Rory leaned forward slightly. “You made your choice, Arthur. All of this…it’s all part of Lunarion’s plan.”
Considering them both for a moment, Arthur blinked, his face tensing with barely controlled rage. “Get out.”
Rory sighed, cocking his head. “We’ve a long road ahead of us. Why can’t we all just work together?”
“Says the alpha who keeps his pack secluded. Cut off from everyone and everything,” Chase retorted, standing firm beside Arthur.
“Perhaps I’m just more discerning in the company I keep,” Rory replied.
Arthur’s gaze turned back to Kiara, the heat in her gaze as she looked at Rory. He sneered, lip curling, “More fool you.”
Kiara didn’t react, but Arthur saw the rage in her eyes. The tense cut of her shoulders.
He watched every step of Rory’s easy gait as he strolled out of the inn, his pet witch close behind.
“He’s always been a prick,” Chase muttered. “I know we’re technically allies and all, but all he does is cause problems.”
“He’s let a viper into the heart of the Severney,” Arthur bit out. “I doubt that pack will survive her.”
Chase looked at him in surprise. “You think she’s dangerous?”
Arthur’s lips pressed tightly together. “She’s a witch. I know she’s dangerous.”
Chapter 7 - Dani
The first thing she felt was the bite.
A dull, steady ache where his teeth had broken her skin, a warm pulse. For a second, Dani lay perfectly still on the narrow bed, peering up at the unfamiliar ceiling and listening to the compound wake up around her, footsteps in the hall, a distant door slamming, low voices bleeding through wood.
Then the memory hit.
Snow. Stone. Candlelight. Arthur’s hand on her shoulder. His mouth at her throat. The bond slamming into place.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Brilliant. Great. Fantastic.
The room they’d given her in the compound was clean and bare, with pale wood, heavy blankets, a small wardrobe, and a narrow dresser. Nothing of hers. The air still held the faint scent of whoever had slept here before, a young Nordan male, under the overlay of her own magic, acrid and unsettled after last night. She didn’t have the best memories of the Nordan Compound at the best of times; it was a place for the pack to train, to celebrate, to restock for a mission, to crash overnight if needed. She’d never really been pack.
She groped for her phone on the bedside table. No new messages from Salem. Nothing from Lavinia.
Nothing from Arthur.
A small, humiliating flicker of hurt slipped in before she stamped on it. What had she expected? A text?Morning, mate, sorry about the sudden claiming, hope you slept well?
She snorted and shoved the covers back.
The floor was cold under her feet. She padded into the little bathroom and avoided the mirror until the last second. When she finally looked up, a stranger stared back.
Same green eyes. Same riot of red curls, currently dragged into a knot that had lost the fight sometime in the night. But there, on the right side of her neck…
The mark.
A crescent of bruised flesh above her collarbone, already fading at the edges. His teeth. His claim.
Heat flared under her skin. She didn’t look too hard at what kind.
She pulled on jeans and a thick sweater, shoved her feet into boots, and crossed the hall to the next door.
