Strays and Storms - Connor and Larkspur

[Connor Stormborn]

Location: Black Talon Territory — Just past dawn

The hum of engines was long dead. Morning hung over Black Hollow like smoke... thick, still, and full of the kind of silence that meant something was going to break.

Connor stood outside the clubhouse, boots planted on gravel still slick from last night’s rain. A cigarette burned slow between his fingers, smoke curling up around his jawline. He didn’t smoke often. Only when something needed silencing... his mind, or worse, the restless pacing of the wolf just under his skin.

"You shouldn’t have brought her." The thought wasn’t his. It was Rogan, his beta, speaking low behind him with arms crossed and that same quiet tension in his voice that meant he’d been holding it in for too long.

Connor didn’t turn. He took a drag, exhaled slow. “She’s not yours to worry about.”

"She’s ours," Blaze said. Growling low, insistent. "Mate. Ours."

Connor clenched his jaw until his teeth ached.

Larkspur was trouble. Fire in a wine glass. All polished poise and wounded pride, with a sharp tongue and sharper eyes. She hadn’t said a word to him since he’d hauled her from the Unity Ball... flirting with a pack enforcer one second, nearly getting into a fight the next.

He should’ve left her there. He didn’t.

"You brought her back like a trophy," Rogan said, tone clipped. "Now half the pack’s whispering. The other half’s wondering if you’ve finally lost it."

Connor flicked the cigarette to the gravel and crushed it beneath his boot. “Let ‘em wonder,” he muttered. “Maybe they’ll keep their fangs to themselves.”

Truth was, he couldn’t explain it. Not to Rogan, not to himself. Something about her clawed at the inside of his ribs. She walked like she owned any room she stepped into... even when everyone knew she had no place in it anymore. He recognized that. Hell, he respected it.

But he didn’t want her. He wanted his freedom. His peace. His damn space.

"You keep saying that," Blaze whispered. "But you watch her every night."

“She’s a stray I picked up on impulse,” he muttered aloud. “She doesn’t mean anything.”

“Then why is she still here?” Rogan asked, voice cold.

Connor turned this time. His eyes, that rare, unnatural shade of storm-gray, locked onto Rogan’s. “Because no one lays a hand on what’s mine. Whether I want it or not.”

He didn’t wait for the response. Just turned and stalked toward the side house where he’d put her up... far enough from the main compound, close enough to keep tabs. He didn’t trust the pack not to test her. Didn’t trust her not to bite back.

As he walked, the wind shifted, carrying her scent... wild honeysuckle and smoke. It hit him like a punch to the chest. Sharp, unwanted, and far too familiar.

"You’ll have to face her eventually," his wolf warned. "She’s not going to stay quiet."

Connor bared his teeth. “Neither am I.”

He knocked once on the door... sharp, authoritative... then let himself in without waiting.

[Larkspur Silverfang]

The ending of the unity ball had become a hazy whirlwind for Larkspur, a blur of flirtation and laughter that had left her exhilarated, ready to close out the night with a bit of fun. But then chaos erupted. It all spiraled out of control when one of the other women, irked by Larkspur's refusal to bow to Connor, had ignited the fight—or perhaps the man she had been wooing was her mate. The details were murky; all she knew was that her wolf had surged forward, eager to end the woman's life, but a firm hand had halted her, dragging her away from the scene.

Now, Larkspur found herself pacing the floor of what appeared to be a modest home—one that might belong to an aging mother, a place meant for caretaking and oversight. She needed to gather her thoughts and flee, but her wolf was insistent, a fierce voice echoing in her mind. “Just accept him already.”

“No!” Larkspur snapped back, frustration bubbling to the surface. 

“Why?” her wolf pressed.

“I am not some Luna to a rogue! I am of alpha blood!” Larkspur retorted, her resolve hardening. “We’ll just reject the bond, and in time—”

“No! Rejecting the bond could cause death,” her wolf countered, urgency lacing her words.

“That's a myth,” Larkspur reassured her, though deep down, uncertainty gnawed at her. The truth was, no one truly knew if that was the case. Rumors swirled that mating bonds could be broken, yet no wolf she had known had ever willingly attempted it.

A familiar, sickly sweet scent of smoked teakwood drew nearer, and Larkspur sighed, flopping onto the couch. The dress she wore was restrictive, the slit riding higher than she would have liked, a reminder of her vulnerability. She remained silent, knowing this wasn’t her home, and he would enter one way or another.

When he finally walked in, a growl erupted from her throat, frustration spilling over. She hated this feeling of being locked away. “Can you just reject the bond already? We both know neither of us want it!” she snapped, crossing her legs tightly, using the gesture to ground herself, to keep her mind tethered while her wolf clawed at her insides, yearning to claim him and mingle their scents.

“Fuck off, Ember!” she screamed at her wolf, who growled back defiantly, causing Larkspur to roll her eyes in exasperation. The internal battle raged on, a tumultuous storm of desire and defiance, as she braced for what was to come.

[Connor Stormborn]

The door creaked on its hinges as Connor stepped inside, shadows cutting sharp across his shoulders. The scent hit him first... her scent... clinging to the air like wildfire refusing to burn out. Honeysuckle, smoke, and something uniquely hers. It caught in his lungs, and for one traitorous second, he forgot why he was here.

Then her voice cut the room in half. “Can you just reject the bond already? We both know neither of us want it!”

The growl behind her words should have amused him. Should have reminded him that she was still just another wolf playing at defiance. But his eyes slid where they shouldn’t have... down the length of her legs as she crossed them tight, the slit of that dress daring him.

Blaze surged forward like a tide breaking loose. “Ours. She’s begging to be claimed. Don’t fight it.”

Connor’s hand flexed at his side, fingers twitching with the effort it took to leash his wolf back. His jaw locked, storm-gray eyes narrowing on her sprawled form.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he said, voice low, rough-edged, the kind that carried warning without the need to raise it. “You don’t get to tell me what I want.”

“She’s showing herself to us,” Blaze pressed, a growl rumbling in Connor’s chest that wasn’t entirely his own. “Take her. End this fight.”

Connor forced a laugh, humorless and sharp. “Keep your damn legs to yourself before someone mistakes you for an invitation.”

But his gaze betrayed him. He lingered... just long enough to taste the edge of temptation, just long enough for Blaze to claw at the back of his ribs.

“Stop pretending,” Blaze snapped, impatient. “You want her just as much as I do.”

Connor dragged his stare away, fists curling tight until his knuckles cracked. “What I want is peace. Not another storm tearing through my house.”

Still, when he looked back at her... her chin tilted, defiance painted across her face, her wolf clearly scratching at the surface... he felt it again. That pull. That dangerous tether he couldn’t sever, no matter how hard he tried to bury it.

“You think a few sharp words make me eager to cut this bond?” he said finally, stepping closer, his boots heavy against the wooden floor. “You’re not worth dying over, little wolf. And make no mistake... rejecting a bond like this? That’s exactly what it is. Death.”

He leaned forward, bracing a hand on the back of the couch just above her shoulder. Close enough that her scent slid under his skin like poison. Close enough that Blaze prowled inside him, snarling to be let out.

“But if you keep pushing,” Connor murmured, low enough it was almost a growl, “you’ll find out I’m a hell of a lot more dangerous than a myth.”