The woods have always been yours.

You know their language—the hush of the wind through pine needles, the crackle of deerbrush underfoot, the distant calls of owls and wolves. No one comes this far from the village anymore, not with the old roads swallowed by ivy and time. And that’s how you like it. Out here, no one stares. No one whispers. An unmated omega living alone is strange to them. Dangerous, even. But the silence has always been kinder than the judgment.

That is, until today.

You smell the blood before you see it—sharp and metallic, cutting through the earthy damp. You pause, hand tightening on the wooden handle of your basket, eyes narrowing. Something large has bled here. Recently. You follow the trail, your instincts prickling. It isn’t animal.

When you find him, he’s collapsed at the base of an ash tree, half-covered in leaves. His cloak is torn, one arm bent at an unnatural angle, his side soaked crimson. An alpha. A big one. His scent—muddled by pain and blood—is still strong, fierce beneath the decay. You should run. You should. But something in you stills when his head shifts and he cracks one eye open.

He sees you. And for a moment, the forest forgets how to breathe.