With weary eyes,I dab my neck with drops of lavender oil, working my way down my chest and the gooseflesh rippling along my arms. Once the topical dries, I remove the insulated garment from its wooden hanger and slip it on. I glance back at my reflection, seeing a fair woman suffocating beneath a grey-sleeved bodysuit and utility corset. Long, inky hair cascades down my back, a plaited crown securing the rest from my face. I blink, scanning for a semblance of a spark in my eyes. The twinkle they once held before I went from spotlights and exhilaration to shadows and complacency.
Though the ripples of that devastating night have long faded, my memories remain painfully vivid. I have mourned my mother, my surviving family, and my friends back in Crayford. Letting them go is a decision I will never regret, for they are safer without me. Today, in another bedroom that has only been temporary, I must look in the mirror and be willing to accept it.
Spend enough time mourning the dead and the grief will start to feast on you from the inside out. By now, one would think I’d be completely hollow. That maybe I would stop asking myself if anyone still missed me. Maybe things would be different, had I been given the chance to say goodbye. And yet,what pains me most is knowing that, even if that were possible, I never would have found the proper words to.
Gliding through the morning fog, a raven perches on the metal railing of my motel window. Its sleek head cocks to the side, beady eyes studying me through the translucent glass.
I shrug my shawl around my neck, tucking my locks beneath. As I sulk alone, the old furnace rumbles and sputters warm air into the room. Dust flickers, illuminated by filtered sunlight. Heat surrounds me, though I am still shivering as I fasten my combat boots. Perhaps it can be attributed to the brisk chill beyond these walls, waiting to nip at my flesh. But if I’m being honest? It’s because I’m terrified.
Not only am I faced with the impossible task of sneaking past a host of apex predators, I have to outfox their unparalleled sense of smell, both requiring a degree of stealth that, despite diffusing my human pheromones with lavender, I’m not entirely sure I possess. Even after running and fending for survival for years on end. Sometimes I can’t help but ponder which is more miserable—dying at the hands of night creatures or continuing to live like this.
With a foreboding croak, the raven flaps its wings, abandoning its post. The bedroom door swings open, revealing Maurleen, which is almost always accompanied by dramatic swearing and ruckus.
“Wyatt’s got the car loaded up with your suitcase. I swiped a couple pieces of toast from the lobby downstairs for you, along with a cup of tea.”
The chime of her voice lightens my somberness. “You need help with any of the baby’s things?”
“Nah. Sylvie’s nodding off in her car seat. Drunk on breast milk, I’m sure.”
I manage a tiny giggle. I’m going to miss Maurleen’s little sidekick.
Within five minutes, we are on the road to Shanoah, an abandoned human settlement that runs through nearly fifty square miles of snowy wilderness. Maurleen has foreseen a man who waits for me there.My mate.My best prospect for staying out of the Blood Master’s clutches.
Maurleen has always put it in more romantic terms. “A mate bond is the Goddess’s way of letting her children experience a piece of Sempiternus down below. The connection between lycans is a sacred thing, an entity in and of itself. It can make lovers abandon all sense of reason, yet it heals all the parts of us that are broken and unrealized.”
For years it has evaded me, how the most important decision one could ever have in this life—who you build a life with—is predetermined. Lycans are highly intelligent predators that walk among humans, stronger and faster than anything man can possibly imagine. But unlike us, they are full of contradictions. They are bound to the beasts that dwell inside them. And when it comes to securing a partner, they are at the mercy of their goddess to fulfill this longing.
What’s even stranger is the notion that, apart from witches on rare occasions, lycans don’t mate with members outside of their species. Certainly not humans. If the Luna goddess has chosen me to be a lycan’s mate, then that must mean my fate isn’t implicitly sealed with the vampire prince. If it’s safe for me to share my secret burden, the two of us can find a way to break the curse.
I don’t have to buy into the match-making lore. But I do need an ally if I am to keep living on the margins of detection. Maurleen and Wyatt are running out of options. I must find this mate and hopefully gain permanent asylum. Otherwise, I face another heated interrogation from the paranoid Alpha of Glacier Meadow, who has long suspected me to be spying for the humanenforcers. Apart from vampires, they are the most pressing threat to lycan existence.
For the next two hours, I rest my head against the car window and fidget with my cuticles. A knot forms in my throat. Only now am I realizing just how much time over the last three and a half years I’ve spent in the back seat of revolving cars with fake plates, running to new towns with fake names. Fleeing, hiding, stalling. Waiting for the day I’m no longer forced to hold my tongue and conceal my scent.
Maurleen pulls her ringlets into a ponytail, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. "Vessa, did I ever tell you how Wyatt and I first met back when he was on assignment?"
"Only about thirty times," I answer.
Wyatt chuckles from the driver's seat, drumming his fingers to the beat of a twangy melody. His own shaggy brown hair is in dire need of fixing. But when you’ve got an infant and a human who’s a magnet for trouble to watch over, those things tend to fall to the wayside.
“Darlin’, there’s only so many ways you can describe stealing somebody’s wallet in a dive bar,” he reminds her. “Even if you were trying to get caught.”
Maurleen serves him a scrutinous glare. Charming as their story may be, no lycan is going to expect a human trespasser for a mate. He'll probably think I'm delusional. Or that I have a death wish.
In her visions, Maurleen has seen this man numerous times in his human form. Which isn’t exactly going to aid me out there in the wilderness when massive, testosterone-fueled beasts are tracking me.
"Seriously, you don't even know this guy’s name?”
“I’ve seen his tattoos. The man wears the mark of an Alpha on his big ole chest. His stature, his physique . . . you don’t need to know his name to know he means authority.”
Wyatt clears his throat. “Settle down, now.”
The witch winks at him. “Baby, you’re an Alpha in every way that counts.” She then turns around and grins at me, lowering her voice. "Just sayin’, honey, you’re gonna like what you see.”
“That’s if I don’t get mauled to death first," I say, resting my eyes for a moment.
Wyatt nudges my shoulder,his raspy drawl stirring my senses. We have arrived at the final event an hour before it is set to begin. My stomach does a watery flip. Soon, eligible females will make their way to the checkpoint, shedding their morning finery to slip into their predatory forms. At nightfall, a formal afterparty will be held offsite where gowns will be adorned, cocktails poured, and offerings made in thanks to the Luna goddess.
Not that I’ll be invited.
