My father’s mate. The bruise on her cheek has faded yellow, but there’s no doubt in my mind, she has fresh ones somewhere else, somewhere she can cover with her long skirts and sleeves.
“I’ll never hurt Una. I’ll never let anyone hurt her.”
“You couldn’t stop it today.” Her voice is gentle, and her words cut to the bone.
I push Una’s hair out of her face. It’s sticking to her clammy cheeks. “What do I do?”
“You put things right.”
“How?”
“Everything has happened out of order. We need to pause time. Give you space to do what needs to be done.”
She’s speaking mystic nonsense now. I need to know who to kill, and in what order.
She presses the cooling tea into my free hand. “You can’t protect her like this. You need to grow into your strength. You’ll need all your focus to root out the evil in this pack.”
“Tell me what to do.” I’m so tired. So terrified. My wolf prowls inside me on shaking limbs. He’s weak, too.
“Drink,” she says, glancing down at the dark brew in the cup. I sniff. It has no smell.
My grip is unsteady. The liquid sloshes over the rim. “What is it?”
“A choice.” She covers my hand with hers. “Let her go—for now. Let her be happy while you grow strong so you can make her safe.”
“Or?”
“Be selfish. See your mate as a possession, not a gift. You won’t be alone. You’ll be in good company in this pack.”
“And if I drink this, she’ll be safe?”
The crone’s gray eyes grow moist. There’s a deep sadness in them, a hopelessness that riles my wolf. He doesn’t surrender, and the sight pisses him off.
“Yes,” she says. “That’s what I’m betting.”
“But are you sure?”
“No. I can’t see the future. But I’m depending on you. And so is she.” She nods at Una.
My mate is so pale, she’s almost gray. I can’t sense her wolf at all.
“She didn’t shift.”
“She couldn’t. She’s not like you.”
“Where’s her wolf now?”
The crone’s lips wobble before she forces a smile. “Hiding for now. She’ll be back in time. Usually, the wolf is braver than the girl, but in this case, the girl has the heart of a lion.”
It’s true, but the crone’s words provoke my temper. “She doesn’t need the heart of a lion. I’ll protect her.”
“I know you will.” The crone gently guides the cup to my lips. “Drink.”
I don’t. I am not one to do what I’m told. Instead, I watch my mate.
She squirms, restless, fighting the sheet. Her hair is tangled from her head turning back and forth. She’s feverish.
I rest my free hand lightly on the spot above her belly button, the only part of her that Thomas Fane’s claws missed. This must be where she tucked the baby.
A fierceness surges through my veins. Pride. A gratitude so powerful it’s a hallelujah.
“Will it hurt her if I drink?”
“Some might say so. I wouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“She’ll be free. She won’t be waiting. She’ll find her own way.”
I comb my fingers through her hair, gently loosening the tangles. Some strands are stiff with dried blood. “She’s mine. She should be with me.”
I expect the crone to argue, but instead, she gives me a sad smile, pats my shoulder, and takes the cup and sets it on the bedside table. Then, she shuffles off to stoke the fire.
What do I do?
The path forward is so unclear. There are so many enemies. So many dangers. The only certain thing is that Una belongs to me.
And I would do anything to keep her safe.
Last winter, when I was on a run with my father, we came across an old wolf up in the hills, a male gone feral in his youth. He’d triggered a landslide somehow, and he was at the bottom of a ravine, dragging himself along with his front paws, trailing blood in the dirt.
He must’ve been trapped by a falling rock. He’d gnawed off his own hind leg to free himself.
My father put him down. Ripped his throat out as the old wolf bared it in deference. My father had called it a mercy. There is no place in our pack for a defective wolf.
I think of that old grizzled male as I finish with Una’s hair, braiding it as best I can so she doesn’t work it into knots again. I don’t have anything to tie the end, so I lay it carefully on her chest. She has pretty hair. Brown like a chestnut.