Page 110 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

See the gutted remains of the house.

My breath catches, and my eyes prickle. That might seem silly, even melodramatic. I spent less than a week at Trevelyan, and I endured the worst horrors of my life there. Betrayal upon betrayal, Lenora’s murder, the deaths of so many. I should be glad it burned. But all I can remember is seeing it for the first time with Bishop. Looking upon that stone monstrosity and thinking it beautiful.

The walls still stand. They are stone, after all. But the roof is gone and the windows are blackened scars. What remains is a mockery of Trevelyan. The seat of the Albion Pack, reduced to a husk. I might not have grown up here, but it’s still my birthright, and it is agonizing to see it this way.

There’s no time to talk. The others arrive, with the carts and coaches and horses, and Bishop needs to direct them around to the house, where there’s an open field for camping. Only after that is done does Bishop return to my side.

Without a word, Bishop takes my hand and leads me to the house, to that husk, and we step through what had once been the side door, now open to the elements. Inside, the stink of fire is overwhelming, and I swear I feel the heat of smoldering timbers.

Bishop pauses and looks up. The ceiling has holes through to the second level, and he tilts his head as if listening for sounds of imminent collapse, but all is still and silent.

“It might not be safe,” he murmurs.

“It won’t collapse on our heads. There’s no wind, and the fire is out.”

He nods and bends to examine the floor, which is solid under our feet. Then he rises, still holding my hand, and we continue inside.

“It wasn’t my childhood home,” he says. “But still…”

I tighten my grip. “It stood for something.”

“It really did. My father and uncle talked about Trevelyan so much that when I first arrived, it felt like coming home. As if it was meant to be mine.”

We continue down the hall.

“Julius wants to raze it to the ground and build fresh,” he says.

I smile. “He always hated it.”

“He did. But I’d like to preserve the exterior if possible. Oliver thinks it can be done, and he’s the expert in such things. He says we’d need to hire an architect to draw up the plans and get expert guidance on things like the trusses, but we could otherwise rebuild it ourselves.” He glances over. “What do you think? It’s your home, too. Ancestral and current.”

“I think the burning is a terrible tragedy, but also…” I look at him. “A rebirth. A phoenix rising from the ashes. A new seat for the Albion Pack, rooted in tradition but having burned away the stain of my father and other Alphas who didn’t have their Pack’s best interests at heart. A new home for a new Pack under a new Alpha.”

His arms go around my waist, and he pulls me to him in a kiss that sears as hot as the fire that consumed Trevelyan. All his worries are in that kiss, but his hopes, too.

When he pulls away, he brushes a stray strand of hair back over my shoulder. “I couldn’t put it into words, and perhaps it felt arrogant to say it, but yes. A rebirth. A new Pack rising from the ashes.”

“Julius might hate the house, but he will appreciate the symbolism.”

“He will.”

We continue walking. The staircase is remarkably whole, and we head up with care and then pause at the top.

Bishop’s arm slides around me as we gaze down the hall, with its scorched walls and blackened doorways.

“Will you want your own bedroom?” he asks.

I glance over sharply. “I hope that’s a joke. Unless you want your own.”

He smiles. “I know it’s the way among humans, and while I would much prefer sleeping beside you, I would understand if you needed your own place.”

“I would very much like my own place. Not a bedroom, but a room to call mine. Just as I’m sure you’ll have your own office.”

“What would you want?” He leans down to my ear, and when he whispers “Dream, Delia,” I smile, but also feel the prickle of grateful tears.

“A sitting room,” I say. “Where I can read and practice spells and gaze out a window.”

“From a window seat?”