8. Weston
Chapter 8
Ilooked behind me, half expecting someone to be advancing with a weapon. An axe, maybe.
“Check this out.” I tapped it and stepped to the side, shuffling through the other items.
Tanix joined me, leaning over to read it. He looked behind, as well, and I couldn’t help a grin.
“It seems the little axe wielder has her co-contributors nervous.” I found another note and shoved an iron spike out of the way to read it.
They are her spies. Do not trust the glow bugs.
“Or maybe this guy is bananas,” I murmured.
“There’s another written on this side.” Tanix knelt around the desk and then tilted his head to read it. “This one is warning about the moon flash boiling the blood.” He stood, an eyebrow arched. “These are not the scribblings of a rational man.”
“Mr. Gardener might be partaking in his own creations.” I pulled open the door at the back, finding some sort of closet with shelves lining the wall. Broken glass littered the ground, and appliances, some smashed or broken, were scattered about. Only the top two shelves were intact, the appliances placed neatly in a line. By the woman.
I’d bet my life on it.
“Did they know we were coming, then?” I reached, taking one down. “Were they trying to quickly get rid of the evidence?”
“The blood is fairly fresh, but not entirely recent. Last night, maybe?”
“Before we invaded.”
“But not before you saw the woman . . .”
I stiffened. He was correct. Not before.
“If my... slip up was the reason,” I said, grabbing another mechanism and pulling them both out, “why not discard the top rows?”
Tanix shook his head, reaching for what I held. I handed those over and pointed back at the closet.
“Pack them all up, even the broken ones. We’ll have the woman tell us what they do. The queen might be interested.”
“Yes, Alpha.” Tanix grabbed a broom from the corner and swept the glass away as he worked into the closet.
I paused near the hearth, finding her scent. I examined the baskets and various items there.
“More notes in here,” Tanix called. “‘The colors are dancing and blending like a cosmic symphony.’ That one’s actually pretty.”
“What’d I miss?” I heard as Dante showed up.
“‘I’ve discovered the hidden pattern of nature’,” Tanix read, having moved to another one. He paused. “This other one is written with the words all backwards. Weird. ‘My mind... has dissolved into... a fragile illusion... of nothingness.’”
“It seems our gardener moonlights as a drugged-out poet.” I spied the instruments Tanix was removing. They seemed to have clunky modifications, many taped on or glued, stuck together in odd ways. Whoever did this was no expert, and yet, despite most being broken, they were worn in, some with soot clinging to the sides or traces of dirt lining a pour spout.
“Sixten?” I asked Dante.
“She headed toward the village to see how that was going,” he said, looking around. “This is it? Just two desks being used? No tables or anything?”
“Seems so, though Mr. Poet doesn’t seem like much of a help, based on his work station,” I said. “Maybe there’s another workhouse in the village proper. They’re checking it out now.”
“These are... odd.” Dante stood from the appliances Tanix had brought out. “Obviously used but not as intended. Someone’s made alterations. Mr. Poet?”
I shook my head minutely, pausing as a faint light caught my notice. Pale pink glowed from within a small basket beside the closet door, strengthening slowly.
A solitary flower with a few discarded petals lay at the bottom of the basket. The petals themselves created the glow.
“Look at this,” I said, picking up the basket and holding it out for the others.
Tanix took it, his face glowing pink as he peered in. “That’s pretty. I’ve never heard of a glowing flower.”
“Neither have I, and I’ve walked within the royal garden with the queen as she mutters about her plants. She doesn’t have any like this. I would’ve noticed.” I gestured for him to keep it. “We’ll need to ask Mr. Poet what it is, if we can find him.”
“Or the woman,” Dante said, standing by a small bookcase set by the front window. “She’d surely know her ingredients. Here we go.” He held up a piece of paper. “We have our product order.” He shook it. “This is quite a list. There has to be more workstations to fulfill this. Or else the axe wielder does nothing but work, day and night.”
Nova poked her head in the door. “Alpha, we’ve got something. Looks like the finished product was kept in a storeroom in the village. The pack has it secured, along with the village. There was no push-back from the villagers.”
“None?” I asked in surprise, collecting the woman’s pack and headed for the door.
“No, Alpha,” Nova said, waiting until I exited and falling in beside me. “Some stayed on their porches, watching us walk through, but most kept to their... cottages, we’ll call them. No one shifted.”
I frowned at that news. We had been expecting anywhere from a little to a great deal of resistance. This was a village of shifters, after all. Our kind protected their territories, and if not their territories, at least their homes. It was baked into our blood, part of our magic. We didn’t throw out the red carpet to invasions. At least, I’d always thought that was the case...
“Let’s check out the garden first, as planned,” I said, continuing to ignore my desire to head to the village.
When we reached it, I stopped abruptly.
“What a . . . mess,” Dante said in disgust.
“Our scouts don’t know what they are looking at in terms of gardening.” Nova looked everything over. “That’s probably why they didn’t mention the mess. But they did mention they’d found four scents. Two were those from the workhouse, and another two from here. All four they’ve found in the village.”
“So they’ve found Mr. Poet, then?” I asked.
“Yes, Alpha.”
Her tone was sharp. She didn’t offer any other information. She handed me items to take notes with.
I nodded as I started forward again. Various plants grew somewhat wild, all mixed together it seemed, with weeds and grasses growing between and around. Garden tools lay discarded randomly, maybe used and left to the side? Tanix stepped on the end of a hoe he clearly hadn’t seen, hiding in the weeds. It swung up and slapped him in the chin.
“Goat fuckers!” he exclaimed, kicking it. Dante guffawed.
“This cannot be the garden they use for their operation,” I mused, taking samples and writing what notes I could. Nothing was labeled and I was no expert. We’d need the villagers to name the various plants. “It’s chaotic. How do they find anything?”
“Something definitely seems off about all this,” Tanix said, rubbing his chin. He pulled a clipboard from a small table within an overhang. “One person and a nutcase to create all that product with a team of drunk gardeners? It’s not possible.”
I handed off the items I’d collected to Tanix, glancing at the clipboard. Random drawings and strange symbols littered a faded and dirty page. Doodles only.
“Do we have the wrong village?” But even as I said it—somewhat hopefully, given the wrong village meant the woman might not be the drug maker she seemed—I knew it couldn’t be. Dante echoed my ensuing thoughts.
“Granny has a residence here, as does her chief dog.” He held onto the clipboard. “She cut this place off from society and keeps it in hiding. Most importantly, she stays in a tiny cottage and forces her dog to stay in worse conditions. This place is important. It’s not like this is any sort of vacation home for her.”
“Agree. But...” I shook my head again. “This just doesn’t add up.”
“The queen started in a little shack at first, didn’t she?” Dante said. “She was able to work miracles from a home garden.”
Tanix shrugged. “That’s true. I’ve heard the stories. But that was only for her village at the time, right? She had help with larger areas. Now?” He blew out a breath. “She has a team of people and a huge, well-organized garden. The faeries do, too.”
“And both of those produce double what Granny is.”
“Still.” Dante lifted his eyebrows. “Four or five times the staff and garden space but only double the output? Maybe triple? One sober person and a few high minions shouldn’t be able to produce what Granny is putting out there.”
“Let’s check out that product storage area.” I motioned for Nova to lead the way.
Walking through the village was a surreal experience. No one lay damaged in the streets, having attacked to protect their home. No one had even shifted. Some stood on porches and others at windows, watching us pass, mostly blank expressions. It was as though it didn’t really matter that we’d come. Like it didn’t change the trajectory of their lives. I’d never seen anything like it.
On the way to the product storage area, Nova had me stop in to see the person they surmised was Mr. Poet.
The man had been beaten to shit. His jaw was newly healed after being dislocated, his eyes were still mostly swollen shut, and his limbs were healing from obvious broken bones. He had access to his animal—Nova reported that everyone besides the woman had—and so his healing was progressing, but an incredible amount of damage had been done. He’d be down for several days.
He had no problem talking.
“You guys here to take that dud?” he asked immediately, his busted lip curling. “I knew she was trouble. People like her have no respect for normal shifter society. She dragged us all in with her, that’s what she did. Ask my mate, Mindy. I said it as soon as Granny let that no-magic cur stay here. ‘She’ll drag us into the dirt,’ I said. And she did.” He’d huffed, wincing with the effort. “Lifted us out of poverty, my ass. I’d rather be poor and barely make ends meet than be trapped here by that old woman and her prized dud, doing shit I hate, punished for every Gods-damned thing. Take her. Get her out of here. Kill them both. Just leave us be.”
I’d barely been able to breathe by the end of his tirade, shaking with rage. Everything might’ve been true. Certainly seemed so, at any rate. But calling the woman a dud, her suppressed wolf a natural pair to my own—calling her a cur, the biggest slight to a shifter there was—the primal part of me recoiled. I’d wanted to strike out to silence him. To do worse damage than the person before me, to teach him a lesson about how one should speak about my true mate.
Instead, I’d held my composure with everything I’d had, thanked him for his information, and left the rest of the questioning to Tanix. It was the best I could do. I knew no one would fault me for it. The strange bond of true mates might not make rational sense, but the primal element of it couldn’t be denied. I would suffer her punishment for the crimes she’d committed, but I would not force myself to endure a small-minded narrative from someone who’d never given her a chance because she didn’t have access to her animal.
I let Nova lead me to the village center and a small supply shed in the corner. Imagine, being distrusted and hated from the get-go, the sentiment never thawing even though two people worked in close proximity. What must her life have been like if the person closest to her fundamentally despised her for what she represented—a shifter without magic. When her entire person, from day one, was reduced down to something she couldn’t control.
Something she couldn’t control. Granny damn well could’ve.
Granny had a good amount of power. Plenty to pull out the woman’s animal, at any rate. The woman wouldn’t need much, just a gentle tug from any decent alpha. Granny would’ve known that. She would’ve felt it. She’d purposely kept the woman suppressed, and in so doing, ensured the woman would be despised by her co-worker and likely many others in this backwards village.
What a fucking life.
With my heart now beating too fast—a warning that I needed to stop thinking about this or risk softening toward her too much—I took in the village center. There was a small play structure for the children amid a thick pelt of grass. That was nice, at least. A few benches ringed around the edge, all empty, and sheds lined the north side. Those appeared to be better built than the houses and were newer as well, a few with windows and counters, as though used to sell something.
“Is this what passes as their village market?” I asked as we headed to the end of the row.
“Granny supplies what they need, remember?” Dante said, shadowing Nova and me. “She buys in large quantities and ships it here.”
“Yes, given that was how we found the location of this place, I am aware,” I said semi-patiently. “But they must have a market for personally made items, little things to trade to keep their community going.”
Dante grunted. “Probably, since they have a small setup for it. No idea what they’d trade, though. I looked over the supply manifests we managed to grab from Granny’s estate. She had all the necessary needs met. Not a lot of any one thing, but enough. They wouldn’t have needed to trade for supplies.”
“Maybe just to keep people busy?” Nova offered. “Make them feel like they were still part of an active society, trading with their neighbors, offering some sort of value to their community?”
“Given the tirade of Mr. Poet,” Dante said as Nova opened the supply shed, “it didn’t work.”
“Maybe not for him...” She stepped aside. “It didn’t have a lock.”
I paused before stepping up. “It didn’t have a lock?”
“No. The doors had been closed, the contents as you see, but no lock.”
“How does that make sense?” Dante asked, peering in. “It’s in the village center where children play. Anyone could wander over and start up an addicting and potentially deadly habit, willy-nilly.”
I shook my head, at a loss. Surely everyone knew what the product did and how dangerous it was, so they’d warn kids to stay away, but teenagers tended to do the opposite of what they were told. Not to mention the adults with poor decision-making skills, much like Mr. Poet, who sampled and got caught in the addictive snare. It didn’t make sense to leave it open like this.
I looked over the small crates stacked on top of each other, the site lacking the precision of the woman. Clearly someone else managed this storeroom. Each crate had a name scratched in the side, like “hallucinogen 1,” or “mild relaxant.” None were names I recognized. Granny must’ve changed those for market.
“Have we found the packaging area?” I asked, picking up an elixir in a little glass tube. A green dot was painted on the side. It matched the other tubes in the crate, the only thing to identify the individual contents. “This is all very... rudimentary.”
“We haven’t found anywhere where they might do packaging, no,” Nova said. “There’s nowhere nearly sophisticated enough. It must be done elsewhere.”
“The woman makes the goods and someone else gets them ready for market.” Dante pulled his lips to the sides. “We haven’t found all the players in this scheme.”
“The packaging people don’t matter.” I picked through another crate, then the next, seeing all the contents marked with a colored dot. “Cut out the root of the operation, and the whole thing will wither.”
“Still, it would be nice to bring them all in,” Nova said.
“The woman should know,” Dante said. “We just need to get it out of her.”
I couldn’t help stiffening, but didn’t comment. He was right. She’d know the ins and outs of the organization. They could force her to reveal Granny’s secrets.
I took a step back. “Start moving this out and talk to more of the village. Let’s see what else they know and what else might be of use to the dragon royalty. We’ll see who needs to come with us and stand in judgment and who should be left to pick up the pieces of their lives. It’s clear Granny forced this life on this village. They’ll be useless without the woman and happily so. But let’s reserve judgment until after we know what they have to say.”
“Yes, Alpha,” they said in unison.
“Nova,” I said before she got to work. “Do you know where the woman resides?”
“Yes, Alpha. I’ll show you?—“
“No.” I held out a hand. “Just give me directions. I want you to get all this squared away as quickly as possible. I can pick through her things just fine.”
She rattled off some directions and I was on my way, looking at the little cottages on the lane as I passed. They were in a state of disrepair, with a few visible patches making them habitable. All of them, without exception, were tiny.
I knew her cottage immediately, not because it was bigger than the others—it was not—or because it was newer or better in any way—it wasn’t. It was because of the care and attention she seemingly paid to every detail.
The quaint little dwelling sat nestled between two others, its rustic charm enveloping it like a warm embrace. Its walls were slightly weathered by time but washed clean and its window frames were freshly painted a pristine white to match the picket fence surrounding a patch of lush green grass. A few struggling flowers added a pop of color; saffron yellow, periwinkle and teal hugged the walls and partially outlined some of the porch. It was clear she wasn’t any better at gardening than her counterparts. Even so, the dirt in which they grew was devoid of weeds and still moist, serving as proof she attempted their care as best she could.
I unlatched the gate and then swung it open as a neighbor peered out her doorway from the cottage on the right.
“What sort of a neighbor is this woman?” I asked, stopping in the middle of the walkway.
She pulled her sweater tighter around her as she stepped out gingerly, her face deeply lined with age.
She pursed her lips. “Quiet. She keeps to herself, as she should.”
“And why is that?”
“Well, because of her... affliction, you know.” She lifted her brow, the gravity of the situation evident.
“Her affliction?” I asked slowly.
“Didn’t you do your research before barging in here? She’s one of them duds. I thought everyone knew that. No magic. Not a lick. Now...” She squinted her eyes at me. “People say they’s contagious, but she hung around with that Wilkens boy for a good stint and he never caught nothing. No one else has gotten sick with it and lost their magic, neither. I reckon that it’s just a wives tale.”
Contagious? Fucking hell, these people were certainly living in the past.
In this kingdom a long time ago, it had been somewhat taboo to be without one’s animal. People feared that which was different, any situation they didn’t understand. Someone without access to their animal was automatically considered to be without magic, something that was actually incredibly rare. Those “afflicted” were often outcast and usually despised for no reason.
When I left this kingdom—when I was forcibly taken by the demons—there were still some superstitions and prejudices against those without access to their animal, but overall people had been better educated about the situation. In my experience, anyway. Clearly in the forgotten places like this, that outdated mentality was still prevalent.
Rage simmered low in my gut.
“What makes you think she has no magic?” I asked, wanting to be sure. “Because she can’t feel her animal?”
“Her mama didn’t have no magic,” she replied as though she’d unequivocally proved her case. “That gene is always passed down. They said her mama went to all sorts of alphas—one that got her with child, if you can believe that. Couldn’t find no magic. Shame on her mother, but then alphas do have their wiles…”
Her eyebrow arched, a harsh judgment on me.
My stare bowed her spine. Her gaze snapped downward.
Magiclessness was rarely passed down. That was fear talking. Judgment. Superstition.
To have a person like this as a neighbor, constantly judging, always looking down on you?
The sentiment was still true. What a miserable fucking life.
“Thank you for your time,” I told the older woman, my tone as harsh as my stare. “I am not here to use her in a similar... field of... employ. I’m here to escort her to her judgment. Her practices are unlawful. It’s time she pays the price. Speaking of, is there anyone else that should stand in judgment for their part in all of this?”
The short answer was mostly no, except for Mr. Poet and a few of the lackluster gardeners. The “dud” was basically a one-woman show.
As she spoke, I realized the people here didn’t have much choice in their lives. If they left the territory—if anyone left the territory—they’d need permission and to be escorted. At least one child would have to stay behind. Granny was holding hostages, using the children as leverage to ensure no one spoke about their tasks or their locations. It’s how she was able to keep her secret so airtight.
Smart . . . and utterly disgusting. She deserved death.
“This woman,” I finally said, pointing at the house in front of me, stopping the woman’s rant about someone named Girdy and her light fingers at the weekly market. “What is her name?”
“Aurelia.”
The name bloomed within my mind, so beautiful, so perfectly matching her essence. It was like a favorite song whose tune I remembered from my youth, but whose words I’d forgotten until just now.
“Thank you for your time.” I offered the woman a slight bow this time.
“‘Bout time justice was done.” The woman sniffed and went into her house.
What a strange reception for an intruder who meant part of the community harm.
What a horrible village.
I reached the front door. It wasn’t locked.
The smell accosted me first, a wave of a perfume so divine my knees about lost their strength. I sat in a single rocking chair facing the hearth, no other furniture in her sitting room. She clearly didn’t entertain.
A pot hung over ashes and I looked inside. Confused, looking back at the kitchen, I realized they didn’t have any sort of appliances for keeping things cold. Granny had all the modern amenities in her estate near the castle, but she was clearly keeping these people in the olden times, before a strange alliance between clever faeries and demons had learned how to leach energy from the human realm beyond the veil.
Why was Granny keeping this village locked in a time warp? To control them?
Figuring the woman, Aurelia, would’ve gotten rid of the contents if they weren’t fit to be eaten, I hunted through the small kitchen and found a spoon. Reaching in, I scooped up a bit out of curiosity and studied what I’d found. Stew, it looked like. Carrots, potatoes, meat...
Hesitantly, I sampled the concoction... and then moaned, closing my eyes as the tastes exploded on my tongue. I’d had a million stews made by all manner of people, from those working for royalty to the mates of my pack treating me to a homecooked meal. Nothing—nothing—had ever tasted this good. It wasn’t the ingredients, which were pretty standard fare, but the additions of... herbs, I guessed. Certain unusual spices? I couldn’t say, only that it tasted fucking divine.
Before I knew it, I’d finished the rest of the (somewhat meager) pot and looked for more. Finding none, I once again returned to the kitchen, looking in drawers and marveling at how immaculate everything was. She’d gone out earlier not knowing an invasion would occur. I’d warned her, yes, but clearly she hadn’t taken that to heart. She also hadn’t told anyone about our... meeting the night before. The gods only knew how she’d rationalized it, likely not recognizing our true mate bond or maybe even knowing what that was. Those without access to their animals didn’t usually get much coaching about shifter life or, like with true mate bonds in general, far-fetched possibilities. She’d left her cottage thinking she’d return home at some point.
My heart thumped against my chest painfully.
I’m ripping her away from her home. A place she clearly loves and looks after.
Breathing heavily against guilt I couldn’t control, I glanced at the books stacked on a side table. Gardening mostly, but with a couple action-adventure titles randomly stuck in.
I ran my finger over the lettering on the spine. Action-adventure was a genre I gravitated toward, liking it above all others. Add in a little murder mystery and I was in heaven. I didn’t recognize these titles.
I’d look them up when I got back to the castle. I didn’t need to know her reading habits for this duty but fuck it, I wanted to. I wanted to know what made her tick. Who she was. Why we were destined for each other.
Honestly, I wanted to conclude that the whole “true mates” business was nothing but random, primal bad luck. That it had nothing to do with me personally. It would make my duty that much more bearable.
She had two bedrooms. I avoided where she slept for a moment, choosing instead the other room, the door closed tightly. Curiosity burned through me as I opened it slowly, feeling like I was entering a secret space. A private space, somewhere no one entered but her. And likely that was the case, given what was said by Mr. Poet and then her neighbor, two people who should’ve at least been congenial. Instead, they’d sounded like they’d wanted her to be taken away, both because of her “affliction” and because of her role in the community.
One of those I couldn’t fault.
The door swung open fully exposing images that assaulted me in the best of ways. The walls held drawings made with pencil and charcoal; the room was crowded with art, each one more interesting and eye-catching than the last. I looked at every one, seeing a bird from an interesting viewpoint, a tree with such exquisite detail I felt like I was looking at the real thing, a fantasy land with a sense of longing. Every one of them sucked me in, leaving me captivated until I had to tear myself away again.
Shaken and unsure why, I finally entered the bedroom. Her smell was more intense here and her world much more chaotic. Despite the pristine organization of her work and home space, her bedroom was anything but—something I identified with. A glass of half-finished water sat on the bedside table along with another book, the page marked with what looked like a random slip of paper. Shoes lay on the ground by the door and slippers by the closet, as though thrown there randomly. A blanket was draped on a well-worn, overstuffed chair by the far window. Her sheets lay in disarray, rumpled and turbulent.
I paused as I looked at it and wondered if she’d dreamt of our meeting like I had. If she’d relived each slow, delicious detail. If she wanted to do it again but prolong it next time, joined together, me filling her up over and over again, lodged inside of her?—
Sweat coated my forehead and I braced a hand against one of the four posters of her bed, leaning over in agony. My cock was painfully hard, the ache pounding through me. I wanted her here, now. I wanted admittance to those sheets and her body. I wanted to thrust into her tight depths until we passed out from fatigue.
Get ahold of yourself, I yelled internally, needing to find some sort of control. If I was like this when she wasn’t present, what would happen when she was? How the hell would I control myself when she was living and breathing next to me, her beauty captivating me, her smell, her heat drawing me in...
Sucking in a ragged breath, I noticed a leatherbound book—no, a journal—laying closed in the center of a small writing desk in the corner. A quill and ink sat beside it, an archaic but romantic way to write out one’s thoughts.
I crossed the room to it as though in a trance, then picked it up and glanced at the first page. Her words flowered in my mind, fresh and vibrant and expressive.
Before I knew time had passed, I’d finished the journal, and Tanix was entering the bedroom with a confused expression.
“Get out,” I growled, surprising myself with both the ferocity in those two words and my reaction to another male in my true mate’s intimate space.
Outside the bedroom, after a few more ragged breaths, I spoke to him again.
“I apologize. I?—“
He held up a hand. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through with this, Alpha. True mates are supposed to be a clandestine, surreal meeting. What should’ve been the best surprise of your life has turned into a nightmare. I don’t envy you this detail. If I can help in any way...”
I nodded with gratitude. “Thank you. And no, it’s not ideal.”
“We have information from the village. Did you find anything here?”
I pushed the bedroom door wide again, surveying the messy interior and feeling a pang in my chest that I’d never get to know why she was so immaculate in everything but her most intimate space. Her wildness showed in her bedroom, as it had on the path last night. As it had when she’d burst in on four powerful shifters and struck them with an axe in Granny’s cottage. I wanted to know more of that woman. I wanted to relish in her fierceness, but co-exist in the controlled, organized space she also clearly felt comfortable in. I lived a very similar existence but I hardly ever let the wildness show. Not like I had last night. It was something I never should’ve done—because it was something I could never, ever forget.
“I found her journal,” I finally said. I didn’t hold it out and Tanix didn’t offer his hand. He clearly knew I wouldn’t be turning it over. “Looks like there is a row of them on the bookcase in her bedroom. I’ve glanced through it. She had details on products she’s created, information on some daily activities. Hopefully there’ll be some information about the overall operation, as well. Regardless, the dragon queen will want to get these notes. Take all her books except the mundane gardening ones.”
I did not dare mention I was enraptured reading the snippets of her very lonely life dispersed in between the work-related stuff. She wrote her feelings in such a raw way that I couldn’t help feeling every slight at the market, every snub while taking her daily walk, every cutting remark she overheard as she passed. Visible amongst those, though, was her drive for perfection. If a word was spelled incorrectly, it had a strikethrough and the proper spelling next to or right above it. She either knew it was wrong after writing it, looked it up and changed it on the spot, or she went over her writing later, found the error, and corrected it.
At the end of the entry, every day without fail, sometimes the only entry that day, was a memory of her mother. How her eyes sparkled. The flowing dress she wore. Her steadfast resilience against the aggression directed at them. I assumed that was because of the no-magic situation. I could feel the love through the pages, and choked up several times reading these snippets despite not knowing either of them.
Aurelia had lost her mother. And it seemed as though her mother had been her only family; it was clear from the anecdotes in her journal she had no relatives in this village. She’d found Granny sometime after and been taken in, an act of mercy.
Hard to envision the Granny I’d recently learned about giving anyone mercy. After hearing firsthand accounts of her behavior and breaking into her lavish estate near the castle to catalogue her possessions, it was obvious Granny’s actions were almost always self-serving. She didn’t do handouts. She didn’t offer charity. If she noticed someone, it was because they were necessary or special in some way.
I supposed it was possible she had a maternal desire to protect a younger Aurelia. But I wouldn’t know for sure until I learned more.
“We need to move out,” I said abruptly. “Pack up the books, and her drawings from the other room. She has a collection of spices, as well. Grab those.”
I tried not to clench my jaw.
And failed.
We didn’t actually need those drawings, and certainly not the spices but... I knew I was probably sentencing her to death, so there was no real point, but I wanted her to have them close, to maybe serve as a slight balm for having ripped her from her carefully cultivated world.
Before I regretted the decision, I stalked out of the house and headed toward camp. The others could handle things from here. I wanted to see the woman. Aurelia. I wanted to ask her?—
I wasn’t even sure.
Fucking primal instincts. I felt like my brain had been leeched out of my skull and all I wanted to do was fall into this desperate need to knot her. To claim her. To own her for eternity.
How the fuck was I going to question her and keep my senses?