Page 2 of A Sunwoven Ascent

Alaric grinned as he finished lacing his boots. She looked beautiful as always. Sunlight caught her long, golden hair as it blew across her smiling face, and he found himself aching to run his fingers through it.

There was a playful boldness in her gaze that nearly unraveled him, stirring the sudden urge to pull her close and kiss her until the world disappeared. He couldn’t name a single flaw in her. Even the way she scrunched her nose in frustration only made his heart tighten.

They hadn’t taken that step yet. Not fully. But the growing heat between them was undeniable. Every look, every brush of the hand said what words hadn’t yet. And thank the stars, it wasn’t one-sided.

“Stop walking away from me,” he teased.

Heidara stilled, the challenge in her eyes unmistakable, and he found himself stepping forward without thinking. Privacy had been scarce since they left Nerathar. Their journey back to Centaro had been long and cold, filled with treacherous climbs, quiet hikes through frozen wilderness, and nights spent hiding behind rocks and trees, always watching for hidden Noskari. But now, in this small pocket of warmth and light, he had her.

And he wouldn’t waste it.

As he reached her, the mischief faded from her face, leaving something softer, more exposed. His hands settled at her waist as he pulled her in, their bodies aligning, and her breath hitched against him. Her gaze lingered on his lips, and when it rose to meet his again, the desire in her eyes shattered his restraint.

He kissed her, and everything else fell away. Her lips were warm and soft beneath his, and he leaned into her without hesitation. When she opened to him, he followed, deepening the moment as their breaths and movements matched naturally, until nothing beyond them seemed to exist. He didn’t want to stop.

He couldn’t stop.

Because suddenly, he was drowning—not in her, but in something cold and black. A strong pull clawed at him from within, like a phantom hand gripping his soul and dragging him under a dark sea.

Oh no, no, no…

He could still see through his own eyes, but his body no longer obeyed him. The kiss hadn’t stopped, yet it wasn’t him anymore. Something else had slipped in and the shadow he thought he’d buried now moved through him like a parasite wearing his skin.

Heidara’s scream ripped through the air, sharp enough to sting his ears, as his hand lashed out, closing around her throat with brutal, inhuman force.

Two Weeks after Vaelora’s Downfall

“Alaric.” Evelyne nudged his arm, but he didn’t respond. “Alaric!”

His nightmare had come again. Alaric’s breath sounded ragged, his limbs twitching in his sleep, the soft murmur of whimpering pulling her from her own restless doze. Evelyne blinked up at the jagged silhouette of stone above her, the tight crevice cloaked in shadow, a narrow refuge from the biting wind howling just beyond the opening.The packs pressed close together for warmth, thin furs their only barrier against the bitter stone of the mountain pass. Somewhere outside their shelter, Evelyne knew the wolves were circling quietly through the dark, keeping watch for any sign of the Noskari. Kaldrek was among them.

The bloodthirsty creatures had begun hunting them again, and every night had become a gamble. But now Evelyne could reach Kaldrek without speaking. Not because he was her alpha, but because he was her mate.

Heidara had explained it once: an alpha could speak mind to mind with other alphas and with his pack, but any wolf could do the same with a mate. Evelyne had not understood then why Kaldrek’s voice had reached her so clearly that night in Vaelora’s throne room. Why it had seemed as real as spoken sound while her fingers locked around her father’s pistol, knuckles white, and Vaelora’s wicked gaze held hers. Her chest had burned with hatred as she stood on the edge of pulling the trigger.

Do it, Evelyne.

She thought she’d heard the command aloud. Only later did she realize no sound had passed between them. It had gone straight into her mind—a silent order carried through the bond, finding her even then, minutes before her first shift, because some part of her had already been his. And when she finally shifted, she heard him again.

Since that night, everything had begun to unravel, and she had unraveled with it. There had been endless nights of tears, of grappling with the person she was becoming, of bearing the sting of betrayal and the crushing weight of truths laid bare. Learning to live as a wolf had not been easy; it was alien in every way. But now she understood more—the sharpened edge of her senses, the call of instinct, the fierce tenderness of a bond that never asked to be chosen. And now she could feel him. His emotions. His fear. His relief. His happiness.

She hadn’t meant to discover it. The day after the bond settled into place, an unexpected swell of joy moved through her, so vivid and warm that for one disorienting moment it felt like her own. But it wasn’t. It was Kaldrek’s, carried to her while he spoke with Holden, and the strange intimacy of it made confusion tighten in her chest.

What is this? she asked quietly in her mind.

His voice followed instantly. You feel my emotions when they rise, just as I feel yours. Forgive me, I’m a bit overwhelmed with happiness at the moment. You’ll just have to deal with it while I brag about my mate.

She blushed at the comment, but the sensation itself had left her reeling. She learned soon enough that the bond carried more than his joy… it carried his jealousy too. Especially the morning Alaric pulled her into a warm, friendly hug. It had meant nothing to either of them, but apparently newly bonded males were not known for their tolerance when another man stood too close. Poor Alaric never knew what hit him when Kaldrek appeared behind him, all silent heat and menace, practically breathing down his neck until he let her go.

For days, the cold had swept down from the mountain peaks with relentless force. Evelyne could shift now and make the journey faster, but Cillian had not taken that form since his first transformation—since the night he came to believe Vaelora had made him a killer. He had been quiet lately, and she let him keep his silence until he was ready to break it.

And then there was Alaric. No wolf blood ran through his veins, and dragging a wooden sled across the unforgiving terrain wasn’t exactly practical. So, they hiked—every step taken on foot, through snow and rock. Making their journey back to Centaro much longer.

Though her body ached and her lips were cracked with cold, Evelyne was grateful for the meat they had packed for the journey. Back in Nerathar, the wolves hunted snow hare, mountain elk, and some thick-coated creature she did not recognize. They smoked and dried the meat, then wrapped it in heavy hide and stored it in satchels cushioned with snow. When fortune allowed, and Alaric somehow stumbled upon a shallow cave or wind-carved hollow that seemed made for shelter, they risked a small fire deep in the stone, just enough to warm their hands and cook a proper meal.

It was strange, really, how often Alaric found what they needed. He moved as though he knew the mountain’s paths before any of them set foot on them. Even the wolves had begun casting him longer looks, touched with either amusement or curiosity; Evelyne couldn’t tell which.

Yet for all his uncanny skill in guiding them through the mountains, something about him felt… off. Over the past few days, he had spoken little, and when he did, his words felt clipped, nearly hollow. At first, Evelyne thought she might have done something to upset him, but soon she saw he treated Heidara no differently. It was a marked change from the easy warmth and playful banter they had shared when the journey home first began. Perhaps the bitter trek through the mountains was wearing on him. Unlike the wolves, he had no magic to keep the cold at bay.