Chapter Eight
900 Words
Xavier POV
_________________
The forest welcomed him like an old ally.
Earth gave beneath his paws as he ran, powerful strides eating distance with ease. The pack flowed around him, keeping pace without question, instinctively aligning to his lead. Night air cut cool through his fur, carrying a thousand scents layered with meaning — moss, prey, damp bark, the lingering trace of rain hours old.
And her.
Karma Slivermoon’s scent clung to the packhouse behind them, faint but unmistakable. Not fear. Not weakness.
Awareness.
Xavier pushed harder, muscles stretching, breath steady and deep. The run should have burned the tension from his body. It always did.
Tonight, it sharpened it.
He knew she was watching.
He’d felt it the moment his wolf lifted its head before the run — that stillness at the window, the quiet intensity of her gaze. Not calling to him. Not pulling.
Witnessing.
That unsettled him more than panic ever would have.
The pack veered east, following a familiar trail. Xavier slowed just enough to issue a low command, sending two scouts ahead before angling deeper into the woods. His wolf moved with absolute confidence, dominant without aggression.
Still, the awareness lingered.
She didn’t flinch when he shifted.
Didn’t recoil.
Didn’t look away.
That mattered.
When they reached the ridge overlooking the ravine, he brought the pack to a halt. Bodies circled, settled, watchful. His wolf paced once, then lifted its head, scenting the air.
Her headache would be worse now.
The thought came unbidden — unwelcome in its certainty.
Whatever she was suppressing reacted to the pack, to territory, to him. Not like a waking wolf. Like something held too tightly for too long.
Xavier exhaled slowly, forcing the instinct down.
She was not his responsibility beyond keeping her safe.
She was not his to claim.
And yet—
His wolf turned its head back toward the packhouse, ears flicking.
She hadn’t run.
Good.
The run ended cleanly. He sent the pack home in staggered waves, lingering only long enough to confirm borders were quiet before turning back alone.
The forest fell silent behind him as he shifted, human skin reclaiming muscle and bone with practiced ease. He dressed quickly, mind already elsewhere.
She’d be awake.
⸻
Karma POV
_______________
Sleep refused her.
Karma lay tangled in sheets that felt too warm, too heavy, her body restless despite exhaustion pressing behind her eyes. Every time she closed them, she saw him — the way his wolf had looked back at her before running, green eyes sharp with awareness.
Not possession.
Recognition.
She turned onto her stomach, then her side, then onto her back again with a frustrated exhale.
This is ridiculous.
She’d been around Alphas before. Strong ones. Dangerous ones. Men who commanded rooms and expected obedience.
None of them had lingered in her thoughts like this.
The ache in her head pulsed faintly, in rhythm with her heartbeat. Not pain. Just pressure. Like something knocking from the inside, asking to be acknowledged.
She pressed a pillow over her face.
No.
She wasn’t doing this. Not here. Not now.
Footsteps echoed faintly in the distance — the pack returning. Doors opened. Voices murmured low and content. The house felt fuller suddenly, warmer, alive with movement.
Her senses sharpened despite her attempts to relax.
When she finally drifted into something close to sleep, it was shallow and fractured. Dreams came in fragments — running without fear, breath steady, the forest opening instead of closing in.
She woke abruptly.
The room felt different.
Not threatening.
Occupied.
She sat up just as a knock sounded at the door.
“Karma.”
Xavier’s voice.
Her pulse jumped.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, smoothing her hair automatically before realizing how absurd that was.
“Come in,” she said.
The door opened slowly. He stood there in clean clothes, hair damp from the run, posture relaxed but alert. The wildness of his wolf lingered beneath the surface, like an echo that hadn’t quite faded.
“You should be sleeping,” he said.
“I could say the same.”
A corner of his mouth lifted briefly. “You watched.”
It wasn’t a question.
She didn’t bother denying it. “I couldn’t help it.”
Silence stretched — not awkward, not tense. Just charged.
“Your headache,” he said. “Is it worse?”
She hesitated, then nodded once. “Not unbearable.”
He stepped just inside the room, stopping well short of her personal space. Even so, the pressure eased almost immediately.
They both felt it.
Neither commented.
“That won’t stop happening,” he said quietly. “Not until you stop fighting it.”
Her jaw tightened. “You don’t know what I’m fighting.”
“No,” he agreed. “But I know what suppression does.”
She studied him, searching for judgment — finding none.
“Try to rest,” he said again. “If it spikes, send for me.”
“I don’t need—”
“I know,” he interrupted gently. “But you’ll do it anyway.”
It wasn’t dominance.
It was certainty.
After he left, Karma lay back slowly, staring at the ceiling once more. Her body felt calmer now, the ache reduced to a whisper.
This time, sleep came easier.
And somewhere deep inside, something shifted — not awake, not free — but listening.
- Writer
