Aurora woke to a pounding in her chest that wasn't hers.
It was Damien's heartbeat.
Not a metaphor. Not a feeling.
Literal. Raw. Loud.
Her breath caught as she sat up, the bond between them humming just beneath her skin. She felt his tension, his restlessness — and something sharper…
Hunger.
Not for food. Not for her, not yet.
For violence.
She threw on her coat and boots, ignoring the ache in her temples. It was still dark outside, though the clock read just past 6 a.m. A low fog covered the streets, thick like something exhaled from the woods.
She found Damien already outside, shirtless again, standing in the field behind her shop. His skin was slick with sweat, his hands shaking slightly.
"Damien?"
He didn't turn. His golden eyes glowed faintly in the mist. "Something's wrong."
Aurora stepped closer. "With you?"
"No." He finally turned, jaw clenched. "With the town."
He sniffed the air. Then his expression changed — sharp, alert. Alpha-mode.
"Blood," he said.
Aurora felt her stomach turn cold.
Damien shifted halfway without even thinking — claws forming, fangs lengthening, his voice rumbling. "Stay behind me."
They ran.
Down by the Old Well Road
The fog only grew thicker the deeper they moved into the woods.
Aurora could barely see two feet ahead. But Damien moved like a beast who owned the forest. She followed, her pulse racing.
Then she saw it.
A trail of blood across the leaves. Not splattered — dragged.
"Damien…"
"I smell two heartbeats," he said, voice low.
"Alive?"
"One barely."
They stepped through the trees and stopped.
A young woman — barely eighteen — lay sprawled against a tree, blood soaking her coat. Her wrist bore a glowing sigil, the same one that had marked Aurora's window.
"Is she—?"
"Alive," Damien confirmed, crouching beside her.
The other heartbeat?
Aurora turned her head—
And saw a boy. Dead.
Eyes wide open. Skin drained gray. Mouth twisted in terror. His throat bore scratch marks… but no blood poured from them.
It had been siphoned out.
Aurora staggered back, choking on a gasp.
The girl's eyes fluttered open. She stared up at Damien, her voice trembling.
"He said… he'd come for her. The one with fire hands… He said she belonged to them…"
Then she went limp.
Damien scooped her into his arms. "She's fading."
Aurora's magic pulsed. "Let me try."
She placed a hand on the girl's chest, whispering a stabilization spell. Light surged from her palm — not healing, but enough to still the panic in the girl's body.
"She'll sleep," Aurora whispered. "But she saw them."
"She knew your name," Damien said. "They're using others to send messages now."
Aurora clenched her fists. "They're not just hunting. They're… marking. Leaving survivors. Tracing me through them."
Damien looked at her, eyes serious. "And they know the bond's been made."
"How?"
"Because you're brighter now," he murmured, brushing his fingers lightly over the bond mark on her collarbone. "To them… it's like lighting a beacon."
Aurora shivered at his touch — and not just from fear.
"So what do we do?" she asked.
"We prepare," Damien said. "You're not a civilian anymore, Aurora. You're a target. A witch with first flame, bonded to an Alpha. You just became a symbol."
She stared at him, every nerve alive with the weight of that truth.
"Then let them come," she whispered.
Damien's eyes flicked to hers, surprised. "Brave."
"No," she said. "Just tired of being afraid."
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