Page 11 of The SnowFang Secret


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Searle tapped his palms on his thighs and rocked to his feet. He offered me one of his hands. It was calloused and chapped. “I will show you our rooms.”

This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be real, this couldn’t last. And I tried to see some life that stretched beyond July, but therewasn’tone. There was no reality I could conceive where I had to go on without Sterling, and where I never saw Jun, Cye, or even Burian again, and where I had to participate in the same thing that had condemned my species to extinction: an assigned, farce of a mating with a wolf who wasn’t mine, but was politically suitable.

We hadn’t fought so hard, and lost so much, for it to end likethis.

Playing House

The massive AmberHowl house sprawled across the top of a postcard-prime Virginia mountain, which afforded spectacular views of the groomed grounds that merged into thick trees, and the land spread out down the mountain into the valley. Downside? It was thirty something miles to anything that might have a bus depot.

Searle’s hand was big enough it consumed mine. His skin was cool, calloused, unforgiving. Like the rest of him. Without a word, he led me up the staircase to the third floor. When my exhausted body protested after the first ten stairs, he pulled my arm over his shoulder and half-carried, half-dragged me.

My brain did its best confused compass impression while the needle tried to find what passed for north. A good part of my brain power was devoted to my brain gibbering about how none of this was happening and I was clearly delusional and having some kind of mental break.

Great: Searle’s rooms were on the third floor. Normally, I’d be all for the imposed extra workout. My current blood count meanteverythingwas a workout.

The house was completely empty. Demetrius and Marcella had thrown everyone out for a few hours. Their rooms were on the second floor, down the hallway, and the trail of their scent said that’s where they were. Searle, in his quiet voice, detailed the general layout of the house and who slept where, and he had aI’m only going to tell you this oncevibe.

The third floor was completely quiet. Just the low tick of heat moving in the baseboards. Searle’s rooms—a suite—was at the end of a long hallway that was capped with a massive window with a velvet-cushioned seat that overlooked the mountainside.

“Wow,” I mumbled as the gorgeous late winter/early-spring day obliterated my brain. I’d seen plenty of picturesque views and mountainsides, and this one was desolate and gray and had that grim, mucky look of a world that was completely over with being grim and mucky. But the sky was washed aspectacularblue, and there was so much skyandso much terrain.

Searle tugged my hand.

He had two rooms at the very end of the hallway. The walls were painted a winter sky gray, the hardwood floors adorned with thick, plush carpets, and another large window absorbing the wall and overlooking the front of the house, providing another spectacular view of the grounds and mountains. The furniture was a dark finished wood, and on the walls were several pieces of artwork made of reclaimed wood and metal.

Needed to collect those. I’d have to get him to tell me about the artist. They were great. Iespeciallyliked the sharp edges. Sterling teased me I needed to get some art to live up to the sham I was a fan, well, how about sharp pointy objects to go with my art performances of setting horrible canvases on fire?

On the bed—aside from blankets—were a number of small folded piles of items.

“Some things were sent,” Searle said, standing back as I approached the bed. “Luna Marcella rejected much of your clothes as unsuitable, but these pieces she deemed were appropriate for you to have.”

As Summer, he meant. Because Summer of AmberHowl wouldn’t be wearing thousand-dollar heels or embroidered blue silk sun dresses. Summer of AmberHowl was strictly battered no-name jeans out of the rummage bin and ratty tees. I picked up one of the light sweaters and inhaled.

“Everything has been washed thoroughly,” Searle said.

“Of course,” I said softly, setting it back down. My fingertips cataloged each item. “My wedding rings aren’t here.”

He bristled with annoyance. “Of course not. Discovery can’t be risked.”

“Where are they?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me. We’re mates, and if there’s one thing I’m not going to put up with, it’slies.” He could insult me, degrade me, call me whatever creative name he wanted, humiliate me, but he didn’t get tolieto me.

“You are not in a position to dictate anything.”

I laughed miserably. “Oh, grand. You were just telling me how you didn’t see any point in delaying living like mates because there’s no chance my actual mate will prevail. So which is it? You want to play house, or you want to play prison?”

“We are not playing house.”

“Then we’re playing prison.”

“We aren’t doing that either.”

“So it’s a dysfunctional relationship where you lie to me and I growl about it until you storm out and slam the door behind you? I know that one. Was my parents. Guess what? My mother never stopped growling.” Mom had once told me that we couldn’t choose our mates, and some of us were bound to misery, but we could choose how we dealt with the situation.

Searle’s face shifted slightly. Reminded me of a wolf who had just walked into a forest clearing and had realized maybe he should have stayed in the bushes.

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