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I held his stare for a long moment before tilting my chin and kissing him, slow and deep. Roark trapped my face in his palms, adjusting to angle my mouth in the position he wanted. His tongue parted my lips and brushed over mine.

Blood rushed from my head to my lower belly. Gods, I could never tire of the taste of this man.

My husband.

I grinned against his mouth and gripped the roots of his hair. What a strange thought. When Roark entered House Jakobson in Skalfirth, he was a beautiful terror, dark and dangerous. I feared him, loathed him, wanted him, and on that night, I despised myself for all of it.

How strange it was to recall every moment the sharp, jagged pieces of unfounded hatred peeled away. Those must’ve been the moments a long-buried bond had slowly restored. Moments when I could see the Sentry as a man with a formidable heart.

Roark was a villain to some, cruel, cold, and vicious. To me, he was gentle, possessive, and my home.

Why are you laughing?

I was lost in his taste and touch and nearly missed his words along my back.

I pulled away, grinning, and raked my fingers through his hair. “I just keep calling you husband in my head and it is fast becoming my favorite word.”

Roark’s eyes heated. He dragged me over the top of him and kissed me deeper, harder.

I never wanted to leave the bedchamber. But the longer he held me, the more I believed that, perhaps together, we could face all the darkness that was coming for us.

—

The doors to the great hall were intricately carved with runes and symbols of the gods. In each corner were the ravens of Dravenmoor. One head looked up toward the rafters, as if seeking guidance from Salur. The other, more skull-like and deadened, peered down, watching humanity below, a reminder of our own mortality.

It took a bit of cleverness from Roark’s mouth and tongue to convince me to step outside the bedchamber, but when the sun was high in the sky, it was impossible to ignore reality.

We needed to face the clan.

Then, somehow, we needed to find a way to be free of their watch to continue our hunt for the Wanderer’s bones and Kael.

Already too much time had passed. Fadey and Ingir would be desperate to find me, and if not me, they would hunt the bones ahead of us. Ingir was queen, the voice of Stonegate besides Prince Thane. She could casually allow the false Captain Baldur to search for me, all while claiming I was the treasonous melder.

The need to keep a step ahead of their plans grew more frantic by the day.

The small group of Dravens who’d witnessed our soul sealing were another factor in leaving the chamber. Gunter pounded on the door earlier, insisting Virki was already prowling about looking for Emi.

She went nowhere without Brynn and Auki, but it had the úlfur council demanding to greet the melder and see what sort of threat I brought to the clan.

“It’s an obvious ruse to get you out in the open,” Gunter insisted. “Virki is skilled with that silver tongue of his, always has been. He’ll try to spin your life as a threat, but with the sealing, it will be naturally assumed that your loyalty is with your mate and your clan. It will be well.”

My insides were coiled in harsh knots, and even surrounded by Emi, the twins, and a feral-looking Gunter, I tasted bile in the back of my throat.

“By the by,” Auki muttered, rubbing the still-wrapped wound on his leg from the arrow. “We know who sent the archers against Lyra.”

Roark nearly stumbled he stopped so swiftly. His eyes burned. Who?

“Brynn might say no man desires her, but she was able to get a few watchers talking over sharp mead this morning.”

Brynn tossed her braid off her shoulder, chin lifted. “I never said men did not desire me; they are simply not the men I also desire.”

What did you learn? Roark gestured angrily.

When I repeated the question, Auki cleared his throat and barreled on. “Turns out it was Councilman Asmund. You remember him, yes? Lost his son in the raids.”

Roark’s jaw pulsed.

“He’s quiet,” Gunter offered with a touch of vitriol in his tone. “Peaceful. Usually a voice of reason on the council. But seasons of hate and grief at the loss of his son clearly have made him a wolf lying in wait.”