Logan’s POV
“What does that mean?” Liam demanded, his voice cutting through the thick air like a blade.
Keziah didn’t even flinch. Her eyes narrowed, silencing him with a single, razor-sharp glare.
“It means,” she said slowly, voice low and heavy with something that felt too close to foreboding, “her perception of certain events triggers a depth of emotion that would drown most others. Where another she-wolf might feel sadness, she feels devastation. Where they’d feel joy, she is consumed by it. But it doesn’t stop there-she doesn’t just feel her own emotions. She absorbs others’, too. To such an extent that it blurs the line between where they end and she begins.”
She paused, letting the weight of that truth settle on us like a stone.
“I believe she’s developed a semblance of control over time-unconsciously, perhaps as a form of protection. But make no mistake, that control is fragile. Her calm isn’t always peace. Her silence doesn’t mean the storm has passed. Often, it just means she’s learned to cage the chaos until she can face it alone.”
A shiver ran down my spine.
“Empaths,” she continued, “rarely walk through life untouched. Their gift devours them from the inside out unless they find something-or someone-to ground them. And if they don’t?” She looked at us, eyes sharp. “They fall. Into addiction. Into madness. Into whatever darkness will take the weight off their chest.”
Liam tried to speak again, maybe to make light of it or ask a question-anything to break the rising pressure in the room-but she cut him off.
“Not yet, child.” Her tone was dismissive, but cold enough to draw blood. Liam bristled at being called that, and I didn’t blame him. We were Alphas, not pups being scolded. But I knew better than to challenge her-not when her next words could change everything.
“Now,” she said, her tone shifting into something more deliberate, more intimate. “I have questions. And then… I’ll tell you what I believe she is.”
We both straightened, the gravity in her voice too heavy to ignore.
“Does your mate have a particular affinity for nature?”
“I guess…” Liam began, then frowned. “Actually, yeah. Now that I think about it, she’s always talking about how much she loves being outdoors. She has these gardens she obsesses over, loses hours in them like they’re some sacred place. And when we brought her to the pack lands, she was completely enchanted. The lake, the mountains… we practically had to pry her away.”
“She felt connected to it,” I added. “Like she belonged out there more than she belonged anywhere else.”
“And her scent?” Keziah asked.
“It’s not like any other I’ve ever come across,” I said quietly. “Floral-wildflowers. Sweet like honey. I know every mate smells good to their bond, but hers… hers is otherworldly. Most she-wolves have this scent of baked goods or fruit-safe, warm, familiar. But hers-” I shook my head. “Hers is like the forest after rain. Like the wind right before a storm.”
Keziah hummed again, a sound that vibrated with something between recognition and warning.
“And the bond itself?” she asked, eyes sharp. “How intense would you say the connection is? Mild, moderate, or…”
“Intense,” Liam said, without hesitation. “Beyond anything I expected.”
“Like it burns,” I added. “Constantly there beneath the surface. Like gravity shifted, and now she’s the center. It’s overwhelming-in the best and worst ways.”
“I see…” she murmured. “And now… the most important question.” Her voice turned sly, darkly amused. “You said you haven’t mated yet, but have there been… other physical encounters? In person, of course.”
I hesitated, tension pulling my shoulders taut. This wasn’t something to be flippant about. This was her-our mate. Not some nameless body in a dark corner of a club. But I could see in Keziah’s eyes that this wasn’t about gossip.
“Yes,” I answered. Quiet, careful.
“No need for specifics,” she said, her voice softening just a fraction. “I only need to know if the experience felt… different. Physically. Mentally.”
“I can’t speak for Logan,” Liam said, and his voice had taken on a darker edge. “But for me, it was like… her pleasure was mine. Like we were tethered-tightly. Every sound she made, every tremble of her body-I felt it. It wasn’t just intimacy. It was communion. And when it was over… I didn’t feel whole until I touched her again.”
His words hit me like a fist. They were raw. True.
“The same,” I said quietly. “Exactly the same.”
Keziah inclined her head. “Thank you. What you’ve shared has filled in more of the puzzle. And though my visions remain fractured, I believe I finally understand what she is.”
“We’re listening,” Liam said, his voice tight with anticipation.
Keziah leaned in, her voice low, careful.
“I believe your mate is a Celtic Wolf-descended from a bloodline older than most of the world has memory for. Born of ancient animists. You may be able to prove it through her ancestry. Celtic Wolves are always of Irish descent. Her father’s line is clear-strong, unmistakably Irish. But her mother’s blood… that’s where things get strange. When I try to trace it, something clouds the vision. Like someone-or something-is hiding it.”
She paused.
“If I’m right… you must keep this knowledge guarded with your lives. True Celtic Wolves are exceedingly rare-and even more dangerously, they are desired. Their power is coveted by those who would use them as weapons. If word of what she is spreads… she’ll become a target.”
The air in the room thickened. My pulse thundered in my ears.
Danger. That word echoed again in my mind. A low, vicious growl rumbled beneath my skin as Fang stirred, restless. Ready to kill for her. Ready to die.
Liam’s jaw clenched. I could feel his emotions churning the same way mine were. Fear. Rage. Obsession. The instinct to protect her at any cost was searing through both of us like fire.
“What kind of power are we talking about?” Liam asked, barely controlling the tremor in his voice. “What does it mean to be a Celtic Wolf? An animist? And how do we protect her?”
Keziah closed her eyes.
“A true animist is a creature unlike any other,” she said, her voice quiet but grave. “They are connected to the very soul of the world-earth, water, wind, animals, even storms. It’s said that long ago, the ancient Irish wolves pleaded with the Moon Goddess to bless their pagan beliefs-beliefs rooted in nature, in spirit, in the divine pulse of the land itself. They asked for a gift: the power to communicate with the spirits that dwell within all living things.
“Selene granted that wish-but only sparingly. She feared what might happen if such power were widespread. So she chose only a few-rare wolves born of her own design. And thus, the Celtic Wolves were born.
“Your mate… she can speak to those spirits. Influence them. Call upon them when needed. The earth will answer her. The wind will heed her voice. And if she learns to harness it… no force will match her.”
Keziah’s silence lingered like a fog, her piercing eyes sweeping across our stunned expressions, searching for the smallest flicker of comprehension. Neither Liam nor I could find words-our thoughts tangled and fraying with each passing second. Sensing our turmoil, she continued, her voice soft but weighted with the weight of centuries.
“There hasn’t been a confirmed Celtic Wolf in generations,” she said. “They’re rare-beyond rare-and only born when Selene herself deems it necessary. Their emergence often signals a disturbance, a crack in the balance only they can mend. If your mate is what I suspect… she was not born without purpose.”
“What kind of purpose?” I managed, my voice hoarse with dread and curiosity tangled together.
“I can’t say. The path she must walk is hidden, even from me. It will be revealed to her-but only when the time is right. Until then, all I can offer you is speculation, but even that may help.”
Liam stepped forward, the tension in his shoulders speaking for him. “Then tell us everything-don’t hold back.”
A small smirk ghosted across her lips, amused by his barely restrained Alpha tone. “As I said, what I know is limited. Celtic Wolves are often deeply empathic. Their emotions run through them like lightning through a live wire. That kind of sensitivity doesn’t just end with them-it stretches, binds, connects. Their mate bonds aren’t just strong. They’re consuming.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she continued. “So intense, in fact, that moments of extreme physical or emotional energy can be shared across the bond-even unmarked. I believe that’s what you’ve both experienced. Her pleasure… became yours.”
I felt the shift in Liam’s gaze before I looked at him. No words needed to be spoken between us. The memory of that night came flooding back-her heat, her need. If what Keziah said was true… she had touched herself while we felt every aching, sinful second. My wolf stirred eagerly, tail wagging at the thought, but I pushed it back. There was more at stake than fantasies.
“There’s something I still don’t understand,” I said. “If our bond is so powerful, how could she even try to reject us? Why hasn’t she truly accepted us yet?”
Keziah leaned back, fingers threading together thoughtfully. “Your mate, despite not knowing who-or what-she truly is, has adapted in ways most wouldn’t survive. The pain she’s endured… it forced her to divide her emotions, lock them away. It’s a survival instinct. And I believe it’s that skill-conscious or not-that allowed her to momentarily resist you. But remember this: the wolf is the one who carries the truth of what she is. It was her wolf that denied the rejection. That’s no small thing.”
A glimmer of hope flickered in my chest. If her wolf was fighting for us, maybe we had a chance. Maybe she hadn’t shut the door entirely.
“Training,” Liam said, still lingering on the earlier thread. “You mentioned training?”
Keziah gave a solemn nod. “Every Celtic Wolf is fated to cross paths with someone chosen by Selene-someone gifted with the wisdom to guide them. That person will not possess her powers, but they will carry knowledge passed down through generations. You must find this person. Without training, she’s vulnerable… not just to others, but to herself.”
I hesitated. “But we don’t even know for sure that she is what you say. Couldn’t you be wrong?”
“Of course I could,” Keziah said coolly. “But if I’m right, and you choose to ignore it… it could be fatal. To her. To you. To the bond. You need to know for certain. The first sign will be her wolf.”
“She hasn’t shifted in front of us yet,” Liam admitted.
“Then that’s where you begin,” she replied. “In ancient Celtic lore, the number three holds power. That’s why, I believe, there are three of you. If your mate is a true Celtic Wolf, she’ll carry the mark of the Triskelion behind her left ear. A sacred symbol. It’s the only confirmation we can hope for-right now.”
“And if the mark is there?” I asked, my voice tighter than I meant.
“I can’t give you a path to follow. But if it were me, I wouldn’t tell her about this conversation yet. She already has questions-you don’t need to give her more when you have no answers. If the mark is there, find the guide. I suspect her father may know something, though I can’t see his full lineage clearly. You may bring him to me if persuasion is required.”
Liam nodded slowly, though his eyes were distant, thoughts already spiraling somewhere I couldn’t follow.
My own head throbbed with the weight of everything we’d just learned. We’d come seeking answers… and left with riddles, legends, and dire warnings. I rose to my feet, my movements mechanical. Liam followed, equally dazed. We both leaned in to kiss Keziah’s cheek, honoring the ancient respect owed to her.
But just as we reached the door, her voice called out-low, urgent, prophetic.
“Oh, Alphas,” she said, and we turned. “Don’t screw this up. The Moon Goddess never creates a bond without intention. Especially not this kind. Your mate isn’t just powerful-she’s essential. And when her time comes, she’ll need your strength… or she may not survive it.”
We offered her a nod, our throats too tight for words, and stepped outside.
The weight of what we’d heard settled in my chest like lead. I couldn’t breathe. The panic stirred in me like a storm-unfamiliar and unwelcome. Before Lia, I’d never known fear like this. But now, just the idea of losing her-through rejection, through danger-terrified me more than the bloodiest battle ever had.
She was my center. My anchor. My reason. And whether she let me or not, I would fight to protect her. Love her. Save her-if it came to that.