He was a kind man, that’s always been the thing that people said when he came up. He died when I was too young to hold on to the memories of him properly. It was a fluke accident, nothing hidden or scandalous, just the kind of loss the world hands out without warning. The kid of thing that could happen to anyone on any given Tuesday.
The wind tugs my hair loose from the scarf wrapped around my neck, whipping strands across my face as the cold bites at my cheeks and fingers. Newly acquired wolf-shifter body temperature or not, we’re well into November now, and this far north the weather shows little mercy this time of year.
I stare down at his name, then at the urn cradled in my arms before I start to scrape the snow away from the grave with my boot, only stopping when the first signs of dirt show through.
Stepping back, I hold the urn out in front of me.
After being able to see and communicate with her in my dreams or whatever memory-scape she embedded in our heads, talking to her urn falls flat.
I do it anyway.
“You told me that night,” I whisper, my voice almost stolen by the wind. “In the clearing when everything fell apart, that you hoped one day—when I fixed what you broke—I could forgive you.”
My throat is already growing tight, but I keep going.
“I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. About how long you must have carried that fear. Wondering if I’d hate you for it. If I’d understand. Knowing you wouldn’t be here to explain yourself, or defend what you did, or make it right in my eyes.” I swallow. “You carried all of that alone. Foryears.”
I shake my head slowly. “You probably worried it would change how I remembered you. How I remembered our life in Ashvale. Like the truth might poison it somehow.”
It doesn’t. It never could.
“But you never needed my forgiveness,” I say softly. “Because you didn’t do anything wrong. You made the only choice you had. And you made it for me.”
The cold air burns my tight lungs on my next slow inhale.
“I need you to know that I see it now. What you gave up. How much it cost you. It kept me safe. It brought me back here, exactly the way you planned.” My eyes start to sting and then a few tears fall, instantly cooling on my cheeks. “Thank you for protecting me, even when you had to do it alone. Even when it took everything from you. And thank you for making sure I would find my way back to Rennick.”
With that, I open the urn and gently tip it, letting her ashes fall onto the earth above her mate’s grave. The act in itself is full circle. She returned me to mine, and now I can return the favor.
When it’s empty, I carefully bury the ashes beneath a layer of snow, smoothing it until the grave nearly looks untouched again.
I step away, turning to leave, but stop myself one last time.
“If you see Rhosyn,” I murmur, shifting on my feet and swallowing hard, “she’s probably in need of a mom right about now, and I’ve got a pretty good one she can borrow for a while.” My chest pangs, the ache making my breath stumble. “Take care of each other, okay?”
I reach out and tap the top of my father’s headstone once, a small gesture that feels both childish and required, then finally turn away for real.
The walk back to the Jeep is quiet except for the wind and the crunch of snow under my boots. The cold seems to be cutting deeper now that I don’t have the weight of my task to distract me from it.
I’m halfway there when my senses catch on something new, a presence moving through the snow with a familiar ease that makes my wolf lift her head and perk up, attention snapping alert but pleased all at once. Her tail flicks, a quiet, eager little rhythm beneath my skin, already responding to what she’s picked up on a heartbeat before I do.
I reach the Jeep first and open the back door, setting the urn onto the back seat. Now that it’s empty, its purpose finally fulfilled, I don’t see a reason to buckle it in. Shutting the door, I lean back against it, folding my arms across my chest as I wait.
It’s only a few seconds for the large, dark shape to crest the hill. The wolf lopes steadily through the snow that blankets everything.
He doesn’t break stride as he moves toward me, shifting slowing, seemingly without thought, his fur receding into skin like it was never there at all.
I watch it with a mix of awe and determination—and just ahintof jealously. Control over my shift is something I’m still learning to master. Rennick has been guiding me through it with a patient hand. I know it’s possible for me—I felt it when my first shifts poured over me like water—but they were shaped by fear and urgency. I stubbornly refuse it to just be some kind of survival response that’s born out of necessity. He tells me I’m a natural and to give myself some grace, that I only need time and practice.
Rennick approaches with an easy smile, completely unbothered by walking through the snow barefoot or being completely naked in the elements.
He doesn’t slow until he’s right in front of me, his hand already lifting as he closes the distance, knuckles brushing beneath my chin to tilt my face up until there’s nowhere to look but at him.
Then he’s kissing me in greeting, taking his time, his mouth coaxing mine open as he licks gently at the seam of my lips until I give in. I eagerly meet him with the same hunger as his tongue slides against mine and the world narrows to the space between us. A warm pulse blossoms low in my belly as my mind drifts to all the other ways he’s proven to me just how talented his tongue is.
He pulls back before it goes too far, sneaking a softer kiss to my forehead as he does, and his lips brush against my skin there as he murmurs, “Hi, little mate.” Straightening to his full, towering height, he looks down at me. He’s not even pretending to disguise the concern already sitting at the forefront of his expression. “How’d it go?”
I don’t need him to clarify what he means.
