"And died instead," Casteel replied simply. "That wasn't an option."
The cave fell silent except for the soft crackling of the fire. Outside, night creatures began their chorus as darkness settled over the forest. Casteel felt Nero's conflicted emotions—gratitude warring with guilt, wonder at his new abilities shadowed by regret for what Casteel had lost. He had to stop this. Nero shouldn't feel guilty.
"You're right," Casteel said. "It's a huge adjustment but I watched you today and I'm in awe of how the wolf is amplifying the gifts you already have." Nero opened his mouth to object, but Casteel kissed him briefly.
"This is the way it always should have been, I know—" his voice caught. He wanted to desperately ask if Nero still cared for him but that wasn't fair.
"You won't leave me?" Nero finally asked when it became clear Casteel wasn’t going to finish his thought, his voice barely above a whisper. "If we reach Morven's estate, if the noble houses unite against Doran...what becomes of us?"
Casteel stared into the flames. "The prophecy speaks of the Silver Wolf. That's you now."
Nero's hand tightened around his. "I don't care about prophecies. I care about you."
"Because of what I sacrificed?" The words escaped before Casteel could stop them, giving voice to the fear that had been growing since he'd awakened without his wolf. "Because you feel obligated?"
"No," Nero said firmly, turning to face him fully. "Because you're the same man who faced down an assassin's arrow without flinching. The same man who defied Doran's plans even when it meant risking everything." His voice dropped lower, roughened with emotion. "The wolf didn't make you brave, or kind, or worthy, because you already were, certainly to me. It just made you valuable to people who wanted to use you."
Casteel felt a pulse of genuine emotion—stronger than he'd expected was still possible. It wasn't the overwhelming connection they'd once shared, but neither was it the pale shadow he'd feared was all that remained. He needed to be honest. He was just afraid.
"What if I'm not the same?" Casteel asked, the question torn from him. "The wolf was always there. It was part of me even when I didn't know what it was, before the prophecy."
"Then we'll discover who you are together," Nero replied, his free hand coming up to cup Casteel's cheek. "But I already know the important parts."
The kiss that followed was different from those they'd shared before—less desperate, less driven by magical compulsion, but somehow more real for its gentleness.
The kiss deepened, Casteel's hands finding purchase in Nero's shirt as he pulled him closer. Without the wolf's heightened senses, each touch felt different—more human, perhaps, but no less profound. When Nero's fingers traced the line of his jaw, Casteel felt the calluses from years of stringing bows, the strength that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with the man himself.
"I'm afraid," Casteel whispered against Nero's lips, the confession easier in the dim firelight. "That you'll realize I'm nothing special without the wolf. Just a stable boy with dreams too big for his station."
“And I’m terrified you’ll choose freedom over being bound to an old man,” Nero whispered, pulling back just enough to hold Casteel’s gaze. The firelight danced in his silver eyes, turning them molten. His thumb brushed across Casteel’s lower lip, a feathered promise of things to come. “I was sent to kill you. I failed—not because of the wolf, but because of what I saw in your eyes.”
“Show me,” Casteel breathed, sliding his hands beneath Nero’s shirt, finding the heat of bare skin. “Show me what you see.”
Nero’s answer was a kiss that stole Casteel’s breath—hungry, tender, fierce. His hands moved over Casteel’s body, peeling away layers of cloth as if unveiling something so precious. Every fingertip memorized a contour, every caress seared sensation into memory, unhurried by magic or prophecy.
“You’re breathtaking,” Nero murmured against the hollow of Casteel’s throat, voice rough with awe. “Wolf or no wolf, prophecy or no prophecy. Why would you ever want to be stuck with me?” Casteel parted his lips to deny it, but Nero pressed his mouth over the words, swallowing them in a desperate kiss.
The cave floor was hard beneath them, but Nero’s cloak pooled softness between rough stone and bare flesh. The fire’s amber glow traced shifting patterns across their bodies, spotlighting the lean strength of Nero’s shoulders and the taut curve of Casteel’s hips.
Deprived of the wolf’s heightened senses, Casteel drank in every detail: the tiny scar at Nero’s lip corner, the erratic flutter of his pulse beneath Casteel’s fingertips, the way Nero’s pupils darkened when their eyes locked.
“Can you still feel me?” Casteel asked as Nero’s hands mapped his skin with reverent precision. “Through the bond?”
“A million times,” Nero growled, lips trailing down Casteel’s chest. “I feel your heart thunder when I do this.” His teeth grazed a nipple, coaxing a shudder that arched Casteel’s spine into him.
They moved together at a deliberate pace—no frantic hunger, only the slow build of need matched to trusted rhythm. Nero’s hands guided Casteel’s with a certainty no magic could replace, and when they finally joined, it was like two souls plunging headlong into one another. Casteel’s breath caught on the tide of pleasure—sharper, more intimate.
“I need you,” Nero whispered into Casteel’s ear, voice husky and raw, “even though you deserve so much more than me. Not the wolf. Not the prophecy. Just you.”
Casteel’s answer was a broken gasp as Nero found the pace that matched his own longing. Their bodies tore at the silence of the cave with muffled cries and urgent rustle of skin on skin. Outside, the night moved on—crickets, distant hoots—unaware of the fierce surrender unfolding in the flickering shadows.
When release came, it was not the all-consuming storm of earlier encounters but a deep, resonant echo that settled between them, a quiet confession of love that needed no magic to prove its power.
They lay entwined by the dying embers of the fire, Nero’s cloak draped over their spent bodies against the mountain chill. Casteel traced slow, lazy patterns on Nero’s chest, feeling the steady drum of his mate’s heartbeat under his palm. He hadn’t found the words to reply to Nero’s confession. He didn’t need them yet. He only needed this—Nero’s warmth, their joined breath, the soft certainty of a promise kept in firelight. "When we reach Morven's estate," Nero said into the silence, "we'll need to decide what to tell them about the wolf."
Casteel nodded against his shoulder. "They'll expect the Silver Wolf of the prophecy."
"And they'll get one," Nero replied, his arm tightening around Casteel's waist. "Just not the one they anticipated."
