I see no sign of Thorn or the Aurora pack, though they were the last to arrive last year. My stomach twists. I’ve beenanticipating seeing him all year. Countless dreams of him circulate in my head as I look up at the spires cresting the cliffside. The last time I saw him, he was bleeding and limping, and his whole pack was turning against him. I hope he survived the year. But, even more important, I hope he didn’t take another lover after I made my decision. A decision I regretted as soon as the words left my mouth. After waiting all year for him, finding out that he’s already mated would be devastating.
After the zillion rows of stairs inside the Ancient Castle, Roman and I grab our old room. Mainly, I suspect, because Roman knows about the secret door that leads out to the valley, and as soon as we arrive, he asks, “How many other secret doors are there?”
“I’m not sure. You were the one reading all those books, you didn’t find it in them?”
“I bet there are hundreds, and the only people who know about them are those who built them. And they are all dead.”
“So, there could be millions,” I antagonize.
His eyes light up. A year older and his childlike, adventurous spirit never leaves him. Meanwhile, a whole year back at the cave was spent dreaming of a life I could have had. A mate I could have had, and wondering if I messed everything up.
“You have that face again.” Roman leaps onto the bed.
“What face?”
“The ‘I’m dreaming of Thorn’ face.” He snorts.
“I do not have a face like that.”
“You do, it looks like this…” he puckers his lips, looks upward, and flutters his eyelashes.
I grab a dusty book off the bookshelf by the door and toss it at him. He catches it, still jumping on the bed, dust filters from it like snow. The sight reminds me of Thorn’s white coat in his wolf form.
“Good gods, there it is again.” He groans. “I’m going to find Cullen.”
Then he slams the door behind him. Leaving me with the ghost of year-old memories to haunt me and praying that Thorn will arrive alive and not already mated.
Chapter 35
THORN
The trek to the castle is quiet this year. Too quiet. No Tala to chatter at my side, no steady voice to blunt the weight of my thoughts. She has her mate now, and so her place is no longer with me. Without her comforting presence, I’m left with young, single mates and those who have recently been found without a mate, mostly due to the Challenge nine months ago.
Neither of which will deign to talk to me.
So the journey is silent. Silence and a brutal pace that even I can’t slow, because every mile closer makes the string of my nerves loosen slightly more in my chest.
Every mile closer brings me to her.
By the time the ancient spires rise on the horizon, my wolves are heaving for breath. Yet, I’m nothing but determined, stalking forward.
Inside the castle, the priest drones his annual speech about trials and mates and duty. Frankly, none of it matters anymore, I know what I’ve come for. Then we’re escorted to our wingon the first floor. My room is the first door on the right of the East Wing. I pause outside my door as the pack filters past. Five of the unmated widows who lost their mates shoot me dirty looks as they pass into their respective rooms. Tris, who was Steele’s new mate last season, gives me a nod as she passes. Maybe she’s realizing I did her a favor. She can find a mate in the Great Lakes pack again and return to her home. It’s Lucia, Franz’s former mate, who refuses to look at me as she passes. They were mated for ten years. I almost feel sorry. Almost.
They challenged me. I fought. I survived. The blood is on their hands as much as mine.
Once the pack has filtered into their rooms, I open the arched wooden door to my quarters. It creaks wider as I enter. The fire is already smoldering low in the hearth, the scent of ash and smoke clinging to the air. Three tall windows show the setting sun bleeding orange across the stone. The center window has been replaced and cleaned since last season. With the lack of complaints and stops, we made record time this year. It’s probably because my paws could not be tamed. Not when I knew how close Ember was. She rejected me last year and chose to remain unmated. This year, I refuse to leave without her.
A knock rattles the door.
“Enter.”
A priest glides in, red robes wisping across the stone as he walks deeper into my quarters. I’m no longer greeted by the elder priest. This priest is bald and smells of musty books. His smile is too thin, his eyes too sharp. I wonder what grievance he has for me.
“Alpha Thorn,” he greets coldly. “A wonder to see you return.”
I grunt, noncommittal.
“After last year’s…disappointing result, I confess, we doubted you would return.”
