The rest of the time she looked through me.
Walked past me.
Spoke to Arthur, never to me unless absolutely necessary.
Wulfric, infuriatingly, approved.
He wanted me to suffer.
After reading Lord Wulverton’s journal—his ramblings on Vargr blood, on a lineage that should not exist—then dissecting every accompanying volume on the supposed wolf phenomenon, I was left with more questions than answers.
And Wulfric refused to answer any of them.
Was part of my heritage truly tied to Vargr and Lucy?
Who was Sköll? Ulfr?
How many of these names were ancestors—and how many were monsters?
The parchment K.B. Wulverton found on the Island was too damaged to decipher fully; centuries of salt and storm had eaten through what mattered most. Were it not for the sentient creature coiled deep in the hollow of my chest—whispering her name into the back of my mind—I would have dismissed the entire thing as the scribbles of an unstable man.
I turned another brittle page, irritation tightening the space behind my breastbone.
“How long are you going to punish me for, Wulfric?” I muttered.“I can feel you sulking.”
Silence.
No rumble.
No growl.
Just the smug weight of him—settled low and patient.
? ? ?
It was just before dinner when someone knocked on the library door.
“Come in,” I sighed, shutting yet another book on animal mythos. My eyes burned from hours of reading, yet not a single page had offered clarity—only more questions.
Callum’s large frame filled the doorway. I waved him in.
“I’m finished for the day,” he said, voice a touch hesitant.“But I was wonderin’, since it’s so close tae Christmas… if we can have our family join us?”
Family.
The word snapped my attention from the page to him fully.
I had never once considered Euphemia’s family. Never thought beyond her face… her hair… her scent—
“Which family members,” I asked, keeping my tone light,“if you don’t mind me asking?”
Casual on the outside.
Calculating beneath.
Her family could be leverage.
A pressure point.
