Shadow Mountain [m] And I think that she knows, I'm out of control

Hunst's pulse thrummed with urgency, his normally stoic demeanor cracking as he tracked her frantic path through the mountainside. Her scent wove sharply with the cool night air, laced with blood—far more than he wanted to find. Quickening his pace, he followed the metallic thread, each stride filled with a grim determination to bring her back safely.

Then, in a hollow darkened by shadow, he saw her—blood trickling down her foreleg in thin, red trails. His heart clenched, but his face remained impassive, masking the swell of relief that she'd been found. Hunst approached slowly, his pale eyes narrowing as the coppery scent of her blood intensified, mingling with another—a familiar, masculine scent that clawed at the edges of his memory. Bearclaw Valley. His gaze hardened.

He moved closer, wordlessly assessing the damage, a frown deepening as he noted the fresh gash trailing alongside the old scar on her leg. Standing tall beside her, Hunst’s jaw tightened, but his voice softened as he asked, What happened? Only the faintest thread of worry cut through his usually steady tone.

Every instinct told him to press further, to demand why she had left so recklessly, why another male’s scent lingered on her. But he swallowed those questions, letting his presence speak instead, solid and unwavering. For now, he would let her explain—or keep her silence—while he stayed close, steady as the mountain itself, ready to shoulder her burdens if she allowed it.