One will have their peace. Others flame.
But either way, she’ll know no name.
For cursed and burdenedshe’ll ever be,
Until she chooses what to be.
Cursed and burdened? That’s cute. Makes me real glad I’m here. The words should crush me, but instead they carve their way inside, sending shudders along my spine as the prophecy bleeds into me like it belongs there. My skin prickles, my chest burns, and for a terrifying second I swear something inside me tries to claw free. Something more than my inner animal.
No wonder people have feared my arrival. These words are heavy—final, inescapable—but instead of making me want to run, they root me deeper. It’s chaos in my veins, fire in my blood, but it feels right.
Mom tried to protect me from this. I know that with certainty. And yet, even with the storm tearing through me, I know this is where I’m supposed to be. Whether I burn the world that forced her to hide me or find a way to stand in it, this is my life now.
Because, like the prophecy says, I get to choose.
My gaze flicks back and nearly collides with Cade. He’s closer than I realized, close enough that I have to crane my neck to meet his face. His jaw is iron, eyes locked on Iris like he’ll tear her apart if she so much as twitches wrong. But when I reach out—just a brush of my fingers against his hand—he softens. His shoulders drop, the fury in his gaze quiets, and then he looks at me.
Damn. That stare. It pins me upright, stealing my breath and leaving me raw in a way I’m not ready to face.
“Are you okay, Rowan?” he asks, and I realize I’m just staring at him.
For a heartbeat, I forget how to talk. My lips move,but nothing comes out until the pressure inside me cracks wide open. “I want to shift,” I whisper, then louder, firmer, “How soon can we do that?”
He glances toward the covered window, but it’s as though he sees straight through the curtain. “The moon will be in the sky within the hour,” he says. “We’ll go then.”
The growl beneath his words tugs at something inside me, urging me to yield, to lean into him and give in to the connection we share, but I shove it down. I’m just not ready yet. At least not mentally.
I turn back to Iris, because my fury hasn’t burned itself out yet, not by a long shot.
“I won’t tolerate your games,” I bite out, my emotions officially in the whiplash stage the book talked about. “You were right before. I’m worse than my mother, but not in the way you think. She left to protect me. I’m staying to do the same. Whether that works out well for you…” I let the words hang, sharp and final, before I push to my feet. “That’s to be determined.”
Before she can respond, I’m out of my chair and headed for my room. Archie’s claws dig into my shoulder as he clings to my shirt when I round the corner into the hallway.
Silently, I place a hand on his back and make my way to my room. Behind me, I can hear heavy footsteps, likely from Cade, but I don’t dare look.
I need this hour to get control of myself. At least that’s what the stupid book said. If I’m going to attempt to make this first transition somewhat tolerable, I haveto be more stable. This up and down garbage isn’t going to cut it.
But right now? I’m not sure that’s possible.
Archie tightens his grip when I push my door shut behind us, his little claws still pricking through the fabric of my shirt. For once, the sting is welcome. It anchors me, pulls me back from the edge I’ve been dangling over since I walked back into NightShade after talking to Cade.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, sliding a hand over his warm fur. He smells faintly musky, sharp and earthy, and the familiarity of it settles the emotions swirling inside me.
He makes a low, chuffing sound, somewhere between a purr and a growl. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“You nearly fell to the floor,” I remind him. “If anything happens to you now, I’m not sure I’d survive.”
His whiskers twitch against my cheek as I lie on my bed. “You would survive even if you hurt like hell, but more importantly, that’s nothing you have to worry about. I’ve already lived over five decades… I still have at least a few more in me.”
My shock sends me sitting up too quickly, and this time he does slip off my shoulder, landing on the soft mattress. “How long do you live?”
I know he mentioned being alive before I was born, but I was shocked about him knowing my mom before that I didn’t consider questioning his lifespan.
“If nothing more than old age gets me, it could be upward of two centuries,” he says, and the relief I feel atknowing we still have so much time together is the exact thing I needed to get myself in check.
My best friend isn’t going anywhere soon.
Though, I should maybe reconsider my life choices knowing that a fifty-something-year-old talking ferret is my only friend.
