The magic settled into something warm and constant, a thread connecting us that I instinctively knew would never fully disappear.
“Why do you smell like sulfur and perawyld?” Feral asked, his nose wrinkling.
“It’s my research. I was synthesizing dragon fire compounds this morning.”
“You were what?”
“Synthesizing. It’s a process where you combine base elements to create?—”
“I know what synthesizing means.” He looked both impressed and horrified. “You were playing with dragon fire on your wedding day?”
“I wasn’t playing. I was conducting carefully controlled experiments within established safety parameters.”
“Under the authority granted to me by the ancient laws,” the elder said loudly, “I pronounce you bonded. King and consort, alpha and?—”
Feral swept me up into his arms.
“Put me down this instant,” I said, grabbing his shoulders for balance. “Feral!”
Ignoring my wiggles, he turned and strode down the aisle to the cheers and howls of our guests, aiming for the largest of the ancient trees.
“Where do you think you’re taking me?” I shouted, smacking his back with my palms. The indignity of it all.
“To our den.” His voice had gone rough again, his wolf rising close to the surface. “You’re mine now.”
“Absolutely not. We’re expected to make an appearance at our reception.” What would my family think?
A glance in that direction showed me my family was chuckling and pointing. Not in a mean way. They’d never do anything like that. But they found thisfunny.
He pivoted and lifted his voice. “Consider this making an appearance.” After dipping into a short bow, with me nearly tumbling off the front of his shoulder when he did it, he turned and continued striding toward the tree.
“That’s not putting in an appearance,” I growled.
“From my perspective, it is. I’m alpha. My word is law.”
“Put me down and treat me like a person capable of walking on her own.”
“No.”
Heat unfurled in my chest.
Definitely an allergic reaction.
He carried me inside the enormous tree, ducking through the opening carved into the trunk. Ahead, a spiral staircase wound upward into darkness, the steps worn smooth by countless paws and feet. Bioluminescent fungi provided orange light, revealing the living wood that still grew around the carved spaces.
Feral climbed and climbed and climbed, his breathing steady despite carrying me.
“How many hundreds of steps are there?”
“It’s not hundreds,” he said dryly.
“So tens of steps. How many?”
“One hundred and four total.”
“I could walk up them, you know.”
Behind us, Acorn scampered to keep up, chattering about how indignant he was and how his little claws were taking a beating on the wood.
