Before I can get another word out, she turns and slips into the living space, vanishing from sight. Her absence hits harder than it should, leaving the air heavier and emptier. My wolf paces restlessly, wanting to follow, wanting her near.
I clench my fists against the urge. Part of me itches to chase her down, to argue, to insist she take the bed. To proveI’m still the one in control. But the other part, the quieter, more dangerous part, knows this is the first scrap of kindness she’s offered me since the wedding. A gift wrapped in her stubbornness.
If I push, if I force it, I’ll shatter that fragile thread between us before it even has a chance to hold. And gods, I can’t bring myself to throw that away. Not when things finally feel a fraction less strained, less sharp-edged.
So, I let her go. For now.
I slide between the sheets, surprised and, gods help me, disappointed that they don’t smell like her. That wild, sharp, intoxicating scent of hers would have been a comfort and a curse. Instead, I get starch and soap. A kindness, maybe. Or maybe a rejection, her way of stripping herself from my world. I can’t decide which cuts deeper.
As I settle in, I notice she’s also unpacked my suitcase and neatly arranged my clothes on the dresser. That unsettles me more than it should, warming something in my chest I don’t want to acknowledge.
I don’t let myself linger on it. Exhaustion drags at me, heavier than stone, pulling me under the instant my head hits the pillow. My body gives in, but my mind claws for one last hold. And, as always, it catches on the same thought, the same nightly torture that refuses to let me rest in peace.
She’s right there. Just beyond the wall. Close enough that if I reached out, I swear I could feel her warmth. Close enough that my wolf presses against the inside of my chest, whining low, desperate to close the gap.
And yet, she might as well be on the other side of the world. The distance between us has nothing to do with space or walls or doors. It’s older, deeper, carved into us like a canyon.
That truth haunts me in the last breath before sleep takes me—this aching, impossible closeness. So near, and still untouchable.
15
ESMERELDA
“This could be totally random, and I know it’s probably an unpopular opinion, but what if the person who attacked our families is the same person behind the warehouse fire and the kidnapped guides?” Min’s statement renders the room silent.
Not just quiet, but eerily silent. You could hear a mouse skitter across the floor. A fly landing would sound like thunder.
She throws her hands up as everyone turns to stare at her. “Wait, just hear me out. I know you both want to believe the other is responsible for your family’s attacks, but what if this has all been part of the plan from the start?”
“You know…” Leonard leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing. “As much as I hate to admit it, she’s making sense.”
Min shoots him a look for the jab, but he presses on. “It’s actually brilliant.”
“You’re not supposed to admire the villain,” I scowl, but the words sound hollow even as they leave my mouth. My jaw tightens, heat prickling under my skin because, damn it, he’s right. And that’s what grates under my skin. It shouldn’t make sense, shouldn’t click into place so neatly, but it does.
My wolf shifts uneasily, ears flat as if she doesn’t like the truth any more than I do. I hate that part of me can’t argue, that the logic has a chokehold on me.
Leonard shrugs. “Think about it. Hit both sides, set off a chain of retaliation. You two walked right into it. So much so, they forced a marriage for peace. That’s not coincidence. It’s a fucking brilliant strategy.”
I sink onto the couch, the cushions swallowing me whole. My mind won’t stop racing. Could this all really be one elaborate setup? Suddenly I’m second-guessing everything. The walls feel like they’re closing in, pressing the question tighter against my chest until I can hardly breathe. If it is a setup, then I’ve walked right into it, blind and willing. I gave up everything. Everything.
“Hold on.” Marcus’s voice cuts through the rising chatter. “Min, do you have another color in that bag of yours?”
She springs up and digs through her bottomless tote. I swear she could survive an apocalypse with what she keeps in there. She produces a ball of turquoise yarn, and Marcus unravels a length. Pinning one end where the warehouse fire started and the other where the kidnapping happened, he threads the line taut. Then he grabs a red pin and drives it into the center point.
“What if we’re going about this the wrong way?” he says. “What if it’s not just one person, but two, or even a network? Could be, whoever orchestrated this is operating from right here, in the middle.” He circles the red pin, turning it into a bullseye.
Leonard strokes his chin. “You might be right. And the worst part? The attack on our guides? There were children there. No one’s safe. If this is deliberate, it’s far bigger than a simple vendetta.”
If this is true, then what’s the next step? My gut twists, because I can’t see them stopping now. News must’ve spread already that we’re still alive. That makes us unfinished business. Prey they’ll keep hunting.
At least the council moved Beth, my nanny, to another town, surrounding her in layers of guards and magic. No one will ever be able to find her and do what they did to my family. That thought eases the pressure in my chest by a fraction, but it doesn’t last. Because if they can’t get to us, what if they go after our packs?
Or should I say pack? Singular. The word should taste bitter. The fact that I was forced to merge my pack with Marcus’s. The families that were. The families that aren’t anymore. My wolf bares her teeth, a snarl rising in my throat, sharp and feral. But me? I don’t feel that bitter anymore.
I shove it back down. This line of thinking is a trap, spiraling tighter until it strangles. It won’t help me, won’t help anyone, if I unravel now. But gods, it’s hard to breathe past the weight of what could come next.
“Okay,” I say, trying to sound practical. “Say you’re right. How do we narrow this down? We still have an army of enemies in this region. It’s not like we can just knock on doors and ask who slaughtered our families,” I mutter.
