Is that what I am now?
No. I refuse.
I planted one hand on my hip, drawing attention to the curves of my body that he’d lusted for from the moment we’d met in the clearing outside the goldstone palace, before either of us realized who the other was.
“You do not know who I am.” It took every bit of courage and strength within me to speak the words without my voice cracking.
A small but not silent part of me hoped the façade would fall away then. That the entire thing had been an act, carried out in service of some larger plot that he would reveal to me once alone.
But the flash of his eyes—cold and dark—killed my last shred of hope.
Nearly killed me as well.
“You think that I should.” He lifted one dark eyebrow. “Care to tell me why?”
My fingers drifted to my weapon as well. The hilt of the dagger, so prophetically carved into the shape of a wolf. If I drew it, it would be to carve out my own heart. That would be less painful than this.
“I’d rather you tell me,” I managed, a slight movement of my hip, forward. A bravado I did not feel.
He lifted one arm to rest casually against the mantle of the fireplace. It was one of his tactics. To lean back on something—a wall, a fireplace, a pillar—to make it seem like he was only casually interested. To distract his opponent from the pure brutality of every muscle. “Presumptuous thing, aren’t you?”
Call me Princess. Stride across this room and drag me against you, rake those canines down my throat, and punish me for my presumptiveness.
But none of that happened.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Being a queen comes with a few privileges.” Irreverence—so easy to slip back on the mask I’d been wearing since my arrival at Eilean Gayl.
But I did not want to wear a mask, not around Arran. Before the male who had seen all of me, the darkest, ugliest parts of me, and told me I was beautiful and worthy and strong. Before Arran, all I wanted was to be loved.
“Queen of what?”
His broad hand stroked the wood of the mantle. Like he had stroked my body.
My teeth stabbed into my lower lip. Tiny droplets of blood beaded up. I saw the scent hit him—watched his nostrils flare—before I could swipe them away with my tongue.
The composure he’d managed, the scowling battle commander that intimidated and killed, fell away before the scent of my blood. I could see the shift in his stance, subtle but there. The wolf inside of him battling for control. A low growl rolled through me.
“Whatareyou?” my mate growled.
Yours.
But I couldn’t say it.
“They call me the Queen of Secrets,” I said instead. No irreverence, no pretending. I let my voice be gravelly and raw. Let him see that if he was broken, his memory gone, I was as well. What he’d do with that knowledge…
“What is your name?”
It was almost a stammer. He had not wanted to ask, but something inside of him demanded it. The beast, the bond… some echo of the love we’d shared.
How do you forget that you love someone? Not just a female, but your mate? How could he forget the single most important thing in my life? His life, as well.
I’d asked Morgyn to save him.
But this… would I have sent him to Avalon, knowing that this would happen?
Yes.
I would do anything to save my mate’s life. Anything. Even at this cost.
