Taken by the Lone Wolf Pt. 02

When all was quiet again, and Iris looked down, she noticed the wolf's neck was still between Dante's powerful jaws. The enemy should still be fighting, but he wasn't. He was down with a stillness Iris knew too well. A soft, broken whimper escaped her throat. Dante heard it. He watched her eyes flicker between the body and him. Shock. Unease.

Her breath hitched. She stumbled back, her paws skidding against the dirt. Her ears pinned flat, her tail curled, her entire body folding in on itself.

Dante shifted before she could pull away further. In an instant, moving fast, he reached for her. Iris snapped at him, fangs flashing, sinking her teeth into his hand, but he didn't stop. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, holding her tight, pressing against her trembling frame, grounding her, keeping her from unraveling. She wrenched her head back, shifting mid-motion, forcing herself human again.

"Oh gods, oh gods! They are going to kill me."

"No, they won't," Dante murmured into her fur, voice steady, certain. "I'll take the blame for it."

"No, no, you can't--" Her voice cracked, her hands fisting against his chest, pushing, shaking. "They'll tear you apart!"

Dante didn't let go. "They won't," he said, so sure that she had to look up, searching his face, desperately trying to understand. He was so sure. So calm.

"You don't understand," she choked out. "You killed one of them. They will never let that go."

"Have faith in me, Iris."

His grip didn't loosen.

***

Dante carried the wolf's body over his shoulders. The weight was almost unbearable for his human form, but he pushed on. The mist of dawn kept him from seeing far, and the forest was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of his footfalls against the earth. Then, as the towering walls of Locri loomed closer, the first howls reached him. One. Then another. And another. The call spread like wildfire, a ripple through the pack. Wolves emerged from the woods. Their fur bristled, their teeth flashed. Some snarled, baring their fangs in silent challenge, bodies lowering in preparation to strike.

Dante held his ground even as tension built. But then, movement from above drew their attention. The young ones gave way, their aggression tempered by respect. Two older wolves descended from the cliff, moving through their sons and nephews with quiet authority. As they reached the road, they shifted.

The alphas stood before him in human form. They were taller than most people, carrying an older version of the curse. Their frames were strong and broad. Their skin was marked by the weight of years lived as hunters, warriors, rulers. One of them stared at the body at Dante's feet, the scent of blood thick in the air. To avoid more bloodshed, Dante knelt.

He had expected fury. Judgment. Instead, their expressions were calm. Assessing.

"I came to pass through your land, and your young one challenged me, respected Alpha," Dante said with a firm tone. He would not grovel.

The alpha who still stood, the one with long silver hair, kept his expression unreadable. "And so you slew him."

Dante met his gaze. "He would not yield."

A murmur spread among the gathered wolves. Some tensed with anger, others shifted uneasily. A few, he noticed, smirked, as if amused by the boldness of it all.

The one who knelt beside the body, with dark, short brown hair, pressed a hand against the dead wolf's neck. His touch was not gentle, nor mournful, just practical. He pushed back the fur and studied the mark of Dante's fangs. After a moment, he exhaled through his nose, rising to his feet. "He was protecting his home, as we all should," he stated simply.

The younger wolves barked and howled. They were hungry for blood, and that alpha was practically giving them permission.

But the silvery wolf shook his head. His eyes flicked from the corpse back to Dante. "Indeed, he fought as a wolf should. He claimed the right of strength and lost. It is not a crime to win." His gaze sharpened. "But you are not of Locri. Your presence here is not owed to us."

The brown wolf's jaw tightened. "Arsinoe, is this not a crime? Then what shall we call it? He was one of ours, and now he is dead. Do we let strangers kill our kin without consequence?" He stepped closer to Dante, muscles coiled, like he was waiting for an excuse. "What do you think, lone wolf? That you can walk away because you fought well? That we owe you for spilling our blood?" He turned sharply to Arsinoe. "You would let this stand?"

Dante did not flinch under the weight of his words. "I did not seek his death, but he disrespected me. He would not stop," he said, holding Atreus' glare.

Arsinoe raised a hand, silencing the growing murmurs among the gathered wolves. "Enough, Atreus. The dead will be carried home and mourned. The living will decide what comes next." He pointed at Dante. "You will not leave yet." It was a command, not a suggestion. "You will come to our halls, sit at our fire, and tell us where you came from and how this death came to be," Arsinoe continued.

Dante immediately nodded. There was no refusing.

The wolves turned back toward the fortress, running home, throttling through the woods with ease, weaving between the trees. Blood still clung to Dante's skin, trailing behind him, a scent no wolf would ignore. He felt all eyes on him--some curious, some resentful, some waiting for an excuse to pounce. The trees broke, revealing the towering walls of Locri. No longer a distant fortress on the horizon, but the belly of a strange beast he was about to be swallowed by.

Inside the gates, past the courtyard, he followed the alphas through the sprawling streets. Homes built from stone, wood, and daub surrounded him. There was a heavy scent of roasting meat, freshly cured hides, and wild herbs. Wolves in human and lupine form were everywhere. But ahead, past the winding streets and clustered houses, stood the great temple. A shrine flanked by statues of wolves carved from marble, their snarling jaws frozen. A temple to whom? He didn't recognize the symbols for his goddess or any other.

Dante was taken instead to Arsinoe's hall of guests. There, warm water drawn fresh from the well was set out for him to bathe. New clothes, a clean cape. When he finally emerged, his hair was oiled and brushed, his face smooth and free of dust. He looked presentable and tamed like he'd never looked before. He knew he was being allowed hospitality for now because Arsinoe was honorable. That might not last. A beta led him forward, guiding him through the halls until they reached the grand gathering space. The scent of fire and wine thickened the air. Wolves in high-backed chairs lined the room. Their clothes were fine, their presence unmistakable. Dante stopped at the threshold and counted heads. Twelve alphas awaited him.

The six men and six women who sat before him were tall, strong, their hair touched with silver, their bodies bearing the marks of warriors. Their hands had held swords and spears. So human of them. Atreus sat near the center, draped in his deep-brown furs, his golden eyes burning hot, restless with anger. Beside him, Arsinoe, silver-haired and still, watched without emotion. Irene, a woman with iron-streaked curls and a scar running from brow to cheekbone, leaned forward.

"Tell us, stranger, how does it feel to wear the scent of our kin's blood?"

"I doubt he'll lose sleep over it," Atreus bit out.

A murmur rippled through the room, some voices thoughtful, some sharp-edged with resentment. Dante held his ground. "It brought me no pleasure to end the life of a young wolf."

A chuckle, dry and humorless, came from another alpha. Nikomedes, a lean, hawk-eyed man who sat with no comfort, almost clawing at the armrest. Arsinoe, ever the still one, raised a hand, silencing the room before the conversation could turn into something more volatile.

"Let's not mock this hearing. You were brought here to explain yourself. Tell us your story."

"I'm Dante of Dafnis, son of Myrtilus and Clymine, born in a pack that does not mark its borders because it has no need. We roam where the wind takes us, from the mountain caves to the river valleys, moving with the moon. We do not settle. We do not build walls."

Atreus narrowed his eyes. "I met a Myrtilus of Dafnis in my youth."

"If he was a black wolf with a white spot on his forehead, then that was likely my dear pa and alpha."

Arsinoe raised his voice. "Tell me then, son of Myrtilus, how is it that you stand before us without a pack?"

"I left, as every wolf must, to seek my fortune and build a pack of my own."

"Do you aspire to become an alpha, then?"

"If the goddess of love grants me her favor," Dante said evenly, "if it is my destiny to find my fated luna, I'd gladly take it."

Nikomedes let out a sharp breath, more a scoff than a laugh. "Beautiful words for a vagrant. Nothing more than a wolf with nowhere to go, stirring up trouble wherever he sets foot."

Dante's gaze flicked to him. "I aspire for peace. Your betas, however, are particularly aggressive in defending their territory. Surely you don't expect me to have rolled over to prove my good intentions?"

A few of the alphas murmured at that. Atreus leaned forward, his expression sharp.

"You killed one of ours."

Dante did not flinch. "I defended myself."

"That is not how we see it." Atreus pressed.

Dante met his gaze, unwavering. "I was given no choice but to answer. Your young cornered me. He struck first. I did not come here seeking a fight, yet when one is forced upon a wolf, what would you have him do?"

Another murmur rippled through the gathered wolves. Some, Dante could tell, were still hungry for punishment. Others seemed to be listening.

Atreus' temper was fraying. "A wolf who kills one of ours cannot simply walk away."

He was not going to let Dante go, that was clear. However, how many of the others would follow?

They gathered to deliberate. Dante was left standing and gazing at his fate. He had to trust that his goddess was looking out for him. What was the point of telling him to kill if she wasn't? But suddenly, a howl echoed from beyond the doors, reverberating through the stone walls. The commotion forced three wolves to rise and move as the source of the disruption approached. The heavy wooden doors swung open, revealing two betas struggling to restrain a woman.

"I will talk to them!" Her voice was raw with anger. She struggled against their grip. "You can't keep me out!" One of the betas pushed her back, forcing her to stumble. She did not give up. Instead, she shoved one of them aside with unnatural, desperate strength.

"Insolent child!" Atreus snarled. His golden eyes flashed, his body bent in feral instinct to attack, ready to put her in her place. "How dare you?"

Dante was struck by the sight of her: the tremor running through her limbs, the way her chest rose and fell too quickly, her hands curled into fists at her sides. Fear clutched her, yet she was still standing. He knew what it cost her to do so.

An omega should not, could not, defy an alpha. Every instinct in her body, every lesson ingrained from childhood, screamed at her to submit--lower her eyes, bare her throat, whimper for forgiveness.

She didn't kneel. She stood rigid, defiant.

Dante's chest ached. His own instinct took hold as he ran for her, prying the betas' hands from her body. He would stand between their attacks if it was needed.

The alphas watched with varying degrees of annoyance, amusement, or pure confusion. Only Arsinoe remained impassable. Her voice hiccuped, and she clutched Dante's arms, but Iris did not break.

"I come with testimony."

"Iris..."

"No, let me speak. I will not let you take the blame for this." She wiped her angry tears, standing proudly among the strongest and most feral wolves of her pack. "I am Iris, daughter of Moirae. I doubt you will remember me. I was only a cub when my mother was banned from your circle. I've been a member of Alpha Atreus' pack ever since. He treats me as nothing but a burden to his house, even though I carry my weight, feed myself, do my work, and create no problems. I have never complained about this, and it's not why I am here."

A pause, and she took a deep breath. "I am here because this morning, as I rested, your drunk sons and nephews came to my door and demanded entrance. They demanded to walk in, to mock me in my lair. And as was my right by the gods' will, I protected my home. Leander didn't die defending his home. Dante is lying to protect me," Iris cut in, her voice steady, determined. "Leander died because he thought he could do as he pleased with me. Because he thought my home was his to step into, my life was his to toy with."

A murmur rippled through the room as alphas spoke with their partners and friends.

"If that's true, where does the stranger come into the story?"

"He was at my home, taking shelter for the night. He was there to help me fight, as hospitality demanded of him. And he tried to protect me from your wrath, which is more than I should have accepted."

Atreus looked like he was about to explode, flushed and angry, a vein pulsing in his forehead. His luna and alpha mate, Lysandra, a tall, blonde-and-gray-haired titanic woman, held his arm, trying to ease his anger. She stepped forward, woman to woman.

"Youngling, I find it highly problematic that you harbored a stranger inside our town."

"I'd never, my alpha. I have lived in the forest for the past five years, ma'am. When I offered Dante a roof for the night, it was outside of your walls."

"Why the fuck did you build your house outside?" Nikomedes asked.

"... If these reasons don't matter, I don't want to talk about them, sir. Respectfully."

Another one of the alphas who'd been quiet till then spoke up. It was a dark-skinned dame with strong arms and braided hair. Her name was Evadne.

"You accuse your kin of grave crimes, then, Iris."

She shook her head. "I would have endured it in silence, ma'am, had Leander not crossed inside my home and forced this tragedy."

"I hope we are not taking this testimony at face value," Atreus said, almost snarling. "Not without hearing from Leander's friends. He was not alone, was he?"

Iris met his gaze without flinching.

"He was alone when he forced entrance, but not when they were taunting outside of my door," she said. "And I will personally give you their names. I remember each of them."

A murmur of approval from some corners of the hall. A sharp scoff from others.

Atreus exhaled sharply, turning to Arsinoe. "We should not be entertaining this."

Arsinoe finally leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his silvered gaze sweeping across the room. "We entertain nothing. We weigh the truth as it is given to us."

Iris' nails pressed into her palms, but she did not look away. Dante held her hand all the way while they were being escorted to a side room.

The moment the doors closed, he hugged her.

"What are you doing?"

"You are trembling."

She was, indeed. Answering his gesture, she hid her nose in his chest and tugged at his tunic. He was freshly bathed, and she wasn't. She still smelled like the hard day and night she had endured. But Dante smelled like comfort, like safety, and she couldn't keep herself away from that.

Dante wasn't surprised. He'd killed for her. One would've fallen for much less.

"Is this what you wanted?" he asked the air, because no answer would come from Her.

"I don't know," Iris spoke. "I just couldn't let you pay for my troubles."

"Why do the young wolves torment you like that?"

She curled down in his arms.

"My mother and father betrayed the alphas long ago. My elder brothers and sisters were slain in the fight. Those who were too young were shared among the other couples. But Atreus never cared for me as part of his family, and his kids know that. They know no one will defend me. I expected them to show up tonight, as they always do when they are drunk, but it was the first time one of them dared to break into my home."

Dante fit her head beneath his chin.

"No wolf should grow up feeling unsafe. And coming from their own pack... it's a crime against everything we are."

"It's not a crime in Locri. We belong to our alphas."

He whined and nuzzled her. An omega was an anomaly to the curse. A tamed wolf, a submissive one, should never happen--and they didn't naturally. However, with so many wolves living together, one could be pushed so low by so many different members of the pack that their very animal soul was tainted by weakness.

Dante was overwhelmed by the need to protect her.

"Do you trust them to see to justice?" he asked.

"No. I don't," Iris admitted, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Then we need to leave."

They would not wait for justice to come. They would carve their own path. Dante hatched a quick plan as Iris instructed him on the best route to the outside. Once they were certain, having drunk some water and emptied their bladders, ready for a run, they got into position.

Dante's hands closed around her throat without true force, but with enough pressure to sell the illusion. His fingers were warm against her skin, and he smiled faintly before getting into character.

"You caused all this," he snarled, voice thick with barely restrained fury.

Iris thrashed against him. She kicked out wildly, her body twisting as she gasped. "Help!" she screamed, struggling beneath him. The panic in her voice was real enough.

The two betas guarding them threw open the door.

"What the hell--"

They ran to save Iris, but they barely had a moment before Dante was on them. The first beta bent down when Dante's fist crashed into his ribs, sending him staggering back, choking on air. The second reached for his club, but Dante was faster. His elbow snapped up, striking the beta's jaw with a sickening crack, and before the man could crumple, Dante was already on the first again, striking until he fell.

Brutal. Efficient. Unrelenting.

Iris had never seen anyone fight like that. She swallowed hard, pressing herself against the door, muffling the sounds with her body. If anyone outside had heard the scuffle, it would already be over. She held her breath, listening. No footsteps. When she turned, both betas lay still.

Dante yanked the cloaks from the unconscious men and thrust one toward her.

"Put this on."

Without another word, they slipped through the door, hand in hand. Instead of turning toward the main halls where the interrogations were happening, Dante led her upstairs. The stone steps took them up onto the quiet second level. There were no guards. No voices. When they reached a balcony, Dante didn't hesitate. He jumped over the railing, landing with a roll through the dirt that braced his impact. Once he was standing again, he extended his hands to her.

"Hang from the edge and jump. I'll catch you."

Iris held onto the rail, sat down, and prepared to fall. Nervousness made her turn onto her back and not look down as she let go. She never reached the ground. Instead, she was caught in his strong arms. His fingers tightened around her body, grounding her, steadying her.

"Are you alright?"

"I am. Don't worry."

They pulled their hoods up and ran through the empty street. Once they reached busier paths, among the drifting scents of other people, their trails became harder to follow.

Instead of taking him through the gates, Iris led them to the walls and the service entrance she used for the butchery. Soon, they were back among the trees, then shifting into their lupine forms, running away under the midday sun.

They went as far and as fast as Iris could go. When her breaths came out in distressed whines, Dante found them a clearing to rest. He circled her and fussed over her, making sure she was well. They slept close together, then walked a few more miles before finding shelter in a cave.

By then, three days had passed. The spring heat was intense. Iris was used to fasting for days, but not with that amount of exertion. When she turned back to her human form, her entire body ached, and her hands trembled. Dante, however, was still energized.

"I'll go around and scout, see if I can find us something to eat." He touched his head to hers before running out.

Iris sat with her back to the wall, taking a moment to breathe. She had never spent days at a time as a wolf or lived without the basic structure of a house, a bed, a latrine. Yet, whenever she expected Dante to lose his patience, he surprised her. The dark wolf didn't bother to judge her. Instead, he simply moved on to solutions. He allowed her to rest, searched for food on his own, circled around their havens to ensure there was no danger.

Dante was treating her like no one else ever had. And he was sticking around when she expected him to just split and move on with his travels.

The cave was ample and spacious, as big as a palace--dry, and somewhat hidden. One had to be close to the rock to find the entrance. Yet it seemed to not be completely forgotten. Here and there, she saw vestiges--a circle of rocks for a fire, pieces of pottery. On the deeper wall, there were small statues of women.

"I'm sorry for intruding in your temple," she said to no one in particular, just to be safe. Her heart ached, but that wasn't a new feeling. What was new was the restlessness she felt, suddenly, for being alone. "I didn't like living there anyway, so why am I sad?"

However, Dante's scent lingered on her, and that was a comfort. Iris dried her eyes.

"Mistress, for so long I asked for help. Is he whom you sent?"

Dante ran until his breath became strained, until the pounding of his heart seemed to speed from exertion rather than uncertainty.

"Huntress! Please..." The call left his lips before he could stop himself.

A doe, pale as mist, stepped soundlessly from the brush.

Dante let out a sharp gasp. He shifted, knees hitting the dirt, hands clasped together, head bowed to the ground in absolute reverence. The air around him shifted, cold as night dew.

"My hound. Is the path ahead not clear?"

He exhaled, pressing his forehead lower against the earth. "Mistress... have I done as you wanted?"

The doe regarded him, her dark eyes reflecting some eerie light.

"Do you have doubts? I'm pleased, Dante. You are part of my pack, worthy of the name."

His breath caught.

"But what do I do now?" With furrowed brows, he looked up.

The doe leaned back, circling him. "Whatever you want. Aren't you my hound? My hunter? Go where you'd find game and prey."

"But Iris..."

"What bothers you?"

Dante swallowed hard. What was the word for it? A pull. He had always followed the scent of prey, the scent of blood, the call of gods. Now he was...

"I have been devoted to you all this time. No other commands my heart. I have hunted beasts and destroyed rivals."

"Do you fear she will slow you down? That she will blunt your fangs and claws? She has no such power. You'll continue to do so. Just maybe, not so alone now."

His fingers curled into the dirt. "Is that your will?"

A pause. Then, laughter, soft as wind through the trees.

"The gods command plenty, but not all. I'm not the mistress of your heart, Dante."

The wind stirred the trees, a shift in the air. He blinked, and the doe was just that--an animal lost in its wanderings.

Iris woke to the sound of paws striking the dirt, rhythmic, insistent. The black shape moved at the edge of the cavern. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"What do you need?"

Dante's ears flicked, and then he turned, stepping toward her before tilting his head toward the entrance. She understood. He had found something. She pushed herself up and walked with him, her own form shifting mid-step, limbs stretching, bones rearranging.

The scent hit her as soon as she reached his side. A doe, young and healthy. A prize worth chasing.

The animal was too fast, too strong for a lone wolf to take down. But together, they had a chance. They ran. Iris didn't know what to do, but Dante did. He used her to push the animal forward while he circled and flanked. The doe tired eventually, and they fell upon her. Teeth met flesh, fangs tore into the throat, and the struggle was brief. The creature stilled beneath them, its final breath escaping in a sharp, fleeting sigh.

For a long moment, they just stood there, panting, blood warm on their muzzles. They had won.

Dante pulled back first, stepping aside. His chest rose and fell with exertion, but there was something satisfied in the way he moved. He nudged the carcass toward her, lowering his head in quiet offering.

Iris hesitated. He had done most of the work, had led the hunt, had taken the risk--but he was giving the best of it to her. She stepped forward slowly, sinking her teeth into the softest part of the kill. The meat was warm, rich with fat, more than she had eaten in a long time.

Dante settled beside her, tearing into his own share.

They burned part of the carcass as an offering to the nymphs that lived in the cave. With bellies full, they snuggled to sleep. This time, Dante wasn't reserved with his affection. He lay close to her, his head over her neck. The comfort overwhelmed all of her senses, and she slept peacefully.

Dante remained awake, listening to the soft rhythm of her breathing. His chin felt each quiet thump of her heart.

"What do I know about her?" Dante wondered. "I know she was brave enough to challenge her pack for me. I know she's smart. I know she's lonely. I suppose most of her is hidden away beneath her fear."

He thought of the way she sniffed him all over whenever he returned, how her hands, her paws, searched for any sign of injury. The way her hair shone in the sunlight, the rare, fleeting smile that touched her lips when she forgot to be guarded.

He exhaled, low and deep. His chest rumbled with something dark and instinctive at the thought of mounting her.

"But I could find out... I don't need to decide anything now."

Until then, she was safe beneath his watch. That was enough.

Iris shook her head frantically. "You know you don't need to keep fighting," she said. "We can part ways. I bet they'd only come after me. But I'll run away and find a place to hide."

Dante let out a whine. He turned his gaze to the distant tree line, where the morning mist still clung to the underbrush. "I'd never let them hurt you."

Iris opened her mouth, then hesitated. The words died on her tongue. There was no humor in his voice, no bravado, no wild foolishness. Just the truth. A promise given openly and in a heartbeat.

She shook her head, pressing her lips together. "Then we should just run. It's safer."

Dante chuckled. "Iris, I don't run." He leaned forward slightly, his nails scratching the rock gently. "I ran from Locri because I wanted to make sure they wouldn't hurt you. But now I can keep you safe and hunt them down. Let them come."

She let out a breath, frustrated. "You are too sure of yourself. You can't take them all."

He smiled at that. "Not in the open. But I already know how to deal with that."

"Dante..."

"Trust me to keep us safe, all right?"

"It's not that I don't trust you, it's just... Menelay has a lot of brothers and friends."

"They are many, but they are not hunters. I am."

He bit her hand with playful intent. Iris pushed him away, shame burning up in her.

"If you die, don't come haunting me. I tried to keep you alive!" she shouted, walking away.

Dante came running after her, whining. Sometimes he couldn't pretend to be human even when it was necessary to save his skin.

"I will not die, Iris. I promise you."

"I don't care if you do anyway."

He pulled her hand with a gentle grip. Iris was trembling.

"I will not die," he repeated. "Not to those idiots. And not before I'm sure you are free and well."

"You should take care of yourself. It would be easier."

A step closer. Iris watched his shadow approaching before she felt his warmth at her back. And then, his hand was over her heart, his mouth close to her ear.

"I killed for you once, and I'll kill for you as many times as fate asks me to."

I don't need your protection, she wanted to answer, but that was a lie. She needed help, and she needed to feel safe for longer, or she'd go mad. She needed the food he hunted, and she needed his warmth on cold nights.

"I'm taking advantage of you."

He laughed.

"You cannot take what I give freely, Iris."

Dante decided to stay right where they were. The place was hidden, there was enough game around to keep them fed, and he could use the caves to set up an ambush. They'd spent one day just resting--if they weren't waiting for the worst, they'd spend the entire week. Wolves could go days without eating anything, but Dante had a lot more fat to burn than Iris. Besides, feeding her was an important part of...

Not that he was courting her. They barely knew each other. But if he wanted to, bringing food would be a perfect first step.

Dante wished his mom was around. She'd know what sort of advice to give.

"Why did you leave your pack?" Iris asked as she was taking the rabbit out of the fire.

"Well, it's what we do when we grow up. One can stay with their alphas, but then you will always be a pup, right? And I wanted to grow up."

"So you just walked out?"

Dante shook his head.

"Not like that. I went after a big game they didn't want to pursue. After I slayed it, I just didn't go back."

He'd been called to run with a different sort of hunter.

"Do you miss them?"

"Pretty much every day. But you focus on survival, and you kind of forget it."

She agreed with an understanding that was too deep. So he asked:

"What happened to your mother and father?"

Iris cut the rabbit's leg and gave it to Dante, then cut strips from the belly for herself.

"I just know what I was told. They were betrayers to the idea of Locri. As I grew up, I guessed that they didn't like how things were going or that they prayed to other gods. They were... trying to change how things worked. The other alphas didn't like it."

Dante tore a bite off the meat while he reflected. There was something unsettling about the way she spoke--a dispassionate, monotone voice, like she had made peace with it long before she understood what it truly meant.

"They owed you an explanation."

She shrugged, looking down.

"I think I wasn't even supposed to remember them. Like, the alphas erased the fact that my parents even existed. They spread my brothers and sisters among the families because if we didn't know each other, there wouldn't be any ghosts left to stir up old loyalties."

She laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. She tossed another piece of meat into her mouth.

"But Atreus and Lysandra never cared enough about me. So I became this. A reminder they didn't want, a loose end too insignificant to cut, but too much of a bother to keep close. My brothers and sisters were raised in the other alphas' families, and they don't give a damn about me or our parents. We look alike, and that's the only reason I even know we're related--because we don't talk. I'm the only one that still feels like an orphan."

Dante's jaw tensed as he struggled with words. He knew that there weren't any words that could change what had already been done to her.

"You're better off without them," he said after a moment.

"I'm starting to believe that." She turned to him, and her smile was warm as the embers of the fire. She gave him a sidelong glance, her brows knitting together. "You really think holding ground is better than trying to outrun them?"

"Yes." He turned to her, eyes dark, determined. "Running means leaving too much to chance. We could be cornered in an open field, forced into terrain we don't know. Here, we have cover. We have a defensible position. If we run, they chase. If we stay, we control the fight."

Iris exhaled through her nose, pressing her tongue against the inside of her cheek. "You sound like you've been in this situation before."

Dante's gaze flickered.

"Yes, I've been hunted before."

"By what?" she asked, incredulous.

"Many things. Men. Monsters. Gods and nymphs."

"Pff, you liar."

"You can't pray to Artemis as a wolf and not expect a test every once in a while." He chuckled and didn't elaborate.

Iris leaned back against the rock wall, considering their situation. Still, the idea of waiting, of knowing that at any moment the trees could spill out danger, sent a restless shiver through her bones.

"We don't know how many there'll be," she murmured.

Dante cracked his knuckles absently, his expression unreadable. "Doesn't matter."

Iris scoffed. "It kind of does."

"More than us. Fewer than a war. We can take it."

Iris shook her head, but there was something reassuring about his certainty.

"We'll need to prepare," she admitted.

Dante nodded. "Then let's get to work."

They spent the next few hours mapping space and discussing strategies.

***

By the time they finished setting up their defenses, Iris was flushed with heat, her skin damp with sweat. The afternoon sun burned high, the air thick and heavy with warmth. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and turned toward the river.

"We should take a swim to cool down," she said, already unfastening her tunic's belt. "The heat is making me dizzy."

Behind her, Dante let out a low, reluctant whine. She paused, glancing over her shoulder. "What?"

He folded his arms, gaze shifting away. "I'd rather stay out of the water."

Iris frowned. "You don't like swimming?"

"I don't know how." His voice was gruff, dismissive, like he didn't care.

She blinked, then grinned. "Oh, do you want me to teach you?"

"No." His answer was immediate, flat.

Iris barked out a laugh. He was so blunt, so utterly unwilling to entertain the idea, that she couldn't help but be amused. "I'd never have guessed you were afraid of the water."

Dante bristled, his frown deepening. "I'm not."

Ah, so that's it. She tilted her head, watching the way he stiffened, the slight edge of defensiveness in his posture. He didn't want her to see his weakness.

"I don't mind if you are," she said, her tone light, but there was something softer beneath it. "But I'd like to show you how to swim. I think you'd enjoy it."

Dante studied her, his dark eyes searching. For a moment, she thought he'd refuse outright again, but then he shook his head, agreeing.

"I'll stay where my feet touch the bottom," he muttered.

Iris grinned, unable to hide her satisfaction. "Of course."

She stepped out of her tunic and hung it to dry on a branch. His eyes followed her every step of the way until water covered her shoulders. She slipped into the river, sighing as the cool water lapped at her overheated skin. It felt perfect, refreshing, washing away the grime of days and days of travel and work.

Dante hesitated on the shore, watching her as if the water might suddenly reach out and drag him under.

Iris turned back with a smile. She looked so different without her black curls peeking out from a wrapped bun.

Dante exhaled sharply and took off his own tunic. Iris enjoyed the sight of his body as he walked in. If I die tomorrow, at least I had today, she thought.

When the water reached his waist, his scowl deepened. Iris laughed. Slowly, he walked in deeper. He still looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. Iris bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"You're not going to die," she teased.

He gave her a flat look. "I don't trust things I can't fight."

"You could fight the river. You just wouldn't win."

"Exactly."

She reached out a hand, treading water effortlessly. He hesitated. She could see it in the way his expression tensed, every instinct screaming at him to stay where it was safe. But he reached for her anyway. His hand found hers, warm despite the chill of the water, fingers rough with calluses.

She swam closer and touched her lips to his chin, then his cheek, then his lips. She let herself be carried off the ground by the water, holding onto him.

Dante let out a small snarl. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer, his grip firm, as if afraid she might disappear beneath his touch. He tilted his head, pressing into the kiss. He was so warm, demanding her enthusiasm at once.

Iris sighed into it, her body molding against his as the current passed them.

Dante pulled back just enough to press his forehead against hers. His breaths came short, ragged, like he had run miles without stopping.

"You--" His voice was rough, almost accusing.

Iris smirked, trailing her fingers lightly over his shoulder. "I what?"

His fingers flexed against her waist. Possessive. Needing.

"Are you sure?" he muttered.

However, the wind changed right then, bringing in the scent of other wolves.

Menelay led the pack through the underbrush, then the sparse trees, the hills, and the steppes. Fifteen wolves followed him, running as fast as they could, their breaths heavy, their muscles tense. The air was thick with the scent of dry earth, olive and oleander trees, and the distant, lingering traces of their prey. He had expected the chase to be swift, that they would close in on the outsiders within hours. Yet, hours stretched into five days, and still, Dante and Iris remained ahead of them, slipping through the terrain faster than the wind carried their scents back.

He had always prided himself on his skill, on his instincts as a hunter, but this chase was humiliating. The outsider had made a fool of him before the entire pack, and now he was failing to reclaim his dignity. The life of his cousin had been reaped. He had to make things right, by the glory of Lycaon's blood.

Menelay could feel Iris's scent in the air, the one he was most used to. So, so faint, but still there.

They stopped at the edge of a forest that extended beneath giant rocks. The others behind him whined, restless, but no one dared question him outright. The weight of their doubt pressed down on his conscience. Their patience was wearing thin. Not one of them was a hunter of long distances.

Had he miscalculated? Had he underestimated this so-called stray? Had he wasted too much time, let them slip too far? The thought made his skin crawl. He had always been one of the best among Atreus' sons. The strongest, the fastest, the most cunning. So why did it feel like he was losing?

They pressed on, moving in formation, a disciplined wave of bodies threading through the dense woodland. No words. Only the rustling of leaves, the breaking of twigs, the steady pulse of breath and hunger.

Then, a shift in the wind. Menelay stopped short. His ears pricked, his nostrils flaring as a familiar scent drifted toward him. Smoke, ash, and something faint but unmistakable. Iris's skin. Her sweat. Her musk. They were finally close.

He could already picture how this would end--the outsider on his knees, bloodied and exhausted, his neck cut. Iris dragged back to face her rightful punishment.

Menelay turned, nodding toward his wolves and communicating through their wordless language of wolf-signs. We move quietly now.

They surged forward, throttling as quietly as the ground allowed them.

The cave came into view after a soft climb. A gaping maw of dark stone, half-hidden by vines and brush. Smoke still lingered in the air. Menelay slowed. The wolves behind him halted, panting, waiting. He inhaled deeply, tasting the air. Something was wrong.

The scent was stale. Faint. The smoke was not fresh. His stomach twisted. They had set camp? Did they think they wouldn't be found?

His eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light, scanning for movement, for signs of life. There was the fire, the battered earth where they had laid to sleep, and where the smell concentrated. A few bones scattered near the ashes. He strode deeper, his mind reeling. No. This wasn't right.

A deep sniff. The scents of the deeper cave came--mold, lichen, water, different kinds of stone. And then, their scents. Fresh. He ran inside, into the darkness. But as soon as the path narrowed and split into many corridors, he realized what they had done. Their trail was everywhere, taking up all the space. He couldn't tell which way they had gone because at some point they had walked through all the paths and left their fresh scent everywhere.

Menelay stood at the threshold of the branching tunnels, his nostrils still flaring as he tried to separate the overlapping scents. His gut churned. He had thought this was the moment, the victory he had been clawing toward for days. But now, as he stood at the mouth of too many paths, doubt gnawed at him. They had outmaneuvered him. Again.

He turned to his human form to speak, barely containing his anger:

"They are here. Spread out to find where they are hiding. Go in groups of three. We got them, now let's end this."

His younger brothers hesitated, then nodded. The others followed, and so they ran into different tunnels. Menelay went straight. He felt the presence of his own group behind him, but they gave him no sense of security. They were in greater numbers, but with no idea where to go.

The cave twisted and turned into corridors that seemed to grow larger, then narrower, without warning.

His nose was not tricking him. The scent was getting stronger and stronger, closer and closer. Until they found the source. The skin of a rabbit, dirty with Iris's sweat, piss, and spit, beginning to decompose.

Menelay screamed in rage. The sound echoed, and so, he took a moment to realize that his own howl had mixed with someone else's. A cut-off, strangled sound. The wolves froze. One of them whined like a puppy.

Menelay turned his head. They began to run back. It seemed like they spent an eternity inside those stone halls before the scent of blood reached him--faint, but fresh. His stomach tightened. Another scream came from the tunnels he hadn't taken, this one a gurgling, wet noise. And then silence.

His claws dug into the ground. The wolves of his pack were strong hunters, born to the chase and kill, trained to fight as both man and wolf. They didn't just disappear into the dark. They wouldn't die dishonorable deaths.

He ran as fast as he could. The whine of a wolf called him forward, but it wasn't one of his comrades. It was the high-pitched sounds Iris made. He snarled, speeding up. He was going to kill her.

Something shifted above him. Instinct screamed for him to move just as a shadow dropped from the ceiling.

Menelay twisted just in time. A dark shape dropped from above--a blur of fangs and black fur--colliding with his second-in-command instead. It happened in an instant. The black wolf latched onto the smaller wolf's throat, tearing and kicking with brutal force. There was no struggle. The wolf's prey hung limp, still caught in the savage grip.

They locked eyes, and Dante spilled his friend's blood, baring red teeth in a challenge. The bastard had been waiting for him. Menelay's throat went dry, his breaths came short. They weren't hunting. They were being hunted.

He could at least take that fucker down. He was surrounded. Two against one.

Then he heard the steps and looked back. Iris stepped out of a curve. The sharp point of her makeshift lance buried deep in his back. Menelay lunged for her, but she was too fast, too smart. She slipped back into the black before he could sink his fangs into her leg. After her he went.

But the corridor spread out in multiple paths, and he wasn't sure where she had gone. Another turn, another narrowing passage, too quiet. He was so furious, so mad. All he could think of was how he would destroy her.

Then he heard the paws behind him.

Menelay spun, heart hammering against his ribs. Dante stood at the mouth of the corridor, blocking the only way out. Huge, black as a shadow, his fur slick with blood that wasn't his own. His tongue flicked over his teeth, lapping at the crimson still wet on his lips, his eyes glowing with primal hunger.

Menelay snarled, trying to convince himself as much as Dante that he wasn't afraid. That he still had control. That he was still the hunter here. He could still fight. He had to fight. He wasn't about to die in some gods-forsaken cave, dragged into the dark like a helpless pup.

Dante lunged. Teeth buried deep into his shoulder. Menelay's vision flashed white-hot, the force of the impact slamming him against the stone wall. He thrashed, claws raking at thick fur, but Dante was massive and unyielding. A deep, vibrating growl rattled through Dante's chest, a warning as much as a promise.

You lost.

No--no, he hadn't. Menelay roared, wrenching himself free, staggering back. He turned to run, to get back to his wolves, to regroup-- Another shape moved behind him. Soft steps. A presence so quiet he almost didn't hear it.

Iris. He twisted, but the wolf held him in place. Her lance struck again, low, cruel, piercing the soft belly. Menelay choked on the air in his throat. For a second, he didn't even feel it. Then, agony.

The lance wrenched free, and he collapsed. He gasped, struggling to focus, his body trying to shift--to heal--but it was too much. The wound was too deep. His blood pooled, dizziness creeping in. His paws clawed uselessly at the stone, dragging red streaks across the cold earth.

Above him, Dante loomed, silent, watching. Iris knelt beside him. Her breath was steady. Not afraid. She had always been so afraid.

Menelay's chest heaved. His body screamed at him to get up, to finish this. But he couldn't. Blood seeped into the dirt beneath him. His vision blurred at the edges, his mind clawing for something, anything to hold onto.

***

Dante exhaled, shaking out his fur. The last of the fight had been thunderous, but now all rested quiet in the tunnels. There was no one left to hunt them.

Iris stood beside him, the dim glow of the moon filtering in through the cave mouth, casting silver over her skin. She was still gripping the lance, its crude wooden tip slick and dark. She hadn't let go since she struck Menelay down. Dante watched her, waiting for her to drop it, to wipe her hands on her tunic, to do anything but stand there, frozen.

"You can let go now," he murmured.

She blinked, as if hearing him from somewhere far away. Then, slowly, her fingers uncurled from the wood. The lance slipped from her grip, clattering against the stone.

Dante touched her shoulder. "Come on. We should go."

She nodded, silent, but didn't move right away. He could smell it on her--the exhaustion, the rage wearing off. She had been running on instinct, on fear and necessity, but now the fight was over, and all that was left was the blood sticking to her skin, drying against her hands.

They left without looking back.

The night was cool as they emerged from the cave, the wind carrying the past still in its arms, bringing scents of wolves now dead, of fires extinguished. Fresh air after the stale, stifling breath of the tunnels. The forest stretched before them, dark and endless. The only sound was the rustling of leaves and the distant trickle of the river.

Iris stumbled slightly, and Dante was at her side in an instant, steadying her. She was barefoot, her steps uneven, and he could feel how thin she was beneath his hands.

"The river," she whispered.

He nodded, already leading the way. The moonlight guided them, a pale path between the trees, and after what felt like hours, they finally reached the water.

The river was wide and slow-moving, its surface rippling in the bright night light. The scent of clean water, moss, and stone wrapped around them. Dante let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Iris wasted no time. She peeled off her tunic, bloodstained and torn, letting it drop onto the riverbank. She walked in, jumping inside as soon as the depth allowed for it. The river wasn't too cold. More than warmth, she wanted to wash away the filth. She sank beneath the surface, letting the water take her, cleanse her.

A splash echoed. Dante swam disastrously beside her until he was pulling her up to the air again.

"Don't go underwater. I can't see you."

His chest rose and fell, slow and even, but she could tell he was just as exhausted, just as spent. Still, his instinct was to protect her. To come for her safety. What else could she ask for?

"I'm sorry. I won't, I promise."

Dante hugged her. His hands rested on the soft flesh of her lower back, caressing it. And all he could think of was how the moonlight reflected on her eyelashes.

"I should feel different," she admitted, voice barely above the current. "I thought killing him would change something. That it would..."

He reached over, cupping water in his hands and letting it trickle over her shoulder, washing away the last traces of blood.

"They are dead, and you aren't. That's what matters."

Neither of them moved for a long moment. The river held them, the current pulling gently at their bodies, cradling them in the quiet. Dante finally turned, dunking himself fully beneath the surface. He reemerged with a sharp inhale, rubbing at his face, washing away the grime of the fight.

He watched as Iris tipped her head back, letting the water soak through her tangled hair, catching on her wet skin. His chest tightened with desire.

Eventually, the cold began to bite. They walked out together, turning into wolves as soon as they were out of the water. The stars stretched wide above them.

They didn't go far. The river's song followed them as they lay down beneath the trees, the earth still warm beneath their backs. Dante settled around her, his large furry body warming her in minutes.

For the first time since leaving Locri, sleep came easily for Iris.

Dante led Iris through the thinning forest. The trees gave way to the open steppe after the third day, and the land stretched vast before them. During that stretch of the journey, Dante circled her again, his dark shape weaving around her every few minutes, scanning the air, ensuring she was keeping pace, checking if her bad leg was beginning to give again.

The first time they met, his fussing had been irritating. Now, she craved it. Every time he brushed too close, her breath caught. Energy coiled deep in her stomach. She wanted to bite him, sink her teeth into him, and not let go.

When the sun dipped low, streaking the sky in amber and violet, they stopped to rest. They were high on the hills, overlooking a vast valley of farms and fields. In the distance, a walled city was visible, its torches and fires flickering against the dusk. The first city Iris had ever seen besides her home.

Whenever they rested, they shed their wolf forms to talk. As humans, with their bodies weary, their tunics torn and stained with sweat and dirt, they looked feral. Iris's braid had almost completely unraveled, wild strands curling around her face, and her sandals were falling apart, their straps barely holding.

To Dante, she had never looked more beautiful.

She ran a finger over the weakened leather of her sandal. "I might have to find new shoes soon."

Dante gave her a lazy smirk. "You can get used to walking barefoot. Like a little forest nymph."

She snorted. "I'd be the least graceful nymph ever." Iris tilted her head. "Why are we going west?"

"I was going there before I stopped at Locri. There's talk of a monster attacking peasants in a town by the sea. I want to know what that really is."

Iris frowned. "If that's the reason you were heading west, why stop at Locri at all?"

"I always take some detours."

"For what?"

He exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand along his jaw as if weighing the answer. Then, finally, he said, "I serve a goddess. The goddess spoke to me and said she had need of me around that town."

"Dante, are you telling me you are--what? An oracle?"

He smirked, but there was a nervous hesitation in his words. "No! I don't have visions or anything like that. I just obey when she tells me to do stuff."

"It's not that I don't believe you, it's just that I've never heard anyone talking to the gods, even in the temple."

"Well, it's no surprise. You know we all come from the same family, deep down? The man who was turned into a wolf? Well, it wasn't just a transformation. It was a curse from the gods. In Locri, where they believe the curse is a blessing, the gods will never show up. And if they do, it won't be for good things. My visit wasn't, for sure. It was divine punishment."

Iris hugged herself. "... It was good, you know? For me, at least."

Dante held her hand, caressing her fingers.

"After what you said a few nights back, that your parents wanted things to be different and got killed for it, I started thinking... I figured maybe they were trying to live like my family, you know? Trying to break free of Lycaon's curse instead of taking pride in it. And I believe that Artemis liked them and wanted you to be safe after everything."

"What? No way!"

"I mean it."

He hugged her shoulders, and she eased into resting her head against him. Iris played with the frays of his clothes.

"You mean Artemis, the goddess of the hunt?"

"And the moon, and wildlife, and protector of young women."

Realization made her sigh.

"Do you think she's looking out for me?"

"I guess so. At first, I thought facing Locri was my test, but once we crossed paths, I realized I was really there to help you. I mean, she hasn't confirmed it, but I think it's true."

Iris frowned, rubbing her palms together. "I should thank her, then."

Dante seemed to agree. He caressed her nape, and Iris closed her eyes.

"But I believe that the wolves coming after us were definitely a challenge."

"Oh, for sure! And we passed gloriously as a team."

"Wouldn't she mind that we were dishonorably setting up a trap?"

"Maybe. You never know how the gods really want you to do something. It wasn't a fight head-on, but, I mean, humans can't defeat beasts, so they use lances, bows, and hounds. I like to think I'm resourceful, and Artemis appreciates that. Besides, they were cowardly first, sending so many after us."

Iris closed her eyes. The sunset was over, and the trees were swallowed by pitch darkness. They curled together to sleep, but Dante still felt too excited to rest.

"Iris, your smell is changing, did you realize that? You are not afraid anymore."

"I suppose I'm not." She inhaled slowly, relaxing against him.

Dante nuzzled into her hair, breathing her in. "It suits you."

Iris huffed a soft laugh, eyes still closed. "What does?"

"Confidence."

She shook her head, though she couldn't hide the small smile pulling at her lips. Confidence. She had never thought herself capable of it--she was an omega. Confidence was a feeling for alphas. It had been easier to survive in silence, to avoid conflict, to let the weight of her place in the pack press her down because it was easier than standing up. But then, the world had shifted.

They had fought. They had won.

Dante's arm curled around her waist, his warmth pressing close. He lifted himself just enough to loom over her. She looked back, and his mouth was just there, within reach.

"You know what else you smell like?" he whispered.

"What?"

The hoarseness of his voice made her shiver.

"Heat, lust, and a desperate need for me over you."

Her fingers curled into his tunic, pulling him down that last inch. Their lips met, warm and soft. Dante inhaled sharply through his nose, and then he melted into it, pressing closer, his mouth opening to fit against hers, deepening the kiss with a quiet growl of satisfaction and the slow, possessive caress of his tongue. His hands skimmed up her sides, drawing her in.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, gently marking his skin. She was floating in the comfortable warmth of his body. Every place he touched burned, every breath between them thick with want. His hands, rough from fighting, from running, from survival, knew exactly where to hold her, where to make her shiver.

His mouth left hers only to drag along her jaw, nipping at the sensitive skin beneath her ear, down the slope of her throat, over her collarbone. His teeth scraped, teasing, just enough to make her shudder. Her breath hitched when he caught the edge of her tunic and pushed it up, fingers pressing over bare skin, warm, possessive. He hesitated.

"Have you done this before?"

Iris sighed, exasperated. "My first heat happened when I was seventeen. It sucked."

He licked her cheek, affectionate.

"I just want to know how careful I need to be."

She pulled on the clasps of her tunic, and her breasts, soft and round, glowed in the moonlight.

"I'm not a pup, and neither are you."

He laughed, breathless. His fingers ran over her nipples, teasing them to hardness with slow, indulgent caresses. He untied the knot at her waist, peeling the fabric away. There she lay--bared to his hands, his mouth, his claws, his fangs. She kissed his chin, scraped her nails through his hair, and arched beneath him. Her fingers slipped under the edges of his tunic, dragging over the ridges of his back, tracing the scars and muscle that told the story of a life spent fighting.

With a pull, his clasp was undone just as well.

A growl rumbled in his chest as he pressed her down, skin to skin, heart to heart. Iris lifted her hips in answer, in invitation, and Dante settled between her legs, hungry. His erection rubbed just right against her clit, the friction between their bodies intoxicating.

His mouth was suddenly everywhere--her neck, her shoulders, the swell of her chest, her nipples. His hands framed her waist, pulling her closer. He filled her all at once, smoothly, without pain--so wet she was with desire.

They breathed in sync, shivering.

"Does it feel good?" he asked, gentle, worried.

"It does. Please, move..."

Dante swayed back, then thrust in again, their hips meeting with a loud slap.

Her scent overtook his skin, his chest, his lungs. Sweet. Overwhelming. His lips found hers again, desperate, consuming, their arms tangled, their bodies locked together. His hips moved on their own, pushing pleasure deeper and deeper into her.

Iris felt the wind of orgasm stirring low in her stomach. She hooked her ankles around his back, pulling him closer, and the breeze became a whirlwind. It tore through her, unraveling her in wave after wave of raw pleasure. A moan, a cry, escaped her lips.

Dante gripped her knees, lifting them higher, his pace snapping into something relentless, chasing his own peak like a wolf chasing a rabbit through the hills. Iris could only take him--helpless, mindless--while another climax built, then broke, shaking her apart all over again.

Then it all became a little warmer, a little more slippery, and a lot tighter. His cock swelled inside her, locking into place. A knot, deep, pulsing. Dante trembled above her, sweat dripping, muscles taut, riding out his own release. She felt herself tipping over the edge once more, stretched, claimed, taken. Owned. Bred like the she-wolf in heat she was.

"Doesn't it hurt?" he murmured, fussing, sniffing, searching for any trace of distress. His arms wrapped gently around her ribs, holding her close.

"It feels fucking amazing, and if you keep moving, I'm gonna come again."

"I'm stretching you too much, heart. I'm afraid I'll hurt you..."

"You won't. Just--just rock into me a little. I'm close..."

He laughed, a boyish, breathless sound, and pumped his hips a few more times. The movement squeezed into the most sensitive part of her, and stars exploded behind her eyes. Her final orgasm ripped through her, a cry so loud she half expected something in the distance to howl back.

They lay tangled together, waiting, the knot keeping them locked in place. Their legs entwined to make the awkward position more comfortable.

Dante brushed his fingers over her chest, circling the soft peaks of her breasts, lazy and satisfied.

"I'm so sensitive... I had forgotten what it was like," she murmured.

"Weren't you having heats?"

"No. After the first few, I was so stressed out that my body shut it down. And when I started developing omega heats, I drank suppressant tea. I didn't want the other wolves getting ideas."

"Omega heat?"

"It's a fear response... Your body tries to make you endeared to the pack, I guess. I was in heat every month, and every time a dominant wolf was near, he could trigger it again. That's another reason I started to live alone. It was too much to manage."

Dante squeezed her tight, like he could make the bad memories drip away from her body and disappear.

"I'll never let you go through something like that again."

"I know you won't. I... I can feel it when you hold me. I trust you."

He bit her shoulder gently. Her warmth soothed him to sleep.

***

Iris sat with her naked back against a tree and watched the night's misty blue haze blur the forest around them. The black wolf lay between her legs, his giant head comfortably nuzzled on her thigh, against her belly, nestled between her hands. He was in a deep slumber, his chest slowly rising. His fur was soft.

The forest barely stirred as she arrived. No crack of twigs, no rustle of undergrowth. Only the mist shifting, parting in thin tendrils, as if making way. Iris felt it before she saw her--a pull in the air, a tightening in the quiet. The wolf in her lap slept on, unbothered. Then, through the haze, a person. Tall. Unhurried. A presence carved from night and moonlight, in a pale brightness. The scent of leaves clung to her, edged with something sharper. Blood. The remnants of a hunt. She unstrung her bow and let it fall to the ground with her quiver and her lance. Then Iris could finally hear the animals following. She saw the silhouettes of countless spectral hounds coming after their mistress, circling them, settling on the ground to rest as Dante did.

And the huntress walked to her side and sat. Even at a distance, Iris could feel her warmth. Smell her sweat. The goddess turned her head, the silver of her eyes catching the dim light as she studied Iris. She looked at her like she already knew everything about her.

"I have watched you." The goddess's voice was quiet but rang in the air like a bowstring drawn taut. Not loud, but impossible to ignore. "I have seen you fight. I have seen you run. And I have seen you make your choice."

Iris felt her stomach tighten. She knew what was coming.

Artemis traced a slow path along Dante's spine, her lips curving slightly, as if in approval. "My hound has chosen you."

Iris's fingers twitched against the sleeping wolf's fur. "Dante is yours?" she asked carefully.

A breath of laughter, like the rustling of leaves in the dark. "He is, but he is also his own." Her gaze flicked back to Iris. "As are you."

Iris swallowed. "And what does that mean?"

The huntress tilted her head, as if considering her. "It means I am here to offer you a path. One that only you can walk."

Iris braced herself. "You want me to be yours."

"I want you to be his." Artemis gestured to the hounds around them, and then Iris noticed there were other people--women walking about, spears and bows in hand. Nymphs, almost as tall and powerful as their mistress. "I ask you this--will you run beside him?" Iris's heart pounded. "Will you be his huntress as he is my hound?"

She felt her pulse in her throat, in her wrists, in her ribs. She was an omega. She had been raised to submit, to survive, to lower her head and endure. But that wasn't what Artemis was asking of her.

She glanced down at the sleeping wolf in her lap. He had bled for her. And even now, in the quiet, in the moment between choices, she knew he would do it again. Not out of duty. Not out of debt. Because he had chosen her. From the moment he had seen her. He had trusted her, defended her, bled for her. He had taught her that she could be more than what she had been told.

Artemis leaned in slightly, her voice lower, intimate. "He will teach you to hunt. And you will teach him to live. He has been so dutiful. So selfless in his obedience. I need him to be selfish. Only then will he have the family he covets so much. He will be a hunter like no other once he stops trying to die for me."

Iris exhaled sharply, her hands tightening on Dante's fur. She lifted her gaze to meet the goddess's. Artemis smiled, slow and knowing.

***

The next morning, the world stretched wide before them. The forest had thinned, giving way to open hills bathed in golden light. The sky was clear, the wind crisp with the scent of distant sea air. Iris's smaller wolf trotted beside Dante, her strides lighter than they had ever been. There was no urgency in their pace now. No looming threat. No chase behind them.

She tilted her head back, letting the sun warm her fur. It felt strange--this feeling of ease. Of waking up without the weight of someone else's decisions pressing down on her. She had spent so long thinking about survival that she had never imagined what came after it.

Dante glanced at her, amused. He huffed, nudging her with his shoulder in a way that sent her stumbling slightly, forcing her to snap her jaws at him in retaliation. His playful growl vibrated through the morning air, and before she could stop herself, Iris nipped at his flank and bolted. Dante barked in surprise, then let out a deep, resonant growl. He tore after her, his powerful strides closing the gap in moments. Iris yelped as he snapped at her tail--not hard enough to hurt, just enough to warn her that she was not getting away so easily. She veered sharply, her paws kicking up dust and dew, weaving through the tall grass, trying to outmaneuver him.

Dante had other plans. He lunged, his weight slamming into her side just enough to tip her off balance. Iris tumbled into the grass, rolling onto her back, panting and laughing through the bond before he landed above her, pinning her with ease. His dark muzzle hovered over hers, his fangs flashing in amusement.

Iris squirmed beneath him, feigning irritation, but the warmth in his gaze made her pulse quicken. He didn't move away. Instead, he bent down, rubbing his nose along her jaw, inhaling deeply. A low, content sound rumbled from his chest. She smiled, and without another word, they walked on--side by side, the wind at their backs, no longer running from the past but toward something new.