He Cast Off His “Human” Mate. Years Later, She Returns as a Full-Blooded Wolf

Chapter 16 – Between Two Fires

Rian’s weight leans into my side as we climb out of the ravine, his steps uneven on the slick stones. He’s trying not to show it—jaw clenched, shoulders stiff—but every few paces his knees wobble.

“Slow,” I tell him. “We’re not racing anyone.”

The broken pod’s stink clings to the back of my throat. I can feel it trying to slot into old grooves in my memory—oxygen masks, antiseptic, the metallic chill of an IV line. My wolf snarls at the echoes.

We break through the cut in the rock. Riven and Jarik fan out instinctively, flanking us, eyes on the tree line.

Meren has already gone ahead to the village; his scent is a fading streak on the path.

“Head up,” I murmur to Rian. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. Tell me what you smell that isn’t wrong.”

He swallows. “Dirt. Moss. You.” A shaky pause. “Him.” He tips his chin toward Riven. “Trees. Smoke.”

“Good,” I say. “Keep those on top.”

“What happens if the wrong smell wins?” he asks. The question is too adult for his thin teenage face.

“Then we shove it off the pile,” I say. “Same as with Talon.”

His eyes go round. “You mean where he—”

“Yes,” I cut in. “And he’s still breathing. This is not a sentence, Rian. It’s a problem.”

We move in silence until the first lights of the village glow between the trunks, soft and amber. The square is quieter than usual at this hour: someone’s warned them we’re coming. Shapes move in the shadows, tense, watchful.

Elvara waits at the door of the healer’s den, sleeves rolled, hair braided tight. Beside her, Caelis stands like a rooted tree, presence calm but coiled.

Rian hesitates at the edge of the clearing, nose flaring. “Everyone’s… looking.”

“Because they’re scared and you’re brave,” I say. “Walk anyway.”

He does.

Good pup.

Inside, the den has been rearranged. One corner is cleared, straw pallets laid down, a low barrier of crates and screens marking off space—not a prison, but not open, either. Buckets of clean water wait, along with a basin of crushed charcoal and herbs.

“Containment,” Elvara murmurs. “Per your request.”

“Thank you.” I guide Rian toward the cordoned area. “Shoes off. Shirt too.”

His face flushes. “But—”

“We need skin,” I say gently. “Fur. As little between your scent and us as possible. Nothing you wore near that pod goes back into the laundry.”

He obeys, fingers clumsy. Under the fabric, his chest rises and falls too fast, muscles twitching just a little too often.

The chemical note threads his sweat like a hairline crack in glass.

“On the pallet,” I say. “On your back. Hands by your sides.”

He lies down, staring at the ceiling.

Elvara touches my elbow. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I know,” I say. “But I need you on the other side if something goes sideways.”

Her gaze flicks to my wrist, where the faint gray tracery has almost vanished. “And him?” She nods at Riven.

“He stays out of the circle,” I say, louder than necessary. “Last time he tried to help, he nearly turned himself into a conduit.”

Riven’s jaw flexes. “I said I wouldn’t—”

“You said a lot of things,” I snap. Then, softer, “I know what you’re like when someone screams under your hands. If you’re in reach, you’ll grab. Don’t make me fight you and this.”

The admission lands heavier than any order.

Something eases in his shoulders. “Fine,” he says. “Out here. But if you start shaking like you did with Talon and no one moves, I’m tearing this wall down.”

“Reasonable,” Elvara murmurs.

I kneel beside Rian’s pallet. Up close, the wrong-scent is stronger, but it’s still a thin thread, not yet a rope.

“Look at me,” I say.

He does, eyes huge.

“I’m going to push at this,” I tell him. “Like testing a bruise. It might hurt. You might feel your wolf surge or twist. You fight me if I tell you to fight. You do not fight yourself. Understand?”

His throat bobs. “Yes.”

“Good.” I rest my hand lightly over his sternum, the other at the junction of neck and shoulder. “Breathe with me.”

We inhale together.

And I go in.

Not as deep as with Talon. This time I don’t have to. The thing is newer, less rooted. It feels like a slick, cold drop beading along his veins, searching for a way to spread.

It notices me almost immediately. Lashes out, prickling my palm, trying to climb up into my skin the way it did before.

I’m ready.

The walls I built in the creek and on the road are still there, scarred but solid. I redirect the lunge, shunting it sideways along Rian’s scent instead of into me, hemming it in with the remembered taste of Talon’s scream, of the mutant by the water.

You’re not getting comfortable here, I think, pressing down. Not in him. Not again.

Rian jerks under my hands, a strangled sound breaking from his throat. Elvara moves closer, murmuring nonsense into his ear, voice a low anchor.

My own head starts to pound. I can feel my heartbeat in my teeth.

“Liora,” Riven says from beyond the crates, voice a taut wire. “You’re—”

“Don’t,” I grit out. “Say it.”

The rot thrashes, desperate to complete whatever sequence the pod started. But there’s less of it than in Talon. No second injection. No weeks to fester.

I squeeze.

Slowly, painfully, it recoils. Its taste thins in Rian’s blood, drawing back toward the original contact point—the trace on his skin, the place it first seeped.

I feel it slick back like venom drawn from a wound.

“Bucket,” I pant.

Elvara understands. She slides one under his arm as I lift his hand, press the heel of his palm to his mouth.

“Spit,” I say. “Now.”

He gags once, twice, then brings up a thin stream of gray-tinged saliva. It hits the charcoal and herbs with a faint hiss, the wrong-scent spiking, then snuffed.

My whole body shakes.

Then, abruptly, the pressure eases.

I sag back on my heels, lungs burning.

Rian blinks up at the ceiling, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. “It’s… quieter,” he whispers. “In here.” He taps his chest. “Like somebody turned off a… buzzing.”

I let out a breath that’s halfway to a sob.

“Good,” I say. “Then we caught it before it learned your name.”

Elvara ties the bucket lid tight, hands already moving toward the back door. “I’ll dispose of this. Deep. Where even roots won’t drink it.”

She pauses beside me, fingers brushing my shoulder. “You?”

“I’ll live,” I say.

“Again,” Riven mutters.

I look up.

He’s closer than he promised—right at the edge of the crates, knuckles white on the wood. His eyes search my face like he’s counting how many pieces I’m in.

“How bad?” he asks.

“I’ve had worse,” I say, and this time it doesn’t taste like bravado. “But if your Council doesn’t start burning every scrap of human trash they find before pups step on it, I will start throwing elders out of meetings.”

A faint, grim smile ghosts across his mouth. “Deal.”

Behind his shoulder, Daren lurks in the doorway, face ashen.

Good.

I let my wolf look at him now, full-on, let him feel exactly how close we just came to adding another name to the list his pretty ledgers don’t show.

“This is what your signatures bought,” I say quietly. “Get used to watching me tear the receipts up.”

He doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t have to.

The guilt in his scent is answer enough.