Olen stood near a wall with his hands loose at his sides. His body angled slightly toward the hall, and he was too alert for a man insisting he was cold and tired. In all the years I’d known him, he had never behaved in this manner. I took him in without looking at him directly, my attention sliding to the floor once more.
His boot prints made little sense. The prints near the hearth had almost dried, but the ones near the hall had a pattern to them as if he had intentionally scuffed his feet. Leather boots like ours dried slowly, but even so, there was little reason for that odd shuffling pattern…unless he was covering for someone. And I knew who. I could feel the yank in my chest.
My shoulders tightened, and a muscle ticked along my jaw.
What reason did he have to cover for her? She’d barely been here more than a matter of minutes, and he knew well how I responded to slights against my authority.
My gaze drifted back to him and the angle of his stance. The way his weight favored the hall, as if ready to block it. Like he’d already debated how he would respond if I tried to pass. The idea of another male placing himself between me and her twisted violently in my chest. My gloved hands fisted at my sides, the leather creaking as my fingers tightened.
She had been here, and he had stood close to her and looked upon her beauty and her fire. Then he’d decided, as anyone would, that she was worth keeping and protecting. I wanted to burn his eyes out with the logs from his own fire.
I squared my shoulders and straightened to my full height. Then I took one step forward, sliding my gaze to the hall once more.
He flinched ever so slightly, but it was enough.
I pushed past him, and my shoulder caught him hard enough to knock him into the wall. He sucked in a breath but didn’t protest as he looked from me back to the door and up. That alone told me everything.
The kitchen opened before me, dim and cold, the air sharp with dried herbs and old smoke. A scarred table hunched at the center, its surface bare. Bundles of thyme and bay hung from the beams, their shadows long and unmoving. No fire burned in the stove, but it smelled of ash, herbs, and grain. The traceof magnolia and apricots wasn’t present, but…she was here. I sensed it.
“Hannah of Tennessee, come out now.” My voice cut clean through the space. There was no tremor or softness in it. I wasn’t surprised when she didn’t answer. I’d met her only a few hours ago, but I knew she was stubborn. Stubborn…and infuriating. Pride stirred alongside the anger, unwanted but undeniable, tightening the knot in my chest.
Of course my mate was a pain in the ass. And a smart one too. Why wouldn’t she be? Fate damn her! Once I got her back, I’d lock her away somewhere safe until I could sort out the best way forward, one that didn’t involve either of us going insane or me murdering her for being a distraction. Fate help me, I just wanted this connection to be over. A fever burned within my veins.
The kitchen offered few sanctuaries for her to hide. My gaze swept it once, dismissing the open space immediately. A woman could not vanish into air, and there were only so many places a body could fit.
I went to the cabinets first.
I opened them one by one, my movements focused and deliberate as I pretended to be in control. The cupboards held little of interest, and when I pressed my hand to their backs and knocked, only solid wood resounded. I closed each door with care, the soft click of wood against frame echoing loudly in the cold room.
Olen hovered near the doorway. “Your Majesty?—”
“Silence.” The table came next. I dropped to one knee, checked beneath the table where the shadows hid nothing from my sight.
That left one place.
The larder.
I crossed the kitchen in two silent steps and stopped with my hand on the latch as I listened. The damn yank in my chest intensified to the point that I feared my chest would rip open. She was close enough that I could feel it in my bones. Close enough that the thought of her, hidden and silent, made something fierce and territorial coil tight in my chest.
“Hannah.” Her name was heavy and yet somehow sweet on my tongue. “This ends here.” If Olen hadn’t been here, I would have told her that I wouldn’t hurt her.
Because I wouldn’t. Ineededher. Needed her back. Needed to know she was safe. I hated how much I needed this.
I opened the larder door.
Cold air spilled out, carrying scents of dust, dried meat, herbs, and grain, the darkness inside full but useless against my sight. Deep shelves climbed the walls from floor to ceiling, most packed tight with sacks and crates, the upper levels sparse enough to draw my eyes upward at once. My attention narrowed, instinct guiding it without conscious thought. She would go high and away from the floor and from marks that could betray her.
A sack of grain was compressed near the top shelf. A crate sat just slightly out of line.
My pulse slowed, and I readied to follow the pull in my chest to locate her.
The horn sounded.
BAHROOOOM!BAHROOOOM! The first blast tore through the night like a wound being ripped open, followed by a second, longer call that vibrated through the stone beneath my boots.
An attack? Now?!
I jerked back from the larder as the air itself seemed to shift. I turned and broke into a run, shoving past Olen without apology.
