They said everything would change at eighteen.
That your wolf would awaken.
That the bond would come.
That love wouldn't be a choice anymore—it would be instinct, fate, blood-deep.
Leith hated every part of that.
He sat near the edge of the bonfire, hoodie pulled up, heart pounding quietly under layers of smoke and heat. The fire danced in front of him, loud and bright, but his eyes were fixed on only one thing.
Silas.
The flames cast golden shadows across Silas's face, but it was his hair that caught the light the most—blonde like wildfire, messy and wind-swept. He was laughing with someone, cup in hand, probably telling a story that wasn't even that funny. But people laughed anyway.
Silas always pulled people in like that.
Leith stared too long, then looked away fast, pretending to poke at the fire with a stick like it needed his attention.
He couldn't get caught looking again.
Not tonight.
His chest felt tight. Not from smoke—but from fear. Not just because this was his birthday, but because… tonight was the night. The one every wolf-born kid grew up dreading or dreaming about.
Eighteen meant the shift.
Eighteen meant the mate bond would wake up—if it hadn't already. Some people felt it like lightning. Some like a slow pull in their bones. Others woke up screaming under a full moon, changed forever.
Leith didn't know what it would be like for him.
But he knew who he wanted.
> Please, he whispered inside, not even sure who he was praying to. Please let it be him.
He hadn't told anyone, of course. Not even Silas. Especially not Silas.
Because what if it did happen?
What if his wolf chose Silas... and Silas didn't feel it back?
What if he ruined the only thing that ever felt right?
Leith's hands shook. He clenched them tight in his sleeves.
> "Birthday boy!" someone yelled across the fire. "You look like you're at a funeral."
He forced a smile, nodding. But inside, he wasn't smiling.
Inside, his wolf was quiet.
Too quiet.
Like it was waiting.
Across the fire, Silas caught his eye.
For a second, Leith forgot to breathe.
"Dude," came a voice suddenly beside him, "you look like you've seen a ghost."
Leith flinched. His heart jumped into his throat before his eyes even caught up. Then he blinked—and there was Silas, standing over him, the firelight licking at the edges of his curls, casting a soft glow across the sharp line of his jaw. He held two cups, one in each hand, and wore that maddening, too-easy grin—the one that always made Leith forget how to breathe.
"Sorry," Leith muttered, eyes falling away. "Wasn't paying attention."
Silas squinted at him, stepping closer. "No kidding. You're pale as hell. What's going on? You sick?"
Without waiting for an answer, he dropped down beside him, knees knocking gently against Leith's. The contact was nothing, everything—familiar and electrifying all at once. Silas handed him one of the cups, cold against Leith's palm.
Leith took it, if only to anchor his hands.
"Just tired," he lied.
Silas wasn't buying it. He never did. "It's your birthday. You're supposed to be lit. Not… brooding like some haunted forest prince."
Leith huffed a breath that could almost pass as a laugh. "Did you just call me a forest prince?"
Silas smirked. "Yeah. You got the look. Like some tragic fairy tale loner. All you're missing is a wolf sidekick."
Leith froze.
His fingers tightened around the cup. If only Silas knew.
A silence stretched between them—quiet, but not empty. There was always something there with Silas. A current. An unspoken language.
Leith let his eyes drift past the fire again. His chest felt tight, too full of unsaid things. He took a slow sip—sweet, fizzy, too much sugar—but it didn't help. Not when Silas was sitting so close. Not when the heat rolling off his skin made Leith ache with how badly he wanted to stay near it forever.
They had known each other since they were thirteen.
After the accident. After Leith lost everything and was shipped off to hollow woods to live with his sister, Elsie. When the world felt hollow and too loud and broken, Silas had been the first person to treat him like he wasn't made of glass.
"You don't talk much, huh?" Silas had said, that first week of school. He'd plopped down beside him on the grass at lunch, his smile cocky and lopsided.
"Good. I talk enough for both of us."
And he did.
Every day after that, Silas had just… shown up. No questions. No pity. Just bad jokes, dumb pranks, music he swore would change Leith's life, and late-night walks where they made up constellations and shared secrets no one else knew. Slowly, the fog around Leith's heart began to lift. And somewhere along the way, something else bloomed.
Dependence blurred into longing.
He didn't know when it started to feel like more.
All he knew was that Silas made him feel real. Steady. Safe.
Maybe the bond's already there, Leith thought suddenly. Maybe I'm just waiting for it to spark.
It was a dangerous hope.
He hadn't told anyone—not even Elsie—how scared he was about tonight. Not of the pain. Not of the shift.
But of the choice.
Because he was an omega. And Silas was a beta.
And what if his wolf didn't choose him?
What if it picked someone else?
What if everything he felt was one-sided, and the bond passed him by like a cruel joke?
He didn't know if he could survive that.
"You're doing it again," Silas said softly.
Leith blinked. "Doing what?"
"Going quiet." Silas nudged him with a shoulder, just enough to pull him back to earth.
Leith stared into the fire. The flames licked and danced, cracking softly, throwing long shadows across the clearing.
"I guess I'm just thinking about what happens after tonight."
Silas tilted his head. "You mean the shift?"
"Yeah."
Of course, Silas knew. Leith had told him the truth, when no one else knew. About what he was. What he would become.
Silas nodded slowly. "You nervous?"
"Yeah."
Leith pushed his tousled brown-black hair back over his ears and tugged the loose neckline of his hoodie higher, as if it could hide the flush crawling up his throat.
Silas stared at him for a long second. Then—
"Look at you, looking so cute," he said, reaching out to take Leith's hand in his, warm and sure. His thumb brushed lightly over Leith's knuckles. "You'll be fine. And if your wolf hurts you, I swear I'll wrestle him myself."
The tease was light, but the way Silas looked at him wasn't. Not quite.
Leith burned from the inside out.
Before he could think or speak or bolt, Silas was already getting to his feet and tugging him up by the hand.
"Come on," he said, tugging with a grin. "We're not doing this sad-boy routine all night. Birthday boy gets a fire dance or a midnight creek dip—your pick."
Leith stumbled after him, the cup long forgotten, heartbeat hammering.
Maybe tonight was the beginning.
Or maybe it was the edge of a heartbreak he wasn't ready for.
But right now, Silas's fingers were laced with his.
And for a moment, Leith let himself believe.
Let himself hope.