Chapter 7 Closer Than We Should Be

The forest was quieter at night, a hush that fell over the pines like a secret. The air carried a chill that clung to my skin, but it wasn’t unpleasant. I liked it best then—when the world seemed stripped bare, when the pack’s voices faded into nothing more than distant echoes. No watchful eyes. No whispers curling around me like smoke. Just the stars, the river, and the pulse of the earth beneath my boots.

Tonight, Kier walked beside me. Not as the Alpha-to-be. Not as the boy everyone pinned their future on. Just Kier—his lantern swinging lightly in his hand, the golden glow painting his jaw in a way that made him look more boy than heir, more human than wolf. The silence between us was thick, weighted with words neither of us seemed ready to speak.

“Do you ever wonder,” he said at last, voice low, like the trees might lean in to listen, “what it would be like if you weren’t the Beta’s daughter and I wasn’t the Alpha’s heir?”

The question startled me, though it shouldn’t have. Kier rarely gave voice to doubts. He carried expectations like armor, polished and heavy. But now he let the weight slip, if only for a moment.

I huffed a laugh, quick and brittle. “All the time.”

His eyes flicked toward me, curious. “So, what would you be?”

I thought about it longer than I meant to. “A traveler. I’d go to the human towns, eat food that isn’t venison and bread. Maybe even learn to dance.”

That earned me a grin—the boyish kind, the one that stripped away all the Alpha training and reminded me of summers when we were just children, racing barefoot through the creek, mud up to our knees, neither of us thinking about bloodlines or destinies. “You’d hate dancing,” he teased, eyes crinkling. “Too many rules.”

“Maybe.” I let the corner of my mouth tug upward. “But at least they’d be mine to break.”

He grew quiet after that, thoughtful, his lantern bobbing with every step. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, almost fragile. “I think I’d like to be invisible. Just for a day. No one watching me, waiting for me to lead. No one seeing only the Alpha.”

The honesty in his tone made my chest ache. Without thinking, I nudged his arm with mine. “You’re not just the Alpha, Kier. Not to me.”

He glanced down at me, lantern light sparking in his eyes. “And you’re not just the Beta’s daughter. Not to me.”

The air shifted between us then—denser, heavier, like the moment right before a storm. My heart stuttered. For a second, I thought about closing the distance, about letting myself fall into the warmth of him and whatever lay unspoken between us.

But then the memory of the pack’s cheers slammed back into me—the sound of my life being decided without my consent, of my choices swallowed by tradition. The taste of freedom I guarded so fiercely soured at the thought of surrender.

I tore my gaze away. “We should head back.”

But Kier reached out, catching my wrist, his touch light but anchoring. “Sable.” His voice was low, roughened by something I couldn’t name. “I know you’re scared. I know what your freedom means to you. But whatever happens—you won’t lose yourself. I won’t let you.”

The conviction in his words nearly undid me. I wanted to believe him. Goddess, I wanted to. But belief was dangerous. Belief was how women disappeared into the lives chosen for them, their voices dimmed until only silence remained.

Still… I didn’t pull my hand away. Not yet.

We walked on in silence, the forest folding around us, wrapping the unspoken tight. His lantern light flickered across roots and stone, the path familiar beneath our boots. Every so often, his hand brushed mine—the kind of accidental touch that wasn’t really accidental. I didn’t reach back, but I didn’t move away either.

The lodge came into view, its wide windows glowing against the night like watchful eyes. Smoke curled from the chimney, carrying the scent of pine and charred wood, grounding me in reality just when I wanted to drift into what-ifs.

Just before we reached the steps, a familiar voice cut through the hush.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

Jaxon.

He lounged against the railing like he’d been waiting, arms crossed, grin wide and wolfish. His gaze darted from me to Kier, then dropped pointedly to the narrow space between our hands. He lingered there too long, smugness radiating like heat.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” I snapped, heat climbing my cheeks.

“Oh no.” Jaxon’s smirk widened, his teeth flashing. “This is better than any bonfire. Sable and Kier, walking home under the stars. Should I hum a little tune to set the mood?”

He pressed a dramatic hand to his chest and began to sing, loud enough for the guards nearby to snicker:

🎵 “Kiss the girl, don’t be shy…” 🎵

“Jaxon!” I hissed, mortified, every inch of me burning.

But Kier only laughed, low and easy, like he had nothing to hide. “Careful,” he told my brother, voice smooth. “Your sister hits harder than she looks.”

Jaxon winked at me. “I know. But she can’t hit me if she’s too busy swooning.”

Before I could claw him across the railing, Kier leaned close, his breath warm against my ear. “Ignore him,” he murmured. “He’s just jealous.”

My heart lurched, betraying me with its thundering rhythm. I shoved past both of them, muttering, “You’re impossible.”

But the smile tugging at my lips betrayed me too.