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“Wait for the signal and I’ll meet you after dark. Show me all the places where others gave you scars. Now this is an open-shut case. Guess I should have known from the look on your face. Every bait and switch was a work of art.”

The soft light of dawn crept over the sacred arena, casting shadows across the worn stones and ancient carvings that spoke of battles long past. Harry had grown up hearing the legends surrounding this place—stories of Alphas who had won glory, lost it, or even transcended it in these very stones, securing the respect of the pack. To stand here now, knowing he’d one day face his own challenge, felt like stepping into a role that had been waiting for him his entire life.

At seventeen, his limbs were lean with muscle, his face still half-shadowed by boyhood but sharpened by hours of training. He wasn’t a leader yet, but he was an alpha—the raw potential of it simmered in his blood, demanding to be tested, proved.

From his earliest memories, Harry had learned the rules of his world through his parents. His father, also an alpha, was the first one to tell him about the ancient traditions that the pack holds sacred. At first they were just bedtime stories. He would brush his teeth, and climb into bed with his father right behind him to tell him how the world works. This was where he’d be told whispered tales of the ancient Alpha duels, painting vivid images of Alphas battling in sacred arenas, relics of past leaders surrounding them like silent spectators.

They didn’t know what Harry would end up presenting as. 

Not until he was six years old — that’s when his parents first noticed something different about him. That he was different, his temperament set him apart from the other children in their pack. He was a quiet child, but his silence wasn’t the quiet of meekness, rather the silence of someone who was constantly observing, constantly analyzing. 

Harry’s eyes would narrow when he watched the older Alphas spar, and when he’d walk into a room, the other children would instinctively move aside as if they could feel the potential within him.

But it was one specific morning that turned to the question of if into when.  

Dawn had broken through the trees, casting long shadows over Harry’s childhood home. His father was finally teaching him how to track game, after weeks of Harry pleading for a new lesson on how to be just like him. His mother sat nearby, mending one of Harry’s tunics, her eyes never far from where Harry stood. He was still barefoot even though he had been scolded to wear shoes whenever he was outside.

Stubborn as always, only getting worse as he continued to grow.

He had been too focused on the lesson at the time to catch the quiet knowing in the way his mom observed him, an understanding that had grown since the first time she had seen him take charge of the children in their pack. Instead he was studying the way his father crouched low, his large, muscular frame nearly blending with the surrounding underbrush. 

“Remember, Harry,” His father instructed softly, “An alpha always stays patient. You need to know when to strike and when to wait. The forest doesn’t move on your command. It moves on its own.”

Harry nodded without speaking, his small brow furrowed in concentration. His attention was fixed on the trail, his eyes scanning the forest floor with a precision that belied his age. Despite being as young as he was — there was a certainty in his body, a way his movements were so deliberate, so sure. Even when his small feet made an innocent scuff on the dry leaves, his eyes snapped to the sound, and without a word, he corrected himself. Sliding his feet with purpose, making himself as still as the trees around him.

His father watched, his lips curling slightly in approval. “That’s it. You’re getting the hang of this.”

Then, a slight rustling in the trees. A deer, perhaps. 

Harry tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for the knife at his belt. But it wasn’t the motion of his hand that caught his father’s attention. It was the stillness that overtook him. He could feel it; the raw focus emanating from Harry. 

He wasn’t merely waiting for the right moment to strike. He was already in tune with his surroundings, already calculating his next move as if the forest itself were an extension of him.

His father’s gaze hardened with realization. He glanced over at his mother, who had noticed the same thing. Her expression was a mixture of concern and pride, reminiscent of feelings they had discussed many times in hushed tones at night.

“He’ll be an Alpha,” His mother whispered, hands stilling in their work. His father nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on Harry. 

Sensing his parents’ attention on him, he straightened up but kept his focus on his hunt. He tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning the distance, his gaze sharp and confident. The deer stepped cautiously into view, oblivious to the predator in its midst. Harry’s hand twitched toward his weapon, his breath slowing. Making sure to move with the same ease his father had demonstrated.

In that moment, his mother held her breath. 

Harry’s next action was instinctual—his muscles coiling with a precision. He didn’t hesitate. The knife flew from his hand, cutting through the air with a force that would have been surprising in any adult. The blade struck deep, and the deer crumpled instantly, a clean kill. 

Harry didn’t even move toward it right away. He stayed where he was, watching, observing.

It was about leadership, about a presence that commanded respect. Alphas weren’t just warriors—they were born with the ability to observe, to strategize, to understand the pack dynamic without even trying.

“He’s ready,” He heard his father say, breaking the silence. His voice held a note of wariness, “But we have to prepare him.”

“He’s already more than we expected. If he’s this sharp at six, what will he be like when he’s older? How will he handle the challenge of becoming an alpha?”

“We guide him. We prepare him for what’s to come. And we teach him restraint. An alpha doesn’t just take power. An alpha earns it, and knows when to wield it wisely.”

Harry heard the words but they’re not a concern at the moment. He’ll think back on this moment later. Harry moved toward the deer now, his small hands grasping its legs to drag it toward their camp. His shoulders were set with an almost unnatural confidence.

But as he neared his parents, his sharp eyes met theirs, and he paused. There was something in his gaze, a fire there, knowing that he would never be content as anything less than the leader he was destined to be.

“I did it,” Harry said simply, his voice unassuming. It was as though he’d already understood that this was what he was meant to do. No pride, no boastfulness—just the recognition of his own ability.

Harry was different. And that difference meant more than just being a good hunter.

“When the others start to challenge him, when they start to sense what he is… we have to be ready.”

His father looks proud even with the worry under the surface. “We have some time thankfully. But he will need to be ready to fight. Because the moment he presents, every other alpha will come for him.”

That was the moment that his parents had begun teaching him more than just the history of his village, of his pack.

His wonderful mother, a beta, had taught him the importance of empathy, but she’d also warned him about the expectations of being an Alpha whenever his father wasn’t home. Taking care to reinforce in Harry that leadership wasn't given, it was earned through trials and victories, scars and blood. 

She’d tell him, “Strength is only as good as the heart that wields it.”

In his village, Alphas were protectors, commanders. To lead was to lay claim to power, but also to the trust and loyalty of every member in their pack. Every alpha was expected to be vigilant, watchful, willing to do what others couldn’t. Harry had been taught to fight not for himself, but for the honor and safety of his pack, an understanding that had settled deep in his bones.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t itching for a challenge.

The Alpha Challenge Tradition was as old as their village, maybe older. The fights took place in the Sacred Grove—a wide circle at the edge of the village, ringed by towering oaks and ancient totems marked with the names of fallen Alphas. Stories said the grove was laced with ancestral magic, and Harry believed it; stepping into the grove always felt like crossing a threshold into something raw, primal. 

It felt bigger than him, bigger than anything he knew. 

That’s when he was first told about what the elders called the “Third Force”. A name to that ancestral magic, that ancient energy that brought out the most intense, primal emotions in combatants. In these sacred spaces, instincts sharpened, emotions surged, and rivalries flared into something more complex.

Harry always felt it whenever he visited.

The air there was charged with an energy that prickled his skin, making his senses sharper, his instincts more feral. To fight in that arena was more than a contest; it was a communion with the past. 

Harry had watched his first alpha duel at thirteen, sitting with his friends in the crowd that had gathered to witness the battle. He remembered the awe, the way his heart had pounded watching two powerful Alphas clash with unmatched skill and brutality. 

The combatants had been swift, fierce, their bodies moving with practiced ease, and Harry had felt his own feelings stir inside him that night—a recognition, a longing. He knew then that he would stand in that arena one day, that he would earn his place in the hierarchy through blood and sweat.

Sweat.

That part he’d like to forget. Turning fourteen, and waking up one day drenched in sweat. Desperate for an omega to knot, rutting against his bed sheets to ease the tension that he didn’t know wouldn’t go away for a long couple of days.

Forgetting is definitely preferable and easy to do when he focused on the confirmation of his alpha status once the hours of furiously jerking himself ended. 

He still remembered his first duel— a year later at fifteen, facing another young alpha eager to establish his own name. The fight had been swift but intense, and he could still feel the gazes of the crowd’s eyes on him as he stood victorious. It was just other classmates, kids from the same pack as well but it was a taste of his future. A trial run for what he would make become his reality.

From then on, he was no longer just Harry. He was an alpha, a leader, a warrior, bound to uphold the honor of his pack and defend his place among them.

But there were rules to the way that these duels were held.

The Alpha Challenge wasn’t about tearing each other apart, though Harry knew it could feel that way. Duels had to end in surrender, incapacitation, or, rarely, a truce. The village elders spoke often of restraint, the wisdom in knowing when to yield or hold back. In Harry’s world, an Alpha who fought recklessly, without discipline, was a danger to everyone. 

So he’d trained, hours of it, honing not just his strength but his control. Now, at nineteen, he’d risen in the ranks, known among his pack for his fierce loyalty and precision. 

Yet, Harry had never considered that he’d end up facing someone like Louis.

-

Louis was also different.

From the first day they’d met, something about Louis had shocked him. They were both Alphas, both fiercely proud, but where Harry was controlled, Louis was mercurial. Louis held a reputation for risk, for the unpredictable spark he brought into battle. For his ability to challenge even the strongest without fear.  

Where Harry was cautious, Louis was bold often to the point of audacity. He fought like a storm, wild and unrestrained—exactly the kind of alpha Harry was taught to avoid.

Yet something in Harry was intrigued by him. It was instinctual, visceral. His presence, the sight of him, even just the mention of his name—it riled the alpha within Harry, a mix of pride and fury that he didn’t fully understand the reasoning behind.

In a duel, two alphas might sense each other in ways no one else could—a strange, primal understanding that bordered on intimacy. Among his pack, stories circulated about alphas who had fought their rivals to a standstill, forming bonds so deep they shared each other’s emotions, even thoughts. It’s like the Sacred Grove amplified everything between the opponents; a true test of one’s alpha where nothing could be kept hidden.

Louis’ sharp wit and relentless drive made him a constant point of comparison. And if Harry were honest, a quiet obsession. In moments of training or solitude, Harry would catch himself wondering what it would be like to finally test himself against Louis.

The tension between them had only grown over the years, marked by small skirmishes and moments of unspoken recognition that neither would admit to. He knew his father saw it too; there had been a flicker in his eyes each time Harry brought up Louis’ latest victory or rumor of some boundary dispute between their territories.

Finally, word had come that their rivalry would be formally resolved in a duel sanctioned by the council. Officially, it was to settle a dispute over hunting grounds, but everyone knew it was more than that. The elders had seen the tension between them, sensed the rivalry simmering beneath the surface.

Harry knew it wasn’t just a fight—it was a spectacle. The whole pack would gather, the elders draping themselves in relics, chanting blessings, offering sacrifices to the ancestors. 

And he knew that as soon as they stepped into the arena, he and Louis would be playing a part in something larger than themselves.

In the days leading up to the duel, Harry trained harder than ever.

He knew every inch of his opponent’s record, his fighting style, his strengths, and even his rare weaknesses. He tried to imagine himself defeating Louis, forcing him to yield, claiming the honor he’d worked toward his whole life. 

Yet a part of him, the part he never spoke about, didn’t crave victory so much as it craved the unspoken between them —a feeling, perhaps, of being understood.

It was well-known that two Alphas were rarely drawn to one another. Power was meant to complement, not contradict; Alphas took Beta or Omega mates. Partners who provided balance, support, and a sense of ease. But Louis was neither. 

Louis was a tempest, someone who matched his strength and even his instincts. Harry didn’t want to admit the way his pulse quickened at the thought of facing Louis in combat—the strange, dangerous thrill of knowing that the magic of the arena might force them to reveal things they hadn’t shown anyone if the folklore turned out to be real.

And if the stories were true, if the arena’s magic was alive, then maybe, just maybe, that strange tension between them might crack open, and the rivalry they wore as armor would melt into something else. But the notion felt taboo, and even dangerous. The pack didn’t tolerate deviation from tradition; two Alphas forming a truce was a rarity and, to some, a threat. 

Alphas were expected to rule alone, to remain unchallenged. The concept of a “Twin Alpha” bond—two Alphas leading together, equal in power and joined by a deep, mystical bond—was unheard of for generations.

Nobody believed in it anymore, except the elders. But even they had not witnessed anything like that.

-

As the day of the duel dawned, Harry looked over the arena from the pack’s high ridge, thinking of the legends, the rules, and his father’s words. He was ready to fight Louis, to win, but he could no longer deny the part of him that yearned to understand him as well. The tradition and magic felt like a pulse beneath his skin, urging him forward.

Every battle is preceded by a private meeting between the two alphas. Harry can’t help his nerves being mixed in with his anticipation as he stands outside of the door, the one separating him from Louis.

The heavy wooden door creaked as it closed behind Harry, the sound of it echoing in the dimly lit room. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the stone walls, dancing to the rhythm of the crackling fire in the hearth. The walls were lined with ancient tapestries, woven with symbols of past leaders. The air was thick, suffocating with tension, as if the very room couldn’t wait to see what was coming next.

Louis stood by the window, staring out into the distance, his back turned to Harry. He was taller than he remembered, lean but solid, his stance casual yet prepared. The faintest glimmer of moonlight illuminated his form, his silhouette lean and sharp. The wind tugged at the edges of his dark coat, but he didn’t move. His body was still, but Harry could feel the energy radiating off him, a current of power just beneath the surface, ready to snap.

They’d been trained for this. 

The Alpha duels were a part of their lives—tests of strength, of will. But something about this felt different. This wasn’t just another battle for territory, or to assert dominance. 

There was something else lingering between him and Louis now that the day had come. Harry couldn’t name it, couldn’t explain it, but he felt it. It buzzed in the back of his mind like an itch he couldn’t scratch, something he hadn’t felt with any other alpha before.

Is this what it’s like to feel known? To see a reflection of yourself in somebody?

When Louis spoke, it was soft, the words measured, but there was an undercurrent to his voice. A certain sharpness that Harry noticed immediately.

“You know this isn’t personal, right?” Louis’ voice was steady, but Harry could hear the subtle strain beneath it.

Louis didn’t turn to face him but that was okay. Harry didn’t want to meet his gaze… not yet. The moment their eyes met, everything seemed to freeze. 

Focus, he reminded himself. He needed to remain in control.

“I know,” Harry replied, his voice low and controlled. “I didn’t think it would be.”

Louis was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his tone was more reflective, almost... thoughtful.

“It doesn’t make it any easier, though.” There was a pause before he added, “You’re strong, Harry. I’ve been watching you for a while now. You’re a force to be reckoned with.”

The sincerity in Louis’ voice caught Harry off guard. He felt a wave of something—respect, admiration—maybe even a touch of pride? He couldn’t remember the last time another alpha had spoken to him like that, without the usual challenge or competitive edge.

“It’s not about being a force,” Harry said, his words sharp, almost defensive. He turned slowly, now facing Louis for the first time. “It’s about being capable. Strong enough to protect what matters. To lead.”

This gets him to turn around. 

Louis’ eyes locked onto his, and for a split second, Harry thought he saw a change in them— an unexpected softening behind the usual confidence, almost vulnerable. But it was gone before he could fully process it.

“You think you can lead, Harry?” Louis asked, his gaze steady, assessing. It wasn’t mocking, though there was a subtle challenge now in his voice. “It’s not just strength you need. It’s balance. Knowing when to fight, and when to… let go.”

Harry stiffened at that, his jaw clenching. Let go ? What did Louis know about balance? Harry had spent his whole life learning how to control every instinct, how to hold back when it counted. He’d never needed anyone’s advice on it.

“I know what I’m doing,” Harry said, his voice firm, but now underneath the bravado, there was a whisper of uncertainty that he quickly suppressed. “I’m ready for this.”

Louis’ lips quirked into a half-smile, the kind that wasn’t quite a smirk but still held something mischievous in it. His gaze flicked over Harry’s body—briefly, assessing—but Harry felt the heaviness of the look, the intensity of Louis’ attention. It was the way an alpha might study their opponent before a battle which can be expected given what’s coming. 

Yet Harry saw layers in it. The way his gaze lingered. The tension that curled in his muscles.

“I’m sure you are,” Louis said softly, his voice almost… admiring? Harry couldn’t tell.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them seemed to thicken, charged, like the atmosphere before a lightning storm. Harry felt it creeping up his spine—a quiet, magnetic lure. Like a gravitational pull, Louis was drawing him in, but it left him wary. Other alphas Harry had trained with before being chosen had held intensity like this but he never felt electrified by it. 

Not like he does now. Focus , Harry reminded himself again. 

But it was harder now, with Louis standing so close, the faint scent of him—leather, pine, and something underneath it all that was uniquely Louis—lingering in the air. He wondered what his own scent had shifted into but he couldn’t smell it with his brain locked on the other one.

Finally, Harry broke the silence, his voice rougher than he intended. “You’re not like the others, Louis. You fight different. You… feel different.”

That’s not what he meant to say.

Louis tilted his head slightly, his gaze narrowing, as if considering Harry’s words carefully. There was no response at first, just the steady, almost hypnotic rhythm of their breathing filling the space between them.

“You’re not the first to notice,” Louis said, his words low, almost teasing. “I fight for more than just territory. I fight because it’s in me, Harry. It’s who I am.”

Harry nodded slowly, his eyes locked on Louis’, searching for what lies beneath the surface of him. Past his history, past the rumors. Something raw. Something real. They stood like that for what felt like an eternity, but in truth, it was only a few seconds.

Then Louis took a step closer, closing the gap between them just enough to make Harry’s breath hitch. He didn’t touch him, but the proximity—it felt like a touch.

The air between them seemed to crackle with the unspoken tension, the silent recognition that things had shifted. Harry’s chest tightened, his body reacting in ways he didn’t understand. His heart beat faster, his muscles tensing.

Would Louis dare to be so reckless as to start the fight here?

“I respect you, Harry,” Louis said quietly, the sincerity of his words cutting through the noise in Harry’s head. There was a warmth in Louis’ gaze now. “But don’t think for a second that I’m going easy on you.”

Harry felt the movement within him at the words, his alpha rising up. But it’s met with a softer feeling as well —a hint of admiration, of respect for the way Louis’ alpha carries itself. All he knew was that this respect—this challenge was turning out to be more interesting than he thought it would be.

“I wouldn’t want you to,” Harry said, his voice quiet but calm. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Louis nodded, smiling as if Harry had said the right thing. He walked past him now, Harry not turning to watch even when he heard the door close behind him. They both knew that whatever happened in the Sacred Grove, the outcome of this fight would be more than just a determination of leadership. 

It would change them both, irrevocably.

It’s in their blood.

It is tradition. 

-

The torchlight grew stronger as the crowd gathered, pack members huddling close to witness the spectacle. Harry feels their eyes on him, their expectation. He rolls his shoulders back and reminds himself this isn’t just about rivalry or territory; this was about proving himself. 

But as he stepped into the circle, he caught sight of Louis, already waiting, his gaze steady and unyielding. He held himself with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, but his eyes—sharp and focused—betrayed a deeper, calculating mind. 

Harry felt the surge of adrenaline, a thrill that was as much excitement as it was dread. The chant of the pack faded into the background as they faced each other, and Harry felt as if he were standing on the edge, vast and unknown. 

And, for the first time, he wondered what might happen if they both chose not to surrender.

The fight began in silence, each step carefully measured, a dance of feints and glancing blows. Harry knew how to pace himself, how to read his opponent. 

But with Louis, everything was new. 

Harry’s pulse thudded in his ears as he sidestepped Louis’ thrust, his foot sliding over the uneven ground. He could feel Louis’ breath on the back of his neck, the heat of him close, the electricity in the air amplifying the sensation of every muscle, every instinct in his body pulling him into the fight.

Louis’ movements were fluid, almost predatory—his agility, his quickness, it was as though he could anticipate every one of Harry’s strikes before they even came.

The sound of leather-strapped boots hitting the earth echoed through the Sacred Grove. Harry’s muscles burned with each movement, his breath consistent but harsh as he dodged Louis’ strikes, each one faster than the last. The intensity of the fight wrapped around them like a fog, thick and heavy, a pressure in the air that wasn’t entirely from their movements.

They circled each other, the audience watching in near silence, but it felt as though the world had narrowed down to just the two of them, locked in combat. 

Harry could hear his heartbeat pounding in his chest, but that wasn’t what bothered him. It was the pulse of something deeper, something primal beneath his skin. The sacred space, the ancient arena—they all seemed to hum with energy now. There was more than the physical force between them, a third force moving beneath their bones, setting their instincts ablaze. 

Magic . 

Harry’s vision blurred for a second, and in that moment, he felt Louis’ presence more acutely than he ever had before—felt the heat radiating from him, his rapid heartbeat, and something else… something that made Harry’s pulse spike.

Louis wasn’t just fighting with his body, he was fighting with his soul, and somehow, Harry knew it. His thoughts twisted, forming with a clarity that wasn’t his own.

You’re not going to back down, are you?

The thought wasn’t his, yet it felt like it belonged to him. Louis’ voice—fierce, almost mocking—rang in his head, as if they were already bound, already sharing space in each other’s minds.

He could hear Louis’ breath, sharp and strained, matching his own. The magic—the third force—was alive, swirling between them, growing stronger with every passing second. He felt the power of Louis’ presence, felt the tension coiling between them like an electric charge, and it made him ache with a strength he had never known.

Harry didn’t know how to answer Louis’ comment, couldn’t find the words even if he tried. All he knew was that it didn’t feel like just a duel anymore. It felt like a collision of forces, of worlds, of fates. He could feel his own emotions elevating—anger, determination, but beneath it, something raw, something... hungry. A desire so fierce it sent a shock through Harry’s body.

We’re going to destroy each other, Harry thought, his mind racing.

Harry’s pulse thundered in his ears, but it wasn’t just his own heart. He could feel Louis’ pulse, too, as if they were two halves of the same whole. Every thud of Louis’ heart matched his own, like their bodies were speaking to one another in a language older than words. Harry moved again, faster this time, closing the distance between them.

He had to finish this. He had to win.

Louis’ defiance seemed to call to him, urging him to prove himself, to push harder. And Harry did. He lunged, slamming his shoulder into Louis’ chest, throwing him off-balance. Louis staggered back, a glint of surprise flashing in his eyes before he recovered and swiped a leg out, tripping Harry to the ground.

But Harry didn’t stay down. He surged upward in a fluid motion, spinning around to face Louis just as he stood. The ground beneath them seemed to pulse, thrumming with power that was rising. Harry’s senses were heightened—he could smell the sharp scent of Louis’ sweat mingling with the earthy tang of the forest, feel the tension crackling between them like a storm about to break. 

And then, it hit him.

He could feel Louis’ frustration, his controlled anger, and, beneath it all, the hunger—a deep, raw need that mirrored Harry’s own.

Harry’s mouth went dry.

It wasn’t just rivalry anymore. It was something else. Something primal. They weren’t simply fighting for leadership—they were fighting for dominance over something far more dangerous: each other.

Harry lashed out, swiping his fist in a calculated arc aimed at Louis’ jaw. Louis blocked, but there was a shift—a moment of vulnerability—an instant where Harry saw his rival’s guard falter, just for a heartbeat. He saw the same spark in Louis’ eyes. Recognition. Understanding.

Then, in the next breath, Louis moved. His body was fluid and graceful, a predator’s instinct woven into every step. Louis’ arm caught Harry’s, pulling him into a spinning maneuver. The momentum sent Harry crashing to the ground. He hissed in pain, but before he could react, Louis’ knee was on his chest, pinning him down with a force that made Harry’s heart race.

For a moment, they froze. 

Their faces were inches apart, eyes locked. The air between them crackled, thick with magic, energy swirling and amplifying every touch, every thought. Harry’s breath caught. He could feel it—Louis’ desire, his urge to dominate, to claim. But he could also feel something else, buried beneath the aggression. 

A vulnerability, a longing, something raw and exposed. Louis’ emotions surged through him like a wave, and in turn, Harry felt his own raw desire coil tighter, his body responding in ways that went beyond the fight. He was acutely aware of the heat of Louis’ skin against his, the sharpness of his breath.

“Yield,” Louis growled, his voice rough and strained.

But it wasn’t a challenge anymore. It wasn’t about the fight. Harry could feel the alpha in Louis, feel the battle in his mind warring between the pride of an alpha and something else— far more dangerous, more animalistic.

“I don’t yield.” Harry’s voice was barely a whisper, but the words seemed to hit Louis like a physical blow.

It was then that the magic, the third force grew louder, more insistent, as if reacting to their connection. The ground trembled beneath them, the air full of ancient energy. The totems surrounding the Sacred Grove seemed to glow faintly, as if recognizing the shift between the two of them.

Harry’s heart thundered in his chest, but it wasn’t just from the adrenaline anymore. It was as if every beat was calling to Louis, and Louis was answering. All of Harry’s senses heightened, their emotions mingling—Louis’ anger, his strength, his wildness, blending seamlessly with Harry’s own rage, his control, his hunger. The need to break the other’s defenses. 

His skin flushed with heat, though not from the exertion of battle. Louis felt it too. Harry could see it in the way his gaze shifted, darkening with a depth that spoke to a wild, untamed hunger. It’s even in Louis’ eyes, right down to the way his pupils dilate. 

It was yearning. It was need. 

It was as though Louis had been waiting for this moment all his life, as if the battle between them had been leading them here, to this impossible crossroad.

Then, Louis’ eyes flickered to his mouth, a moment of danger, and Harry’s pulse stuttered in his throat. 

Before Harry could even process it, Louis was moving again, faster than he thought possible. Their teeth clashed, and for the briefest second, Harry thought he might taste blood. But then, Louis’ lips were on his throat—hot, urgent, as Louis sank his teeth into the tender skin. 

The bite wasn’t vicious; it wasn’t meant to wound. But it was a mark—a claim , a primal assertion of something Harry wasn’t ready to face.

Louis groaned against Harry’s skin, the sensation of the bite so sharp, so intimate, that Harry couldn’t think of anything but Louis’ presence. If Harry thought he was feeling everything before, he was wrong. 

The universe was in Louis’ bite; he felt more than anything he had ever felt before—the rush of emotions, of memories that weren’t his own, but were being shared between them. The pain, the hunger, the power, the pride, and desire.

The bite was a revelation—one Harry couldn’t deny.

Without thinking, Harry’s hand shot up, fingers curling around Louis’ neck. It wasn’t deliberate, but instinctual—an alpha move, raw, dominating and desperate. Louis gasped, the shock of it momentarily leaving him open. And Harry’s teeth found his skin.

Louis’ skin tasted of salt, of sweat, of the sharp tang of adrenaline that pumped through his veins, but there was something else, too— a sweetness, undeniably him. His blood was hot, and his scent thick with salt and musk. Arousal shoots through them both, hard where they lay against each other.

It overwhelmed Harry’s senses as he bit down, deep enough to claim. 

Returning the mark, the declaration of territory. And as the magic surged again, Harry got more of it—a flood of even more thoughts, of memories—not his, but Louis’.

Mine . The word was primal, guttural. 

Louis’ hand shot to the back of Harry’s head, his fingers tangling in his hair as he yanked him closer, deepening the bite.

And just like that, the entire world seemed to tilt .

They both froze, the intensity of the moment stealing their breaths. Their bodies were pressed so close that they could feel the pulse of each other’s hearts, the same frantic, thundering rhythm. 

Louis’ body stiffened, and Harry could feel the tremors of his breath as their bond grew stronger. 

You feel it, don’t you?

Louis’ thought was low, strained, but full of emotion Harry couldn’t describe—satisfaction, maybe. But more than that.

Harry didn’t need words to understand. He knew. The bond was telling him, this connection between them was undeniable — a force of nature that neither could escape.

Louis pulled back just enough to meet Harry’s gaze, and in that moment, their bond surged, fully alive between them like a union of their souls. The physical sensations were overwhelming, but so were the emotions tangled up and all consuming.

“What are you doing?” Louis’ voice was hoarse. The bond relayed the depth of Louis’ confusion, his shock. His thoughts were a jumbled mess in Harry’s mind, and Harry couldn’t tell where his emotions ended and Louis’ began. “What are you doing to me?”

“I don’t know,” Harry managed, his own voice sounding strained. He felt the same bewilderment flood through him, but also a need to connect, to surrender, to fight this only to have it tear him apart.

Louis’ grip tightened on Harry’s arms, pulling him closer, their lips barely brushing. Harry’s heart pounded in his chest, the world around him dimming as all that mattered was this.

And then Louis did it.

He pulled Harry’s lips to his own, and the kiss was nothing like he’d expected. It wasn’t soft or hesitant. It was hungry, bruising, desperate. Their teeth met again, but it wasn’t just a meeting of flesh—it was of everything they’d held back until now. 

A war, a surrender, all in one.

As their lips parted, their breaths ragged— Harry’s mind spun. In that moment, it was clear as day. The magic, the ancient force in the grove, had marked them.

A bond. 

It didn’t matter that they were both Alphas. It didn’t matter that the world they lived in didn’t understand this kind of bond. It wasn’t supposed to happen—but it was happening now, and Harry couldn’t stop it.

They both knew the implications. Alphas didn’t form bonds with each other. Alphas didn’t mate. It was against the very fabric of their society, where power was meant to be held by one leader alone. But here, in the heart of the Sacred Grove, surrounded by ancient power, they had broken the rule—formed a bond that could never be undone.

What have we done? Harry thought, his breath ragged.

Louis’ lips curved into a slow, deliberate smirk, but his eyes were softer now. Filled with part awe, part wariness. 

We’re mated , he answered simply.

Butterflies in his chest, he wanted to kiss his mate again. But then another rush of butterflies came with that, this time a different kind of fear. The bond between them had been forged in blood, in ancient magic, and in a fierce battle.

Harry’s gaze shifted to the crowd watching them, their faces a mix of disbelief and shock. The elders remained silent, their eyes narrowed in suspicion.

But Harry didn’t care. 

Not anymore.

This bond they’d forged was theirs. And the magic that had pulled them together had made it clear.

The duel was over.