Silas pulled Leith closer to the fire.
They didn't dance—not really. Not like couples did. Not like mates did.
But they moved together, close. Near enough that their shoulders brushed every now and then. Near enough that Leith could feel Silas's warmth even through the buffer of firelight and damp air. The music pulsed around them, wild and laughing. Drums, whoops, someone's bad attempt at a guitar. The birthday crowd had loosened up hours ago, drunk on beer and moonshine and the freedom of the woods.
But Leith couldn't hear any of it.
Not properly.
His ears were full of something else.
A buzzing.
A rushing.
A ringing.
Like something high and thin was screaming just behind his thoughts.
> If the bond doesn't spark now… when will it?
He kept glancing sideways. Watching Silas out of the corner of his eye. That smile—reckless, lopsided. His wind-tousled blonde hair catching the firelight like a halo. And those stupid, stupid green eyes that had always undone him.
Leith's hands were shaking again.
He clenched them into fists at his sides, hoping Silas wouldn't notice.
> Why isn't anything happening? Why can't I smell his pheromones? Why can't I hear the bond?
He took a subtle step closer. Not enough to be obvious. Just enough to breathe him in.
Still… nothing.
No scent.
No spark.
No tug in his gut.
Only the rising, aching silence where something should've been.
> It's not him.
The thought hit like icewater.
> What if it's not him?
> What if it's never going to be?
> It has to be him—it's always been him—
Tears burned at the back of his eyes.
No. No, he couldn't cry. Not here. Not now. Not in front of everyone—and especially not in front of him.
His chest felt like it was folding inward. His skin tingled, burned, itched. His heartbeat was loud enough to drown out the music.
The fire blurred. The trees spun. The laughter of the others faded like smoke in the wind.
"Leith?"
Silas's voice broke through.
Concerned. Close.
But Leith was already stumbling backward—away from the crowd, away from Silas's hand that had lifted instinctively, reaching.
> His body felt wrong.
> Too hot. Too tight. Like something enormous was clawing behind his ribs, pacing, snarling, trying to break free.
He shoved past a couple of drunk partygoers. Ignored the confused looks. Didn't stop when someone called his name again.
His boots hit gravel. Then grass. Then the dew-chilled hush of the forest swallowed him whole.
The trees closed in like old memories—dark, cold, quiet. He ran until the noise was gone.
Until he could barely breathe.
But he wasn't alone.
"Leith! What the hell?"
Silas's voice, sharp behind him.
Leith turned—gasping, sweating, doubled over. His hoodie clung to him, soaked. His pupils were blown wide, black as pitch.
"I need—" he choked out. "I need to get out—I can't—Silas, just go back—"
"Are you—wait—are you shifting?!" Silas stepped closer, eyes wide. "Is it happening right now?!"
"No—I don't know—I can't—please just—go back—don't look at me like this—I don't want to scare you—"
His voice cracked.
Leith tried to steady himself against a tree, but his hand slipped. His body was trembling too hard.
His bones were twitching.
Moving.
Preparing.
> "Please, Silas—just leave me—"
> Before I break in front of you.
Silas took a step forward anyway—always reaching. Always closing the distance between them.
But this time, Leith stepped back.
He ran into the deep woods, then —
Leith hit his knees, dirt grinding into his palms. His hoodie was soaked through with sweat, clinging to skin that felt wrong. His heart thundered. His jaw ached. His vision was flashing—red, then silver, then white.
> "Leith!" Silas called again, closer this time.
He turned his head weakly, eyes wild.
> "You—need to go."
But it was too late.
The pain crashed through him like a wave—violent, sudden, blinding. His back arched. A scream tore from his throat, but it wasn't a scream anymore. It was a growl. A snarl. Something that didn't belong in a human mouth.
Silas stopped dead in his tracks.
> "Leith…?"
Leith's fingers clawed into the soil. His spine cracked loud enough to echo. His limbs twisted, reshaped. His clothes tore. Bones jutted in the wrong directions before resetting with sickening pops.
> And then the wolf came through.
Not gradually.
Not gently.
Like a door slamming open in a burning house.
Silas watched in frozen horror as the boy he knew became something else. His body expanded, fur tearing through skin in black and ash-gray waves. His snout lengthened, teeth gleaming, eyes shining gold-white like a feral star.
But it wasn't the shape that hit Silas in the gut.
It was the energy.
The presence.
Leith's wolf stood tall, muscled, broad-shouldered, with heavy limbs and brutal grace. Not soft. Not delicate. Not anything like the quiet, sleepy-eyed boy Silas shared chips with on rooftops.
There was no trace of the femboy sweetness, the vulnerability, the softness Silas had loved in private from a distance.
This creature was ancient. Primal.
Beautiful in a way that was terrifying.
And its eyes locked onto Silas with recognition.
> Mate?
No.
Confusion. Hunger. Resentment.
The wolf took a step forward. Then another.
Silas stumbled back, heart lurching.
> "Leith…?"
But the name felt wrong now. Too small. Too soft.
The wolf bared its teeth.
Not in rage.
Not even in threat.
But like it was searching—and not finding what it wanted.
Something cracked in Silas's chest.
> Why doesn't he look like him?
Where's the Leith I know?
The wolf inhaled. Once. Twice.
And then — nothing.
No pull. No lurch of destiny. No lock of pheromones.
Just emptiness.
It blinked once, the gold in its eyes dimming slightly.
And then, as quickly as it came, the wolf turned—shoulders tense, chest rising—and ran into the dark.
Silas stood in the clearing alone.
Breathless.
Heartbreaking quietly, but deeply.
He had waited to see Leith's wolf for years.
Dreamed of it, even.
But now that he had…
He wasn't sure he knew him at all.