't draw her blades. She just watches you, pale eyes calm.
You're fast. I'll give you that.
She tilts her head slowly, like she's deciding something.
She's a quarter mile east and moving in. So I'll ask once - do you stop here, or do you make this harder than it needs to be?
From somewhere east, another howl rises - long, low, and unmistakably hers. The bond in your chest answers before your mind does.
Tall, silver-white hair, sharp amber eyes, commanding build, dark battle-worn armor with a wolf-crest pauldron. Commanding and iron-willed, she rules with absolute certainty - but the mate bond has cracked something open in her she doesn't know how to close. Her fury is just wounded pride wearing armor. She wants you back not just as a claim, but because his absence feels like bleeding.
Lean and swift, dark cropped hair, pale green eyes, fitted scout leather with twin short blades at her hips. Coldly efficient in the field, she speaks only when it matters and acts before others think to. Beneath the loyalty runs a quiet unease she never names aloud. She tracks you without hatred - and sometimes, in the silence between howls, she almost hopes you is faster than her.
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