chapter 7

Caelan’s POV

She bleeds like she enjoys it.

There’s a cut on her jaw, bruising on her cheekbone, her mouth still stained with the blood she spat in my Beta’s direction—and still, she walks off the sparring pit like she won a damn coronation.

And in a way, she did.

The wolves don’t cheer here. We’re not sentimental. But they watched her. And they’ll remember.

They’ll remember the she-wolf who walked into Nightborn broken and claimed a win on her first day out of bed.

I watch her from the edge of the pit, the way she rolls her shoulder despite the pain, how her eyes scan the crowd like she’s daring them to doubt her.

And not a single wolf does.

Verek claps her once on the shoulder as she passes. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t soften. Just nods.

She’s not here to be liked.

She’s here to rise.

I catch her elbow gently as she passes me. “Come. You’re bleeding. Again.”

She snorts, but lets me guide her.

I take her to my quarters—not because I don’t trust the healers, but because I want to watch her. See how she moves. How she reacts to being alone in the territory’s most dangerous room.

My territory.

She pauses just inside the door. Her eyes flick over the shelves, the weapons on the wall, the armor stand near the fire. She doesn’t seem surprised.

“You live like you’re always expecting a fight,” she says.

“I usually am.”

She glances at me over her shoulder. “Smart.”

I motion toward the basin and the towels laid out. “Clean up.”

She shrugs off the borrowed shirt without hesitation. Not a single sign of shame. Just bare skin, old scars, fresh bruises, and that damn moon-blooded confidence. Her back is to me, but she doesn’t rush.

She knows I’m watching.

And I do. Every scar. Every healed bite. Every curve that was once promised to another Alpha who didn’t know what the fuck to do with her.

He had this… and threw it away.

I step closer, slower. The heat rises low in my chest. The same heat I felt when I carried her out of the forest. Dangerous. Familiar. Tempting.

But I’ve walked this path before.

Once.

The ring on my thumb is heavy tonight.

“Stay,” I say.

She pauses, cloth halfway to her cheek. “I am.”

“No,” I correct softly. “Not as a guest. Not as a refugee.”

I watch her straighten. Slow. Cautious.

“I’m offering you something else,” I say. “Stay here. As something more. Become something more. I’ve got wolves here who follow strength. They’d follow you, if you let them.”

She turns, bruised and half-clean, but still radiating defiance.

“Why?” she asks. “Because I beat your Beta?”

“No,” I say. “Because your Alpha couldn’t handle you. And I’d like to make sure he regrets it.”

That gets her attention.

She tilts her head. “You think I care what Darius regrets?”

I smile, just a little. “You do.”

A pause.

Then: “Do you want revenge?”

The look she gives me is feral.

She steps forward, blood still drying along her collarbone, towel forgotten in her hand.

Her lips curve slowly, like something wicked is blooming.

It’s the most beautiful, cunning smile I’ve ever seen.

And I’ve seen war.

“I don’t just want revenge,” she says, voice low. “I want to show him exactly what it felt like. I want him to choke on the sight of me thriving without him. I want to look him in the eye while he realizes that everything he touched will never be his again.”

My pulse ticks once in my jaw.

She leans closer.

“Are you offering to show him the same kind of pain he made me feel?” she asks, soft and deadly.

I know what she means. She doesn’t say it outright—but the message is there, thick and sharp between us.

You and me. Together. Let him feel what it’s like to be replaced.

My mouth is dry.

My instincts say no.

But I don’t say it.

Because the thought of her pressed against me, claimed by me, moaning for me while Darius feels every second of it through a dying bond?

It’s intoxicating.

She could ruin me.

And for some reason…

I don’t want to stop her.