Echoes of a Plea, Omen in the Trees

The look of pure disgust on Jaxon's face as his fingers traced the bite mark on his neck made my stomach knot painfully. While Silas, Rhys, and Ronan stood nearby with expressions ranging from pride to wonder as they touched their own marks, Jaxon looked like I'd branded him with something vile.

"Jax, I didn't mean to—" I started, clutching the towel tighter around my naked body.

"Save it," he snapped, turning away. "I don't want your fucking mark."

His words sliced through me like a knife. I watched helplessly as he stormed off, disappearing deeper into the woods.

Rhys moved to my side, his hand gently touching the small of my back. "He'll come around. You know how he is."

"I don't think he will," I whispered, guilt and rejection washing over me. The euphoria I'd felt moments ago while in wolf form had completely evaporated, replaced by a hollow ache.

Silas adjusted his glasses, now dressed in hastily pulled-on clothes. "Your wolf knew what she was doing, Hazel. The mark is an honor."

"It means we belong to you," Ronan added, a shy smile crossing his face. "And you to us."

While their acceptance warmed me, I couldn't shake the image of Jaxon's revulsion. My wolf whined inside me, distressed by his rejection. She had claimed him as surely as the others, but unlike them, he wanted nothing to do with the bond.

"I need to talk to him," I decided, stepping away from the comfort of my other bonds.

Rhys caught my wrist. "Give him space. He's volatile right now."

I pulled free gently. "That's exactly why I can't leave it like this. Can someone lend me clothes? I can't exactly chase him through the forest in a towel."

Minutes later, dressed in Silas's oversized t-shirt and Ronan's sweatpants (rolled up several times at the ankles), I set off in the direction Jaxon had taken. My bonds reluctantly let me go alone, agreeing to head back to the Academy and find proper clothes for all of us.

The forest floor was rough against my bare feet. Twigs snapped beneath my steps, and sharp stones dug into my soles, but I pushed forward, following the lingering traces of Jaxon's scent. My wolf guided me, still agitated by his rejection.

I found him in another small clearing, leaning against a massive oak tree, his back to me. Even from yards away, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the rigid set of his spine.

"Go away, Hazel," he said without turning. He must have heard or scented my approach.

"Not until you talk to me." I stepped closer, wincing as a particularly sharp stone dug into my foot.

He spun around, his blue eyes flashing with anger. "What's there to talk about? Your wolf decided to mark me without my permission. You made me yours without asking if I wanted to be."

The accusation stung. "Like I had any control over what she did! This is all new to me too, Jaxon! I didn't even know what was happening until after."

"Well, now we both have to live with it." His hand drifted to his neck again, fingers pressing against the mark that was nearly healed.

I moved closer, frustrated. "Why are you acting like I gave you a death sentence? Rhys, Silas, and Ronan are proud to wear my mark."

"Good for them," he sneered. "Maybe they're happy to be leashed."

"Is that what you think this is?" I gestured between us. "A leash?"

Jaxon's laugh was cold. "What else would you call it? You claim me, and now your scent is all over me. Everyone will know I belong to you."

"And that's so terrible?" I asked, hurt bleeding into my voice.

"I don't want you, Hazel." The words were deliberate, meant to wound. "I never did. If we fuck during your heat, it'll be my wolf, not me. Remember that."

I recoiled as if he'd slapped me. For a moment, I couldn't breathe, couldn't think past the searing pain of his rejection. Then something surfaced in my memory—a desperate plea echoing in my mind.

"Liar," I whispered.

His eyes narrowed. "What did you say?"

"I said you're a liar, Jaxon Ryder." I found strength I didn't know I had. "When I was injured—when I was dying—I heard you. You begged Lyra to fix me. You were desperate."

A flicker of something—panic, recognition—crossed his face before he shuttered it away. "You were hallucinating."

"No, I wasn't." I stepped closer, emboldened. "You care about me. You were terrified of losing me."

"You don't know what you're talking about." But the conviction in his voice was wavering.

"I know exactly what I'm talking about. You can deny it all you want, but I heard the truth in your voice that day." I was close enough now to see the rapid pulse at his throat, the way his breathing had quickened.

His jaw worked as if he was fighting with himself. For a moment, I thought I'd broken through. The hardness in his eyes softened slightly, and he uncrossed his arms.

Then suddenly, his expression changed. His gaze locked on something behind me, and in an instant, he grabbed my arm, yanking me roughly against his chest.

"Don't move," he hissed in my ear, then lifted his head and let out a sharp, three-toned whistle that echoed through the trees.

"What—" I started to twist in his grip.

"Stay still," he commanded, his hold tightening almost painfully around me.

That's when I felt it—an unnatural stillness in the forest around us. No birds chirping, no rustling leaves, just a heavy, oppressive silence. Slowly, Jaxon turned me in his arms, keeping me pressed tightly against him as he shifted our position.

I followed his gaze upward and felt the blood drain from my face.

Directly above where I had been standing moments before hung the naked body of a female, suspended from a thick branch by a crude rope around her neck. Her skin was pale gray, her lifeless eyes wide open and staring at nothing. Dark bruises circled her throat beneath the rope, and something had been carved into her chest—symbols I couldn't make out from this distance.

A scream built in my throat, but Jaxon's hand quickly covered my mouth.

"Don't," he whispered urgently. "We're not alone."

My heart pounded violently against my ribs as I scanned the surrounding trees. Nothing moved, but I could feel it now—the weight of unseen eyes watching us from the shadows.

In the distance, I heard the rapid approach of footsteps—my other bonds responding to Jaxon's signal. But as the sound of their approach grew louder, the feeling of being watched intensified, raising the hair on the back of my neck.

Jaxon's arms tightened around me protectively, his breath warm against my ear as he whispered, "Don't look away from her. Whoever did this wants us to see their message."

I stared at the hanging body, unable to tear my gaze away, a horrible realization dawning on me—she had been placed directly above the spot where I had been standing.

This wasn't just a murder. This was a message.

For me.