“And maybe I’m sharp because I have to be,” Maeve argued back. “PerhapsIcould use some time and encouragement rather than whateverthiswas supposed to be.”
Sorcha’s mouth closed with aclick. Yes, Maeve knew that expression well—her elder sister was done with her. That was fine, Maeve was more than done, too.
Shoving the letter deep into her pocket, Maeve turned away, skirts slapping her ankles.
Her mother called after her, but Maeve didn’t heed her. What was there left to say? She’d said her truth, the deed was done. Consequences be damned.
Usually, she’d have preferred rushing to the solace of her room, surrounding herself with her familiar, pretty things. But that felt too childish, too close to everything that hurt, and so Maeve fled the house entirely.
Dusk had long since settled, and she was nearly blinded by tears obscuring the path. Back stiff, Maeve marched forward anyway, clenching her teeth as she willed the tears to wait a little while. Just until she made it off the property.
She hated crying, but there was nothing for it now. All she could do was go to ground and lick her wounds.
23
Soren did what he’d always done when plagued by his unhappyturuk—he threw himself into work. After conferring tersely with Briseis, while ignoring her looks of concern, he’d volunteered for the worst of it he could find: clearing brambles and underbrush around the east side of town.
With summer here, creating a firebreak for the village was important, and Briseis had been seeking volunteers to clear various sections of land of flammable forest litter and detritus. It was unpleasant work, full of spindly, thorny things that didn’t want to be uprooted. By midday, he was already nicked with little scratches, the vindictive brambles finding their way past his fur, which itself had picked up a dozen burrs.
As afternoon came, he was sweaty, itchy, hot, and angry—at himself and at everything else. But most importantly, he was as physically tired as he was mentally exhausted.
He’d known no peace since leaving Maeve the night before. Between the ragingturukand Soren’s fear that the beast would force a shift should he fall asleep, he found no solace even in rest.There was only one thing for this—total mental and physical exhaustion, so deep, his body couldn’t shift.
Then, maybe he might get a moment of peace to think.
Nothing to think!snarled theturuk. All that matters is kigara!
“She’s leaving,” he spat at the deep-rooted thistle he fought.
Then bring her back!
Soren couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t stand in her way. If that meant keeping away from her, even in these few precious days, perhaps only hours, she remained here, then so be it.
The beast growled with disgust, resuming its pacing. It’d worn deep tracks in his mind, tail whipping angrily behind it. All it needed was an opening, one sign of weakness, and then it’d strike. Ramming the breach, it pushed and pushed, demanding out, demanding their mate.
Soren gritted his fangs, showing a strong front against the angryturuk.
Leave it. She’s not ours to have. She never was.
But the beast only snorted, not finding that worth responding to.
It was like that—forearms scratched, mane tangled, eyes bloodshot, and beast lurking—that Balar finally found him. Both Soren and theturukrumbled a warning; they weren’t to be trifled with. Not today.
Coming to a halt up the slope and out of danger of the brambles, Balar planted his fists on his hips and squinted down at Soren. “Here you are,” his brother boomed. “What are you doing here?”
“Working,” Soren muttered, turning his back.
“Making a mess of things, that’s what you’re doing.”
Soren lifted his face skywards, begging the goddess for patience. The last thing he needed now was a lecture from haughty, happily-mated Balar.
Glaring at his brother over his shoulder, he groaned to see the rest of them gathered just behind Balar. Kiri looked concerned, and even Akila and Diar did, too.
He snorted, turning away again. He didn’t need this. They didn’t understand.
His ear flicked backwards as Balar tramped down the slope noisily.
“Stay away from me,” Soren warned. “Theturukis close.”
