They left the cabin before sunrise.
The air was cold, but not biting. Mist curled across the forest floor like smoke, soft and slow, hiding everything that might be watching. Seren walked beside Cael, each step careful and quiet. Neither of them said much, but the silence wasn't heavy. It was sharp. Alert.
They were being pulled east.
She didn't know what was there. She didn't know why she trusted the direction.
But her blood buzzed every time they turned that way. So did the baby's heartbeat.
It wasn't just instinct.
It was calling.
They walked for hours. Over roots. Through shallow streams. Past old ruins—pillars cracked with age, once carved with names, now worn blank.
Seren had questions.
She didn't ask them.
Cael didn't offer anything either. But his body language had changed. He stayed closer to her now. Let her set the pace. His eyes tracked the trees constantly, like he expected something to leap out at any second.
That meant they weren't safe.
And that meant they were close to something important.
By midday, they reached a river.
It was narrow but deep, and the current was quick. Cael scanned the edges and found a fallen tree wide enough to cross. He motioned to her, and she nodded.
She stepped up onto the bark, hands out slightly for balance.
About halfway across, the pain struck again.
Her knees buckled.
Cael caught her before she hit the water, one strong arm around her waist.
Her head dropped against his shoulder. His scent hit her fast—earth, rain, smoke.
Then the spark hit.
Hard.
A sudden heat. Deep in her chest. Not magic. Not fear.
Something older.
She inhaled sharply and pulled back.
He froze.
Their eyes locked.
Something passed between them. Thick. Real. Her heart pounded so loud it drowned the sound of the river. Her fingers still buzzed from where he touched her.
And his eyes…
They were glowing.
Bright, silver-gold.
Her breath caught.
"No," she whispered.
He stepped back.
Fast.
Like it burned him.
She stumbled onto the far riverbank, pressing her hand to her chest.
"No, it can't be."
He didn't argue.
Didn't deny it.
That was worse.
They set up camp under a rock overhang just before nightfall.
Neither of them talked about what happened.
But the air between them was charged now. Heavy. Every glance felt longer. Every accidental touch felt electric.
Seren sat by the fire, staring into the flames, replaying it in her head.
The pull she'd felt.
The bond.
It was impossible.
You weren't supposed to form a new mate bond while pregnant with another's child. The magic of the old bond should have blocked it. That's how the rules worked. The Council had said so. The Elders had said so.
But it had happened anyway.
And she'd felt it.
In her bones.
In her blood.
She looked up at Cael, who was sharpening his blade near the edge of camp, his back turned to her.
This wasn't just attraction.
It was the start of something deeper.
Dangerous.
Later that night, she found him standing alone at the edge of the clearing.
Watching the stars.
She walked to him slowly, unsure of what she wanted to say until her mouth opened.
"This shouldn't be happening."
He didn't look at her. "I know."
"I'm pregnant," she said. "This isn't—there's no space for another bond."
"I didn't choose it," he said. "Neither did you."
"But it's there."
He nodded once. "I feel it."
Her voice dropped. "What are we supposed to do?"
He finally turned to her.
And for the first time, his voice softened.
"Survive."
That word held everything. The pain. The restraint. The pressure of knowing that any wrong move might break them both.
She didn't sleep much.
Her dreams were fragmented.
A silver thread stretching between her and Cael, glowing faintly through the forest.
A hand reaching out to touch it.
Lucan's voice in the distance, cold and sharp: You think you can break fate just because it hurts?
She woke with a gasp, covered in sweat, her hands clenched into fists.
Cael was still sitting near the fire, eyes open.
He looked at her.
Didn't ask.
Didn't press.
But his gaze said it all.
He'd had the same dream.
By morning, they were moving again.
Their rhythm was different now. More aware. More reactive.
Every step, every glance, was shadowed by the new bond pulsing quietly between them—half-formed, alive but restrained.
Cael kept his distance, but only just.
He didn't touch her again.
But he didn't need to.
The pull between them was already growing stronger.
And it wasn't slowing down.
That afternoon, they came upon a marker.
A tall stone, carved with a symbol Seren had only seen once before—when she was a child, reading forbidden scrolls in her mother's study.
It wasn't pack magic.
Or vampire.
Or seer.
It was older.
Cael saw it too.
His jaw clenched. "We're close."
"Close to what?" she asked.
He didn't answer.
But the baby moved inside her—more than a flutter.
It kicked.
Hard.
And her hand flew to her belly.
Then it glowed—just for a second.
Pale blue light, right beneath the skin.
Seren gasped.
Cael was at her side instantly, steadying her.
His hand brushed her arm.
And the bond between them surged again.
This time, neither of them stepped back.