The crescent on my thigh has burned since the night Knox first found me on these trails, his scarred chest a reminder of the solitude he guards as fiercely as I guard my freedom. I told him to leave, but the bond does not care for my defiance.

It demands the ritual, the claiming that will breed true under the winter moon and end any chance of walking away. The rival elder's claim hangs over us like a threat, yet Knox stands between me and the theft of what is already ours.

His palm presses over my fingers on the marker stone, holding us in place as dusk slips away. The hollow tree curves just ahead, waiting for the moment when resistance gives way to the hunger we cannot outrun.