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.”

[Larkspur Silverfang]

Larkspur was pretty sure that if you looked up the word “stubborn,” her photo would be plastered right next to it. And she had no doubt that if you searched for “arrogant,” you’d find a glaring image of Connor Stormborn. Her gaze was decidedly averted from him; she despised that her men had managed to keep her confined. Now, as a disgraced princess and a lone wolf, she felt more like a rogue than ever.

Her eyes rolled at the low warning in his voice. “Don’t get all comfortable there, and don’t call me sweetheart,” she snapped back, venom lacing her words. The tether pulling her toward him was infuriating, which was precisely why she chose to sit—easier to ignore the magnetic draw. Still, her eyes roamed over the cabin, taking in the decor that felt so out of place for someone like Connor Stormborn. She was jolted back to attention when he told her to keep her legs to herself.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t get a chance to dress more appropriately before I was dragged here,” she retorted, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “This is a standing dress, not a sitting dress. Though if anyone mistakes this…” She trailed a perfectly manicured finger up her fully exposed thigh, letting the implication linger in the air. “Well, it may very well be the last breath they take. Let me remind you that I am not some human girl easily dominated. I bite—hard, and with malice.” Her canines flashed at him, a warning and a promise all at once.

“You are impossible,” Ember, her wolf, pressed against her mind, frustration simmering. “Why tempt if you don’t want it?” Lark rolled her mental eyes at her wolf’s incessant nagging.

“Seems like a poor choice to force me to stay here if you don’t want another storm tearing through your house, Stormborn.” A smirk curled at her lips as she trailed her fingers through her hair, which had begun to lose the perfect arrangement it had held at the ball.

A growl rumbled in her throat as she stared him down, her resolve solid. “First, don’t call me ‘little wolf,’ you ass. Second, bonds can be rejected all the time. There have only been, what—three deaths? And that was because they were soul-tied. You and me? Please. The moon goddess just wants to yank our chains. There’s no way in hell we are soul-tied,” she declared, crossing her arms defiantly as he leaned closer.

Ember whimpered in the back of her mind, reaching out to Blaze, drawn in by the closeness lingering between them. His scent—like stormy nights with a spark of lightning—tingled against her skin. The magnetic pull kept her from taking a deep breath, and she had never lost control of her wolf before. Now, she was barely managing to keep Ember at bay.

“May I remind you that it was you who dragged me here with your mighty guards? So really, it’s you who is pushing, not me.” She leaned back against the couch, laughter bubbling out of her as she regarded him. “Please, just show me how dangerous you are, and I will gladly show you how dangerous I can be, Connor.” His name rolled off her tongue like a challenge as one hand reached out, almost as if against her will, to scrape her nails down his throat. Damn Ember, she thought, her heart racing.

[Connor Stormborn]

Connor didn’t move when her nails touched his throat. That was the first thing. Most wolves would have flinched. Snarled. Snapped. Especially with claws that close to a jugular. He didn’t. Storm-gray eyes dropped slowly to where her fingers trailed against his skin. He felt the scrape... light, deliberate. A challenge dressed up as temptation.

Blaze exploded inside him. “Take her hand. Pin it. Show her.”

A low rumble rolled through Connor’s chest, not quite a growl, not quite a warning. His hand shot up... not violent, not rushed... just precise. He caught her wrist before her nails could drag any lower. Not tight enough to hurt. Tight enough to remind her exactly who she was touching. “You talk too much,” he said quietly. Her pulse beat against his fingers. Fast. Defiant. Alive. He leaned closer instead of pulling away, closing what little distance remained between them. Her scent hit harder now... stronger with agitation. It wrapped around his senses, dragged claws down his spine.

Blaze paced like a caged beast. “She wants it. She’s daring you. End this.”

“I don’t take dares,” Connor murmured, gaze lifting back to hers. “And I don’t perform on command.” Her words replayed in his head. Soul-tied. Moon goddess. Only three deaths. Arrogant. Reckless. Terrified. He could smell it beneath the bravado. “You think this is the moon yanking chains?” he said, voice lowering, turning colder. “You think I’d feel this pull for just any wolf?”

Blaze surged at the word pull, slamming hard against Connor’s restraint. “She is ours. Stop lying.”

Connor tightened his grip a fraction, jaw flexing. “I dragged you here,” he agreed, not breaking eye contact. “Because you were about two seconds from ripping someone’s throat out at that ball. And if anyone is going to deal with your temper...” his thumb brushed deliberately over the inside of her wrist, feeling the heat there, “...it’ll be me.” Her wolf stirred. He felt it. Ember reaching, testing, pressing at Blaze through that invisible tether. The air between them thickened, charged.

Blaze growled, deep and satisfied. “She feels it. She’s losing control.”

Connor inhaled slowly, deliberately, dragging her scent into his lungs like punishment. “Show you how dangerous I am?” His mouth curved, but there was no humor in it. “You wouldn’t survive it.” Not because he would hurt her. Because he might not stop. That was the truth he wouldn’t speak. His gaze flicked down... traitorous again... to where the dress split high on her thigh. The image burned into him. Possessive instinct flared hot and sharp. Mine. The word echoed, heavy and undeniable. Connor released her wrist abruptly, stepping back before Blaze could push him into something irreversible. Distance. He needed distance. “You want to leave?” he said, voice steady again, controlled. “Walk out that door. No one’s chaining you here.” A lie. They both knew it. Black Talon territory wasn’t kind to outsiders. His eyes darkened. “But if you stay in my house,” he added, “you follow my rules. You don’t provoke my wolf. And you sure as hell don’t touch me like you think I’m some toy you can test.”

Blaze snarled at that. “She is not a toy. She is mate.”

Connor ignored him. “You’re alpha blood?” he continued, circling slightly now, slow predator pacing. “Then act like it. Because right now all I see is a wolf trying to convince herself she doesn’t want what’s standing in front of her.” He stopped just out of arm’s reach. “Reject the bond if you’re so sure,” he challenged, storm-gray eyes locking onto hers again. “Go ahead. Call it. I won’t stop you.” Blaze went deadly still inside him. Waiting. Daring. Because for all his arrogance... Connor Stormborn didn’t believe she would.