Chapter 5 Heat Without a Mate

It began in the marrow-

A soft thrum. A whisper. A hunger she hadn't felt in years.

Aria woke choking on air that felt too thick to breathe. Her skin was slick with sweat, her nightshirt clinging to her back like it had melted there. Every part of her ached, but not from injury. Not from trauma.

This was something older.

Something her body remembered even if she didn't want to.

She kicked the blanket off, gasping as the cooler air hit her thighs-but it did nothing to ease the heat that crawled beneath her skin. Her chest heaved, and her fingers dug into the pelts below like they could anchor her to the world.

"No," she croaked, barely audible. "Not now. Not again."

Her wolf was silent-but present. Pacing, circling. Not angry. Not in pain.

Hungry.

Heat, they called it. The first cycle after rejection was always the worst-when the body realized it had no mate, no tether, no claim. And now, surrounded by rogue territory, without the stabilizing magic of a pack... her wolf had no restraint left.

She clenched her thighs together, hard, but it only made things worse. The friction, the pressure-it sent sparks racing through her belly, sharp and urgent.

Her breaths came faster. Her heart pounded, heavy in her ears.

And Kade wasn't in the room.

That should've helped. It didn't.

Because even in the silence, even in the dark, she could smell him. Smoke and pine and something wild and male. It clung to the cabin walls. To her skin. To the space between her thoughts.

She rolled onto her side, trying to will it away. Trying to suppress the ache gathering at the base of her spine. The ache that pulsed with every heartbeat.

She hadn't asked for this.

She hadn't wanted this.

Not now. Not here. Not with him.

But her body didn't care about dignity or timing. It only cared about survival. About instinct. And right now, it believed that he was the answer.

She bit her lip until she tasted blood.

"No," she whispered again, voice cracking. "I won't lose myself to this."

Her wolf growled-not at her, but at the emptiness. As if the absence of him was a betrayal.

The fire snapped in the hearth behind her, casting restless shadows across the cabin walls.

And somewhere deep inside her-the burn began to rise.

A fire without flame. A hunger without end.

This wasn't the kind of heat that made you sweat.

This was the kind that consumed.

The second day was worse.

The fire in her blood hadn't cooled-it had sharpened. Focused. Coiled low in her belly like a storm building pressure. Every breath scraped against her throat like glass. Every movement felt too loud, too exposed.

And then there was him.

Kade.

He didn't speak much. Didn't hover. But his presence filled the cabin like smoke-thin, inescapable, and clinging to everything. She could smell him even before he entered a room. Earth. Smoke. Ash. A hint of something darker beneath it all-something that didn't belong in any pack she'd ever known.

She tried not to look at him. Tried not to let her eyes linger on the slope of his shoulder, or the way his hair fell messily over his forehead when he bent over the fire. But her gaze betrayed her. Over and over.

She hated herself for it.

By nightfall, the air inside the cabin felt too thin.

He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, silhouetted against the fading light. His gaze was unreadable. Still. Sharp.

"Something's wrong," he said at last.

She barked a dry laugh and immediately regretted it. "You think?" Her voice came out too rough. Too raw.

He said nothing. Just watched her with that calm intensity that never softened.

"I can't-" she turned away, burying her face in her palms, trying to breathe through the ache that had crawled beneath her skin and refused to let go.

"It's not your fault," he said. "Rogues trigger heat faster. No pack, no magic, no suppression. Just instinct."

His words weren't gentle. But they weren't cruel either. Just facts. Like he was giving her permission to hate it without hating herself.

Her fingers dug into the blankets. "Then leave," she rasped. "Go outside. Hunt something. Just... don't be here."

"No."

The word landed like a punch to the ribs.

Her head snapped up. "What?"

"No," he repeated. Steady. Absolute.

"You don't get to stay," she hissed. "You don't get to stand there like some-some hero, while I'm falling apart in front of you."

"I'm not trying to be a hero," he said quietly.

"Then what are you doing?"

His gaze didn't waver. "I'm refusing to let you go through this alone."

She didn't know what to say to that.

No one had ever chosen to stay before.

Especially not when she was at her worst-raw and shaking and burning from the inside out.

Her mouth opened, but no words came. Only the heat in her chest. The ache in her spine. The gnawing hunger of her wolf, restless and clawing beneath her skin.

He stepped into the room slowly, not closing the distance between them, not pushing. Just being there.

"I can handle it," she whispered, though her voice cracked halfway through.

"I know," he said. "That's why I'm not afraid of staying."

And for a long, breathless moment, she just stared at him-this rogue who offered no comfort, no lies, no promises.

Only his silence.

Only himself.

And somehow... that was worse than kindness.

Because it meant he saw her. Even now.

And still didn't turn away.

That night, she broke.

The kind of breaking that didn't come with sound or tears-but with silence. Heavy, strangling silence.

Aria woke gasping. Her skin burned. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Every inch of her body felt too tight, too sensitive, too alive. Her back arched off the makeshift bed of pelts, and her fingers twisted in the furs as heat bloomed low and merciless in her belly.

The fire in the hearth had long gone cold.

But she burned.

Not from fever. Not from shame.

From need.

Instinctual. Relentless. Not just physical-something older, clawing at her soul from the inside out.

Her wolf was awake now. Pacing. Hungry.

She tried to push it down, to breathe past the ache spiraling through her core, but it was no use. It was like trying to dam a river with bare hands. The more she resisted, the more it consumed her.

And he was there.

Kade.

Sitting in the corner of the room, back to the wall, legs stretched out before him, arms resting on his knees. His face was carved in shadow, but his eyes-those wildfire eyes-glowed faintly in the dark. Watching.

Not moving.

Not speaking.

Waiting.

She felt his presence like pressure on her skin. Her mouth parted on a shaky breath.

He didn't say her name. Didn't touch her.

"Do you want me to leave now?" he asked.

His voice was low-hoarse, like it hurt him to ask. Like it hurt him not to move.

Her throat was so dry it burned. She turned toward him, every inch of her trembling, her voice cracked and barely audible.

"No," she whispered. "Don't move."

He didn't.

His shoulders tensed, but he stayed right where he was. A shadow in the corner. A man carved from stone and restraint.

She closed her eyes, breath catching on the edge of a sob she refused to let out.

This wasn't want. It wasn't desire. It was something more brutal. A primal ache tearing her apart from the inside.

She needed relief.

She needed him.

And she hated it.

Her fingers pressed to her lips as if she could trap the hunger there, could quiet the voice rising in her chest screaming for him. For his hands. For his mouth. For the raw, terrible magic of skin meeting skin.

Her legs curled in. Her wolf growled low-not in anger, but in frustration. In ache.

Still, he didn't come closer.

He didn't move.

She opened her eyes again, meeting his across the dark.

His jaw was clenched. His hands fisted against his thighs. She could feel the war inside him from across the room-every part of him straining not to break. Not to cross the line. Not to touch her before she begged.

And Goddess, she was close.

Too close.

Aria licked her lips and tasted salt. Not from tears-but from the sweat clinging to her skin. She shifted, body arching slightly again, as if her wolf wanted to lure him in.

He saw it.

His nostrils flared.

But still-he waited.

Because if she was going to fall apart, it had to be by choice.

Not instinct.

Not desperation.

Choice.

And that was the cruelest, kindest thing he could've given her.

Because it meant he wasn't a threat.

He was hers.

If she asked.

If she shattered.

If she whispered just one word don't stop

She didn't walk to him.

She crawled.

The fur rug scratched her knees. Her breath trembled. Every inch forward was a battle between instinct and fear. Her heat pulsed between her thighs like a second heartbeat. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't sweet.

It was need-raw and aching.

Kade sat against the wall, legs stretched, hands on his knees, unmoving. His golden eyes burned in the firelight. Controlled. Silent.

When she reached him, she hovered-nervous, trembling.

"Don't touch me unless you mean it," she rasped, voice shredded by restraint.

His gaze flicked to her mouth. Then lower.

"I won't touch you," he said lowly, "until you ask."

Her fingers curled against his knee. She didn't know if it was rebellion or surrender. Maybe both.

"I'm not yours," she said.

"I know," he murmured. "But you're not his anymore either."

Those words cracked something wide open.

She climbed into his lap.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"You smell like fire," she whispered against his neck. "Like something I should run from."

"But you're not running."

"No," she breathed. "I'm begging."

And then she did.

"Please... don't stop."

That was all it took.

His restraint shattered. His hands found her hips, dragging her tight against him. His mouth crashed into hers-hot, hungry, not asking. Claiming. She gasped, and he drank the sound like it fed him.

Her shirt tore. His fingers were rough, calloused, grounding her in the moment even as her world spun. She clawed at his back, wanting skin, wanting him deeper, closer, inside.

"You sure?" he growled against her throat.

Her nails dug into his shoulders. "Now. Please."

He lifted her easily, laying her down on the furs like she weighed nothing. The firelight danced across her bare skin. His eyes drank her in-no mockery, no hesitation.

Just reverence.

When he finally entered her, it wasn't slow or cautious.

It was deep.

Devastating.

A breaking and a binding all at once.

Aria gasped, fingers curling into the fur beneath her. She met his thrusts with equal hunger, grinding her hips up to match his rhythm. Their bodies spoke a language older than oaths, older than names.

It wasn't just sex.

It was a war cry.

A healing.

A scream into the silence that had lived in her since Ryker broke the bond.

He kissed her like it was his only truth. Touched her like she was made of fury and starlight. Whispered her name like a vow and a curse.

And when she came-shaking, shuddering, half-sobbing-it wasn't quiet.

It was a promise.

She would never be owned again.

Kade held her as she fell apart, his body still buried in hers, his breath hot on her skin.

He didn't say anything.

He didn't need to.

Because the fire had finally found its match.

And neither of them would ever be the same.