I turn my head to look at her more, past the beautiful face and the tempting curves and the mischief dancing in her eyes, to something deeper beneath. Pain lives there, hidden but not forgotten. Understanding, too, the kind that only comes from experience.
“What happened?”
“My pack was cursed.” She says it simply, matter-of-factly, like she’s commenting on the weather or the quality of the whiskey. “For three hundred years, Llewelyn women couldn’t feel real emotions. We were all just going through the motions, numb and empty and convinced that was normal. Then my sister broke the curse eight months ago, and suddenly, I could feel everything.”
I stare at her, in awe of what she’s just told me. I’d heard rumors about something happening in Llewelyn territory over the past year—whispers of magic and ancient curses that I dismissed as superstition and fairy tales. Mordaunt laughed when the reports came in, said it was probably some kind of propaganda designed to make the matriarchal pack seem more interesting than they were.
Apparently, Mordaunt was wrong about that, too. That, or he was just lying through his teeth.
My money is on the latter.
“Everything?” I repeat.
Caelan nods, and a small smile plays at the corner of her lips. “Joy. Anger. Fear. Desire.” Her voice drops on the last word, turning husky in a way that makes my blood run hotter. “It’s overwhelming sometimes. Like I spent twenty years starving, and now I’m at a feast. I want to taste everything. Experience everything. I want to make up for all that lost time.”
“And that’s why you’re here?” I ask. “In a bar in enemy territory, talking to a stranger?”
“You’re not my enemy.” She squeezes my arm and then pulls her hand back to pick up her drink again. The loss of contact feels sharper than it should. “Grayhide and Llewelynhave a truce now, remember? And you don’t feel like a stranger. Not anymore.”
My wolf howls his agreement, loud and insistent, and I have to clench my jaw to keep from saying something I’ll regret. She’s right—whatever this thing between us is, it doesn’t feel new or unfamiliar. It feels like recognition. Like finding a piece of yourself you didn’t know was missing.
Which is insane. I don’t believe in fate or destiny or any of that romantic nonsense. I believe in survival. In keeping my head down and my instincts honed and my emotions locked away where they can’t be used against me. I believe in not getting attached to things I can’t keep.
But Caelan is making it very hard to remember any of that. And she thinks I’m Grayhide.
“Another round?” the bartender asks, appearing in front of us with a raised eyebrow.
I shake my head. “I think we’re good.”
Caelan lifts an eyebrow at me, mimicking the bartender’s skeptical look. “Are we?”
“That depends.” I turn on my stool, letting my knee nudge against hers beneath the bar. “What exactly are you looking for tonight?”
She doesn’t look away. Caelan doesn’t blush or stammer or pretend she doesn’t understand what I’m really asking. Instead, she holds eye contact and gives me an answer that makes my pulse stumble over itself.
“Something that makes me feel alive.” She tilts her head to the side and asks, “Think you can help with that?”
Every rational thought in my head screams at me to say no. To pay my tab, walk out that door, and never look back. She’sLlewelyn. I’m Thornridge. This is a disaster waiting to happen, a complication I absolutely cannot afford.
But my wolf doesn’t care about politics or pack allegiances or the thousand ways this could end badly. My wolf only cares about the woman sitting in front of me, the one who listened to my confession of doubt and disillusionment and didn’t run away. The one who looks at me like I’m something more than a soldier blindly following orders.
“I have a room upstairs,” I hear myself say. “If you want somewhere quieter.”
Caelan’s smile turns knowing. “Quieter. Is that what we’re calling it?”
“Among other things.”
She slides off her stool and stands in front of me, close enough that I could count her eyelashes if I wanted to. Close enough that her scent wraps around me and makes my wolf pace with anticipation.
“Show me.”
I leave enough money on the bar to cover our drinks and then some. Then I take her hand—her fingers are small and warm as they curl around mine—and lead her through the thinning crowd toward the stairs at the back of the room. Each step feels like a choice. Each step takes me further from the careful, controlled existence I’ve been surviving in for sixteen years.
The hallway upstairs is dark and quiet, a total contrast to the noise and chaos below. My room sits at the very end, and I fumble with the key for a moment because my hands aren’t quite steady. When the door finally swings open, I step aside to let her enter first.
Caelan walks in and surveys the space with curious eyes. It’s nothing special—a bed with rumpled sheets, a battered dresser, and a window overlooking the empty street below. It’s the kind of room you rent when you’re trying to disappear for a while and don’t want anyone asking questions.
But she doesn’t seem disappointed by the sparse accommodations. She just turns to face me as I close the door behind us, and the click of the latch sounds impossibly loud in the sudden quiet.
