“You got lucky when you shot me with that arrow last night,” I say, voice low and even. “I was distracted then. That won’t happen again. You’d do well to remember that.”
Iris settles back in her chair like a queen on her throne, smirking as though she’s the one in control. “Oh, I will. And you’d do well to remember this. Wolves may have teeth, but I collect them.”
Crazy old woman.
The need to escape this hell is strong, but I don’t head out the front door. I navigate the twisting halls ofthe manor, ignoring the whisper of old wood under my boots, the faint smell of lemon oil and dust clinging to the air.
On the third floor, a narrow door tucked between two bookcases leads to one of the turrets. I don’t hesitate.
The spiral stairs are steep and tight, the iron railing cold under my palm as I take them three at a time. My pulse eases with every step up, the tension of Iris’s presence fading behind me.
When I shove open the exterior door, the afternoon sun slams into me—bright and hot, the air sharp with the scent of pine from the surrounding forest. It’s a welcome relief after hours under the manor’s dim light, but sunlight alone won’t settle the tight ache in my chest. Only finding Rowan will.
Liz claimed she was taking her out for “a little while.” Something I’d objected to immediately, but the vampire swore she wouldn’t go far.
That was a fucking lie.
By the time I spot them from my place on the roof, they’re almost a mile from the manor. Still on Prescott land, but far enough to make my wolf rise to the surface.
I can’t hear what they’re talking about, but I don’t need to. While I intend to do everything in my power to protect Rowan, I also can’t get too invested until I know where she stands.
She won’t reject us, my wolf says with a certainty I can’t yet match.
She might.
Her wolf is strong. I sense her even now. Once Rowan finally shifts, she won’t be able to deny what she feels.
I’d like to hope he’s right, but I don’t dare. I have one job to do for now, and that’s keeping Rowan safe. Whether she accepts me or not isn’t of consequence at the moment. At least I can’t let it be.
My muscles coil as the wind shifts.We’re not alone.
Footsteps reach my ears in the next second, but I don’t move. Not yet.
Boots crunch the roof’s shingles behind me, and as they get closer, there’s something familiar about their scent. Earth, moss, a hint of pine, and…home.
It smells like a memory. One I’ve been trying to forget.
“Still watching from the shadows, Alpha Westin?”
The voice is older, worn smooth by time but laced with mischief.
Elias Thornhart.
I pivot, my movements silent against the turret’s rough stone as I leap and land a step behind him. He doesn’t flinch.
Elias is all broad shoulders and wiry strength, the kind of build that says he’s been surviving on instinct and wit for decades. His dark hair is threaded with silver at the temples—the strands wind-tossed as if he’s been running through the forest all day.
Golden eyes study me from beneath a brow lined with faint creases. His skin is sun-browned and weathered, the faint scar slicing across his jaw proof of a fight he probably won. The leather jacket he wears isscuffed and patched, smelling faintly of smoke and old blood.
“What are you doing here, Elias?” My voice comes out low, and my wolf is already pacing.
His smirk is practiced, the kind of expression that never gives away how dangerous the man behind it really is. “Oh, you know. I was just out and about and thought I’d check in for the night.”
Last I heard, he’d been up for the council position I walked away from after my father’s death as well as my alpha spot. The same position the packs refused to fill when the council rejected him. The seat’s still empty—rotting, just like the council—and if they’re waiting for me to take it, they’ll be waiting until their deathbeds.
“NightShade is closed to new arrivals right now,” I say, leaving no room for negotiating. “You should go back to be with the pack.”
“Is that a direct order, Alpha?” His brow arches in challenge, but I don’t bite.
