My mouth dropped open. Even in the depths of the forest, he shouldn’t have said such things. Our Wolf magic thrived on these powerful bonds, to our kings and our mates. Hurting the pack leader was a death sentence, heir or not. And I knew then that if he had stood up for me in that office, it would’ve ended badly for both of us, and yet, the less logical part of me hated that he didn’t. Judging by that suspicious bruise on his eye, I wondered if he was punished for sticking up for me in the grand hall. I hated that I understood the reasons for his silence now. It would’ve been easier to just stay mad at him.
“What he said . . .” I gulped, reliving the moment in the King’s office. “That my parents should’ve—”
Grae pushed off the tree, the action silencing me. In a split second, his hands bracketed my face and he pulled me into a hot, burning kiss. My arms instinctively wrapped around him, the way they had yearned to a million times before. His mouth claimed mine and his fingertips dug into my neck, holding me to him. I tried to leash the desire to thread my hands through his hair, but as his smoky scent filled me, my restraint snapped. A groaning snarl escaped his mouth as his tongue lashed my own, skittering shocks of lightning shooting through my body at the contact. I barely had time for my lips to respond before he broke our kiss and rested his forehead on mine, leaving me reeling.
His eyes scorched into me as he said, “I’ve been wanting to do that since you nearly bowled me over in Allesdale, little fox.”
The immensity of what this was came flooding back into me—the power of fate, of magic, of bonds that stretched into immortality coursed through my veins.
I took a hasty step backward, out of his grasp. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Grae cocked his brow. “Why didn’t I tell you I was completely bewitched by you?” His voice was a low rumble that made my toes curl in the soil. He tilted his head, eyes trailing down my figure. “Why didn’t you tell me the same?”
“I-I . . .” I pressed the heel of my hand into my eye. “You’re assuming that’s true.”
“It is.” Grae’s canines glinted as he flashed a wolfish grin, and the sight of those sharp teeth made my stomach flip. “I know you felt it as much as I did when the moonlight touched your skin.” He reached out and ran his rough, calloused hand from my collarbone, over my amber necklace, and up my jaw until he cupped my cheek. My eyelids flickered at his soft touch. “You’re my mate, Calla. You and I were always meant to be.”
I shuddered at those claiming words, turning my face into him until my lips skimmed the inside of his wrist. It felt so right—his scent, his touch, my name on his lips.
He smoothed back his thick hair, watching me with hooded, wanting eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I was afraid of what my father might do if he knew.”
“And Olmdere?”
“I never wanted to stop you from helping your homeland. Believe me,” Grae said, his eyes filled with pleading. I wanted to believe him—I wanted to believe in every inch of him at that moment—but the events of the day had shredded my faith in everything I was raised to believe: the pack, our duty, the family that we’d have. Grae dropped his hand and a pained longing made me want to reach for him again. The need to touch him—to always be touching him—filled me to the core. “One day, I pray to storm the castle by your side and watch as you retake your parents’ throne.”
“But?”
Grae hung his head. “But my father is a dangerous man, more than you could ever know, and I fear what will happen if you stand between him and his plans.”
Kings and their plans—for gold, for power—it was a hungry, bottomless pit, not so different from what Vellia had told us of dark magic. What was the difference between a greedy King and an evil sorceress? All they both wanted was more.
“He can’t kill me now that we’re tied together,” I whispered, hating that my voice wobbled. “But he’ll make the pack hate me.” My gaze dropped to my feet. “Everyone will call me runt behind my back. They’ll think you’re shackled to me. And there are no other Golds to come to our aid—it’s just you and me . . . and Briar.”
With my sister’s name, I prayed to the Gods to have even half of Briar’s composure. My emotions always seemed bigger than hers, as if the well ran deeper within me. The slightest look or ill-spoken word could swing me from one extreme to the next. Briar seemed immovable compared to me, steady, easy, calm—words never used to describe me. It’s what would’ve made her a beloved queen . . . when there was nothing easy to love about me.