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.