Page 4

She had not wanted to hurt him. She had desperately wanted to win his love and the love of his children. In the end, she had settled for scraps.

Second matings were rare among their kind. If a wolf survived the death of their soul's half, no one expected passion from them again. Devotion was gone; the fire had turned to ash. What remained—what was considered acceptable—was companionship.

Fae had accepted the terms without complaint. She had not realised how much of herself she would have to bury deep to do so. So much so that she no longer recognised the person in the mirror.

Her gaze lifted to the broadsword mounted above the hearth.

Its hilt sparkled like stars, the glittering stones catching the firelight in cold, deliberate flashes. It had been Isolde's bride-gift to Blaidd, presented to him with ceremony and song. A blade meant to be admired as much as wielded.

The last time Blaidd had used it was during the battle that took Isolde's life.

Fae had taken it down to clean once. Dust had settled into the settings, the leather grip had started to crack. She had only wanted to please Blaidd.

Blaidd had walked in as she worked. The roar that tore from him had shaken the walls.

Startled, she had dropped the sword. It had struck the stone floor with a clash, and one of the gems had popped free, skittering across the hearthstones. The fury in Blaidd's eyes had been so raw, so unrestrained, that for a moment, she had truly believed he might kill her.

She had apologised with her head bent so low, her chin pressed into her chest and her shoulders hunched. Shrinking in a way she never had in her life.

She had offered to go to the jewel maker herself and had the stone reset, her hands shaking as she held the sword. But Blaidd had snatched it without a word. He had forbidden her from ever touching the sword again. The next thing she knew, it was repaired and back to its position of honour.

Now he used axes instead. She had forged them with her own hands as her bride-gift. Protective runes had been etched into the folded steel by her uncle, who dabbled equally in magic and moonshine. The wooden hafts had been scarred and broken twice in battle. Twice, she had replaced them herself in the quiet hours before dawn, smoothing the grain, fitting the steel, oiling the wood. She had done it quickly, for fear that if she did not, Blaidd would throw them away. They were only tools in his hands…just like her.

Fae tipped her chin up and stared at the lofty ceiling, refusing to allow any more tears to fall. Why had she allowed herself become so small? Why had she accepted so much less than what he owed her as his lifemate?

She knew why. Because a mate-bond was forever. The only way to sever it was by meeting the goddess. And the only way she could have a child was from her mate.

So long it had taken her to find a way out. She would work through the inevitable pain of separation and distance. She would cut this festering bond from her like a rotting limb that needed to be ruthlessly incised.

Her wolf-spirit touched her consciousness in a soothing brush.

She was not Isolde.

She was not Rowena.

And perhaps that, she thought grimly, had always been the problem.

She was something else entirely. She was a strong woman, a wolf in her own right, forged rather than adorned. Maybe once she had left this mistake behind, the goddess would bless her with another love. And if she couldn't have children of her own, then she would adopt one who needed her love.

Chapter 4

Upstairs, Fae retrieved her satchel and her burlap rucksack. She had carefully dried and coated it with beeswax weeks ago in preparation for the journey. The human world had many wonders, and the elders had grudgingly agreed to use their inventions for security and communications. Their village had a control room in the great hall and a handful of cell phones, as with most packs. The only time the two worlds intersected was when someone needed to fly to a foreign land. The great wars of their ancestors had shown them that humans were not to be trusted, but a little bit of cooperation hurt no one.

The deerskin moccasins in her cupboard, she had barely worn. They were well-made, fashionable, and faintly mocked by the she-wolves who found such indulgence uncouth. Fae had never cared for their opinions.

They were a gift.

Blaidd had made them for her with his own hands, shaping the leather patiently, precisely. Her wolf preferred the feel of earth beneath bare feet, but Fae had treasured the moccasins all the same. She had told herself they meant something—that they were a sign, however small, that he was beginning to care.

His stoic demeanour never changed, except when they were alone.

Now she sat with her back against the headboard, the shoes hugged to her chest, breathing in the faint scent of leather and him. Memory rose unbidden—the dark warmth of another night. The press of Blaidd's body above her, solid and unyielding, his weight pinning her to the bed as though the world beyond it had ceased to exist. His dark hair was cropped close to his skull, the stubble on his face leaving marks on her neck and breasts. Marks she used to wear with pride.

In those moments, there was nothing restrained about him. It was like the dark set him free.

Her eyes closed tight before opening as she remembered how his hands had bracketed her head, his forearms taut, the tattoos along his sides shifting with every breath. She remembered tracing them once with her fingertips, half in reverence, half in wonder. The mirrored markings on his wrist had caught the low firelight—her mating tattoo reflected there, just below the older one -Isolde’s. Two bonds in a lifetime, and one man bridging them.

His eyes had burned scarlet as he looked down at her rapt face. He wouldn't let her close her eyes or turn away as he pulled her leg up to rest on his shoulder and moved within her. She had been told his eyes had been the colour of polished mahogany, warm and alive. She had learned, in the silence of others' whispers, that the mate bond did not break cleanly. And the way Isolde died had left a stain in his eyes.