Stumbling Blocks

CONNOR

The first time she landed a blow, I thought it was a fluke.

Willow moved fast, sharp and fluid, like her body had forgotten how broken it’d been a week ago. But it wasn’t only speed; it was also precision. She twisted under my guard, slammed her forearm into my ribs, and used my weight to send me stumbling back a step.

“You’re hesitating,” she said, breathless and smirking.

I was. ~Fuck~.

My warriors were watching, and I was supposed to be sparring for real, helping to train them. She’d already taken out my best, and what she was dishing out would soon become routine drills with the rest of the pack.

But nothing about this felt routine. Not with her. Not with the way the bond between us snarled—a live wire under my skin.

Her eyes bright and wild, Willow circled, barefoot on the padded floor, her scars on display. She didn’t look like someone traumatized by a whole life of captivity. She was a storm that had finally broken free.

I launched at her, testing. She ducked, twisted. We grappled, our hands locking and breaths panting against skin. The tension was so thick it could strangle. I caught her wrist, and she slipped free. Her thigh came up hard against my side, nearly toppling me.

She wasn’t just good; she was better than any one person should be. Her muscle memory spoke of brutal repetition and a survival instinct forged in combat drills and cold discipline. And the predatory patience in her gaze told me all I needed to know.

This wasn’t sparring for her. It was play.

And I was her newest toy.

The revelation shook me enough that she got the upper hand, briefly, until I reversed it. With a surge of power, I spun, gripped, and slammed her to the mat. I straddled her hips, pinning her wrists above her head as I brought my face to hers.

Her breath hitched, and so did mine.

Those green eyes locked onto me, and something old, deep passed between us. ~Gods, she’s beautiful~. Dirt-streaked, wild-haired, lip bleeding, she heaved beneath me, her pulse visible in her neck. Her exhales fanned my lips; heat radiated from her skin.

Crackling tension had the bond twisting tighter.

And then she fucking flipped me.

It happened so fast I didn’t have time to curse. One shift of her hips, and suddenly I was flat on my stomach, with her knee pressed hard into my shoulder joint and one hand twisting mine at an impossible angle.

I tapped. Vigorously. “Yield!” I growled.

She let go instantly, rolling off me and springing to her feet in one smooth, pantherlike motion.

The onlookers exploded in cheers. “She took down the alpha!” someone howled, and laughter rippled through the crowd.

My pride slightly bruised, I got to my feet. My bones hummed with adrenaline and then something else as I watched her.

She stood in the center of the circle, surrounded now. Warriors clapped her on the back, offering high fives and throwing mock punches. Lisa elbowed her and whooped something I didn’t catch.

But Willow didn’t preen—she glowed, standing there, flush-cheeked and loose-limbed, having just shaken off another chain.

As I stared, something hard to name swelled in my chest. She looked over at me and smiled. It was somewhere in between smug and sweet, something meant for me. My heart skipped a beat.

And my wolf howled one word again and again, “~Mate!~”

WILLOW

They looked at me like I was something out of a storybook—not the monster, the hero.

The second I stepped onto the grass behind the training barracks, kids—pups, I should call them—swarmed me. All wild energy and endless questions, they showed no signs of trauma from the rogue attack mere hours ago.

“Was that a real fight?” one boy asked, his eyes round as moons. “Like with those rogues you took down?”

“You really flipped the alpha?” a girl squealed.

“Are you gonna teach us to do that?” another chimed in, practically bouncing on her heels. “Please say yes. Please!”

I blinked at them, stunned. “You want me to train you?” I asked, my voice thinner than I’d meant it to be.

They nodded so hard I thought someone might get whiplash.

A laugh burst from me before I could stop it. “Okay, maybe,” I said, and their cheers nearly shook the trees. “But it’s about time for class, no? Come on, let’s not keep Miss Asha waiting.”

Ten minutes later, we were sitting cross-legged in a circle near the forest’s edge.

“Close your eyes,” Asha murmured. “Feel the earth beneath you. The air around you. Let your wolf feel it too.”

I did as she said, running my fingertips over moss and taking the scent of pine into my lungs. I reached inward, deeper, and something stirred.

As it had before, a low hum hovered at the edge of my consciousness. It was a rhythm not quite my own, fast and ancient.

“~Mate~.” The word hit me with the force of a slap. “~Mate. Connor. Mate. Our mate. Mine.~”

My heart lurched. The sound registered as the echo of a voice, a primal whisper through bone and blood and memory.

“Holy shit,” I said, my eyes snapping open.

Asha’s gaze flicked to mine, sharp and knowing. “You heard her?”

“I think so.” I pressed a hand to my chest. My heart thundered. “She’s loud. About one thing, anyway.” Heat flushed up my neck.

“Let me guess.” She smirked. “The alpha?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well, it was only a matter of time.” Her words should have been encouraging, but they only highlighted what was still missing.

I shook my head, frustration fraying the edge of the calm. “But I still can’t shift. No matter what I do, I’m stuck in this body.”

“You’re not stuck,” she said. “You’re blocked. There’s a difference.”

I stared at her. “What kind of block?”

She studied me for a moment, then said, “You don’t trust yourself enough to let go. Shifting means surrendering control. You’ve been taught to fear that.”

Her words pierced me—too close, too right. But before I could reply, I felt it. Him. That gravity Connor always seemed to carry around him like a second skin.

He was standing just past the trees, holding a basket. “You hungry?” he asked, his eyes warm. After I nodded, he came up to me and extended a hand.

I took it, and Connor led me deeper into the woods to a mossy hollow tucked between two ancient pines. It was a place I could easily fall in love with. He spread a blanket and unpacked roasted chicken, bread, sliced apples, and a thermos of tea.

No one had ever taken me on a picnic before, and I had to clamp down on the giddiness before it bubbled out as actual giggles.

After settling down, we made small talk about the rogue attack and the need for more pack warriors and border guards. We ate in comfortable silence, letting the sounds of the forest fill the space between us.

“My instructor said I’m blocked,” I blurted out somewhere between a bite of chicken and a licking of fingers. “That I don’t trust myself enough to shift.”

He nodded. “Makes sense.”

I frowned. “How so?”

“Because of what those humans made you believe. Those lies they sold you. You’re not broken, Willow, you’re still caged.”

Once again, the words hit something deep, causing a hinge inside me to groan open a sliver.

For the rest of the evening, I couldn’t think about anything else. And later, when I curled up in bed beneath the soft quilt, I repeated his words to myself as a prayer.

~Not broken. Still caged.~

I stared at the ceiling for hours, listening to the wind rattle the glass, and wondered how—and whether—I’d ever learn to set myself free.