The Shift at Sixty

My eyes went gold in the rearview mirror and I almost drove off the mountain.

Not amber. Not the warm, wolf-standard color I'd been seeing since my first shift at fourteen. Gold. Molten, bright, there for half a second and then gone.

Storm, my wolf, the animal consciousness that lived behind my ribs like a second heartbeat, slammed forward so hard my hands jerked the wheel.

Turn around. Turn around NOW.

"We're not turning around."

Something is wrong with us. That color. That's not ours.

She was right. Omega wolves had amber eyes. Every shifter knew that. Gold was Alpha. And I was definitively, documented-since-birth, not an Alpha.

I forced my hands steady. Checked the mirror again. Amber. Normal. Mine.

The welcome sign for Nightfall territory appeared through the windshield.

My gut clenched hard enough to taste it.

Three years since I'd crossed this line. Three years since Kieran Blackwood stood in front of our entire pack and gutted me with four words.

"I reject this bond."

My phone erupted.

KIRA SHE'S DOING IT THE CRAZY BITCH IS ACTUALLY GOING BACK

JADE Sera you don't have to do this Your mom would understand

NADIA No she wouldn't lol Rosa has been planning this ceremony for months

KIRA Wait It's Heat Season SERA IT'S HEAT SEASON

JADE Oh no

KIRA You're going back to your fated mate's territory DURING HEAT SEASON As an unmated female

SERA I'm aware

KIRA ARE YOU THOUGH Do you remember what happened last time you were near him?

SERA I'll be fine It's two weeks I can handle two weeks

KIRA Famous last words

I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.

The trees thickened. Ancient pines that had watched generations of wolves run beneath them. Storm pressed against my skull, whimpering.

Home.

Not anymore. I had a life in Seattle. An apartment. A photography studio that paid its own rent. A carefully built existence that didn't involve pack politics or fated mates or whatever the hell had just happened to my eyes.

The road curved and the pack house appeared. Three stories of stone and timber carved into the Montana mountainside.

I parked. Killed the engine.

And then his scent found me through the cracked window.

Pine. Smoke. Something underneath both that bypassed every rational thought I had and sank into the base of my spine.

Storm howled. Every nerve fired at once.

The Heat wasn't due for two more days. I'd confirmed with the pack doctor before driving up. Planned for it. Built a timeline.

But my body had already thrown the timeline out.

Wetness pooled between my thighs. My vision softened at the edges. My skin felt like it had been turned inside out.

Mate, Storm purred. MATE.

I braced against the steering wheel and breathed through my teeth until the surge passed. It didn't pass. It settled into a low, vicious hum that promised to get worse.

I got out of the car.

He was already on the porch.

Not approaching. Not coming to greet me. Just standing there, arms at his sides, watching me the way a predator watches something it's decided not to chase. Yet.

Six four. Corded muscle under a black shirt. Black hair cropped short. Silver eyes that caught the fading light and gave back something sharper.

Kieran Blackwood.

The man who'd shattered me at twenty-one. The man my body wanted so badly my knees were threatening to fold.

His nostrils flared. Those silver eyes went dark.

He'd scented me. He knew what was happening inside me.

He didn't move.

That was worse than if he'd crossed the distance. Worse than if he'd touched me. He stood on that porch and he waited, and the space between us filled with three years of silence and the biological certainty that my body belonged against his.

"Hello, Sera."

Low. Stripped bare.

I locked my knees. Lifted my chin.

"Kieran."

A pause so heavy I could feel it on my skin.

"Welcome home."

He turned. Walked inside. The screen door closed behind him with a soft click.

He hadn't crossed the porch. Hadn't tried to touch me. Hadn't demanded a conversation or an explanation.

He'd looked at me like I was the only real thing he'd seen in three years.

And then he'd walked away.

Why did he walk away? Storm demanded.

I didn't know.

And I needed to.