The thought makes me want to vomit.
“I can see you’re overwhelmed,” Bastian says, misreading my silence as awe rather than horror. “But think about it, Patrick. This could be your ticket to the inner circle. No more grunt work, and no more suicide missions. You play this right, and Mordaunt might actually start to trust you.”
Rylan and Dolph move up to flank him, cutting off any chance of escape. Not that I was planning to run. Running would only confirm their suspicions that something is wrong, and then they’d hunt me down before I could warn anyone.
“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Bastian continues. “You’re going to go back to that Llewelyn woman. You’re going to make her fall in love with you, gain her trust, and learn everything you can about her pack’s defenses. And when the time comes, you’re going to help us bring them down from the inside.”
He pauses, and his smile turns into something ugly.
“Just like I tried to do with Raegan Blacklock. Remember her? The alpha’s sister? This Thornwick girl will be even easier. She’s young and desperate to feel wanted. You just have to tell her what she wants to hear, and she’ll be putty in your paws.”
My wolf is roaring inside me, demanding blood. Demanding I rip Bastian’s throat out for even suggesting we betray our mate. But I stay perfectly still and keep breathing through the red haze of fury.
If I attack him now, Rylan and Dolph will kill me before I can do any real damage. And then there will be no one to warn Caelan about what’s coming for her.
Bastian is watching me, waiting for a response. Behind him, the two Thornridge wolves have their hands near their weapons, ready to act if I make a wrong move. I can feel their eyes on me, measuring my reaction, looking for any sign of disloyalty.
I think about Caelan asleep in my arms, so trusting and so goddamn beautiful it hurts to look at her. I think about her laugh cutting through the noise of the bar like music. I think about the way she looked at me like I was someone worth knowing, someone worth wanting, when I’ve spent years feeling like nothing more than a weapon to be pointed at Mordaunt’s enemies.
And then I think about what Thornridge will do to her if I don’t find a way to stop them.
Chapter 5 - Caelan
The back door doesn’t creak when I ease it open, and I send up a silent thank you to whichever god watches over reckless women sneaking home before dawn.
Sera’s house is quiet. The hallway stretches out in front of me, dark and empty, and I slip off my heels before tiptoeing toward the guest room. Every step feels like a gamble. Every breath sounds too loud in the silence. If Sera catches me coming in at this hour, wearing last night’s dress and smelling like a man she’s never met, I’ll never hear the end of it.
My body aches in the most delicious way. My thighs are sore from wrapping around his waist. My lips feel swollen from hours of kissing. There’s a pleasant tenderness between my legs that makes me smile every time I move, a reminder of everything we did in that room above the tavern.
I make it to the guest room without incident and close the door behind me with a soft click. Safe. I’m safe. I strip off my dress and climb into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin even though sleep is the last thing on my mind.
My thoughts keep drifting back to him. Patrick. The stranger with the amber-gold eyes and the crooked nose and the sad smile that made me want to fix whatever was broken inside him. We talked for hours, danced until my feet hurt, had sex that made me forget my own name, and I still feel like I barely know him at all.
Some part of me knows that should bother me. The old Caelan, the one who existed before Sera broke the curse, would have been horrified at the idea of sleeping with a man she’d just met in a bar. She would have clutched her pearls andlectured about propriety, Llewelyn's values, and the importance of emotional restraint.
But that Caelan was a lie. A mask I wore because the curse wouldn’t let me be anyone else.
This Caelan, the real one, feels alive for the first time in twenty years. And she doesn’t regret a single moment of last night.
I bury my face into the pillow and breathe deep, wishing I could smell him on my skin instead of just the faint remnants of tavern smoke and whiskey. The memory of his touch sends a shiver down my spine. The way he whispered against my throat that I was beautiful, and I actually believed him.
I’ve never believed it before. Growing up in Llewelyn territory, surrounded by tall, willowy women with high cheekbones and reserved frowns, I always felt like too much. Too soft. Too round. Too different. The curse kept my feelings muted, but it couldn’t erase the quiet shame I carried about taking up more space than I was supposed to.
Last night, Patrick made me feel like exactly the right amount.
I doze for a few hours, drifting in and out of dreams that all feature amber eyes and rough hands and a gravelly voice. When I finally drag myself out of bed, the sun is up, and I can hear movement in the kitchen downstairs.
Time to face my sister.
I take a long shower to scrub away the evidence of my adventure, even though part of me wants to keep his scent on my skin forever. The hot water helps ease the soreness in my muscles, and I spend extra time washing my hair just to delay the inevitable conversation waiting for me downstairs. Seraknows me too well. She’ll take one look at my face and know something happened.
I dress in simple traveling clothes and pack my bag for the journey back to Llewelyn territory. Matriarch Lydia is expecting me back by this evening, and I’ve already pushed my luck by staying an extra day. My aunt has been patient with my newfound need for independence, but that patience has limits.
Sera is at the kitchen table when I come downstairs with a mug of coffee in front of her and a knowing look in her eyes that makes my stomach flip. Reeyan is nowhere to be seen, which means he’s probably already at the Cultural Center or meeting with the council. Small mercies.
“Good morning,” Sera greets me. “Sleep well?”
“Not really.” I bring a hand to my temple and wince, selling the lie as hard as I can. “I think I’m getting a migraine. Must be the weather changing.”
