Wilder Hawthorne
W ilder dragged Thea from the Great Hall, desperate for somewhere to talk to her in private. He settled for the broom closet he’d found her in weeks ago, half bleeding to death. With a shudder, he realised that her blood still stained the stone floor.
‘Wilder?’ Thea stared up at him in confusion as he shut the door behind them.
He was being irrational, hauling her away like this, but he had to talk to her. If they could just get on the same page, everything could still work out for them, the magic, the apprenticeship - it could all be dealt with.
Ignoring the damp smell of the closet, he gripped her arms gently.
‘If we both reject your appointment as my apprentice, there’s nothing they can do.
They can’t force us,’ he told her, pulse racing.
All his senses seemed heightened in her presence, his insides vibrating.
They could still be together, things between them could still work, just not as master and apprentice, for with how he felt about her, he couldn’t be the master she needed.
His thoughts slowed as he took in her expression. Thea’s eyes were downcast, her dark brows furrowed as she fingered that piece of jade around her neck.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘I don’t want to reject the appointment.’
Wilder stared at her, suddenly light-headed. ‘What?’
‘This is my last chance,’ she said, a pleading note in her voice. ‘My last chance to become a Warsword. You’re it.’
‘But we agreed —’
‘That I would nominate Torj as my mentor, which I did. But now… It’s you or no mentor at all. I only have three years to make my mark. Less.’
Wilder’s hands fell away from her. ‘Three years? What are you talking about?’
Thea’s bottom lip quivered as she placed the piece of jade, the fate stone, in his palm. ‘I’m talking about this.’
Wilder stared at the marked gem. When he had first seen it, his heart had nearly fallen through his stomach, but when he’d asked…
‘You told me this wasn’t yours…’ he said slowly, rolling it between his fingers.
Twenty-seven , the stone read, the number sending goosebumps rushing across his skin in a cold sweat.
‘I lied.’
His eyes locked to hers, pulse spiking. ‘You lied?’
Thea nodded, her eyes lined with tears. ‘I didn’t want you to pity me… I didn’t want you to think it was a waste to train me.’
Wilder flinched, dropping the stone. It fell back to Thea, landing between her breasts, hanging from its leather string, taunting him. She truly thought he was so cold?
His eyes burned, and his throat constricted. He wasn’t sure he could muster the courage to ask what needed to be asked.
Twenty-seven, the number echoed in his mind .
Thea answered anyway, her voice soft. ‘It’s the age I’ll be when I die.’
Suddenly, the broom closet was too fucking small, and Wilder couldn’t breathe.
His chest heaved, his heart heavy. Thea would die at the age of twenty-seven .
Three years from now… The future he hadn’t even realised he’d been imagining flashed before him cruelly, a beautiful unfolding of events that would never come to pass.
Thea, his Thea, wanted something more from the little life she had left.
And Wilder knew he could not give that to her if he was both lover and mentor.
Their brief time together had branded him in a way that terrified him.
Already he could think of nothing else and he knew that there was no way he could teach her, could train her if they were together…
If they were together, he knew he wouldn’t push her the way she would need to be, because what she wanted was to become a Warsword of Thezmarr, and a Warsword needed to be pushed to breaking point.
‘Please, Wilder,’ Thea choked. ‘I need this. More than anything.’
More than anything… More than you.
‘So you insist on honouring the Guild Master’s decision?’ he asked. He wanted to scream, he wanted to rage at the Furies themselves for a gift that was all too fleeting.
Thea met his stare, her eyes red-rimmed but determined. ‘I do.’
He and Thea… They had started something in the Bloodwoods, and long before that, but this…
This changed everything. This was her life, her choice.
And he would always put her first. If she was to attempt the Great Rite, then he was going to give her the best fucking chance he could.
That meant being Warsword Hawthorne, her mentor and master, not Wilder, her lover.
There could be no room for confusion, no room for interpretation.
He had to end it. Despite what he felt for her, he couldn’t save her by being with her.
He could only do that by being the hardest, fiercest mentor to ever walk the midrealms.
Shoving his trembling hands into his pockets, he fixed her with a cold, hard stare. ‘You lied to me.’
She reached for him. ‘I’m sorry, I —’
‘Don’t bother. It makes things simple,’ he said, words harsh as he pushed her hands away, something within fracturing.
‘Wilder —’
‘If you insist on this stupid arrangement, then so be it. We will be mentor and apprentice, nothing more.’
Thea’s eyes went wide. ‘But what about —’
He drew himself up to full height and reached for the door, his expression pure wrath. ‘What happened in the Bloodwoods was a mistake. It won’t ever happen again, Alchemist.’
He couldn’t stand the pressure building in his chest any longer.
Wilder fled the broom closet, leaving the fortress and his new apprentice behind.