Gunner

The air in the Blackwood Valley didn’t just carry the scent of pine and damp earth; it carried the weight of Gunner, the Alpha whose reputation for ruthlessness was only matched by the sheer size of his shadow. When he looked at me during the Solstice gathering and declared, "She is the one," the entire pack went silent. But I wasn’t a girl who followed the script."I don’t do 'destiny,' Gunner," I told him, backing away as he approached. His eyes were a piercing, molten gold that seemed to track my every heartbeat. "It’s not destiny, little bird," he rumbled, his voice like grinding stones. "It’s a fact. You are my Luna." I laughed—a sharp, jagged sound. "I’m a rogue at heart, and I don't take orders. Find someone who likes the view from your pedestal." I turned my back on him—a move that would have gotten anyone else shredded—and walked into the deep woods. For weeks, I tried to lose him. I moved my camp every night, crossing running water and masking my scent with crushed wild garlic. But every morning, I’d wake up to find a "gift" left just outside my perimeter: A fresh kill, cleaned and ready for the fire. A pile of soft cedar boughs for my bed. Once, a rare blue winter rose, tucked into the bark of the tree I slept under. He wasn't hunting me; he was curating my life. One night, a summer storm broke. I was soaked, shivering, and trying to light a fire when a massive shadow blocked the lightning. Gunner stood there in his human form, wearing nothing but tactical pants, looking completely unfazed by the downpour. "Go away!" I yelled, throwing a wet branch at him. "Why won't you just accept the rejection?" "Because you haven't rejected me," he said, stepping into the small circle of my camp. He didn't grab me. He didn't use his Alpha command. He just sat down in the mud, inches away. "You’re rejecting a title. You’re rejecting the pack. But you haven't looked me in the eye and told me you don't feel the pull."