Chapter 6 #2
Not smart. The words make my wolf snarl. She thinks she’s not smart because no one bothered to teach her. A hot and furious streak winds through my chest—not at her, but at everyone who made her believe this lie.
“I can teach you,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her eyes flash. “No thanks.”
She starts walking away, and I move after her, catching her arm again, more gently this time. “I’m serious, Daciana.”
She doesn’t turn around, but she stops. I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she’s holding herself rigid.
“I can teach you far more than that boy can,” I say quietly. “My pack holds the most ancient knowledge in the Kingdom. Histories and texts that even the Council doesn’t have access to.”
She hesitates. I see the slight loosening of her posture, the way her breathing changes. I push the advantage, moving closer to her ear.
“I’m a good teacher.” My voice drops, becomes coaxing. “I taught Artisem, and he is known as one of the most respected scholars in our pack now, along with being a warrior.”
She turns slowly, and there’s a fragile look in her eyes that makes my chest ache. “You’re not saying this to mock me?”
The question confuses me. “What? Why would you—”
“I’ve had a few soldiers offer before.” She tries to shrug, but it doesn’t convey nonchalance. She is trying to conceal how she was hurt. “When I came to them, they just—they were just joking. Leon is the only one who’s been serious.”
White-hot rage floods through me. I want names. I want to know which soldiers thought it would be amusing to humiliate Daciana for wanting to learn, for trying to better herself. My free hand curls into a fist at my side.
“I will never mock you,” I say. The words come out rougher than I intend. Raw. “And it’s never too late to learn. I admire the fact that you want to.”
Her eyes search mine, looking for the lie, the trap. They find none.
“I’ll teach you in the evenings,” I continue, releasing her arm. “After your duties are done for the day. We can start tomorrow, if you’d like.”
“Okay,” she says finally, quietly. “Thank you.”
She turns and heads back toward my study, her steps measured, controlled. I watch her go, tracking every movement until she disappears through the doorway.
I sigh quietly, running a hand through my hair.
I’m already spending too much time with her. Already fighting the pull of a bond I’ve tried to sever. Already struggling not to reach for her every time she’s in the same room.
And now, I’ve just arranged to spend my evenings alone with her, teaching her, watching her learn, being the one who puts that light in her eyes when understanding clicks.
I’m playing with fire. Courting disaster.
But gods, I can’t help myself.
I head back down the corridor, fully knowing I won’t be able to concentrate on those intelligence reports. Tomorrow evening can’t come fast enough.
I find myself standing in Lucian’s study a few days later, having been summoned by the man.
He’s standing by the window, staring out at the courtyard below, when I enter. He doesn’t turn around, and the tension in his shoulders tells me this isn’t a casual get-together.
“I’ve spent the past two days trying to stop the Umbra Council from doing this,” he says without preamble.
I don’t need to ask what he means. The pressure to take a mate has been mounting since the Council’s last decree.
More and more profiles are being sent to me, and I’ve begun to receive messages from fathers and uncles about arranging meetings.
“I have no intentions of taking a mate. You know that they will either attempt to destroy my pack from the inside or act as a spy. My priority is my pack.”
“You shifted your priorities when you set foot in the capital, Kieran,” Lucian murmurs.
“I am sorry that you are being dragged into this, but there is a limit to how much I can shield you without being accused of favoring your pack.” He finally turns to face me, his expression unreadable. “What about Daciana?”
The question hangs in the air between us. My jaw tightens, and I blink at him.
“She’s not someone I can consider,” I say finally.
Lucian’s eyes narrow. “It’s obvious you care for her, Kieran.
I haven’t seen you interact with anyone the way you do with her.
” He pauses, studying me carefully. “The way you’ve been behaving where she is concerned implies the fated mate bond.
Though she hasn’t mentioned it to Astra, so I can’t be certain. ”
My silence is not enough to end this topic of conversation.
“If you like her, you should pursue her,” Lucian says, his tone gentler now. “She’s loyal only to Astra. She has no family ties that will make her a liability to you—”
“Stop.” The word comes out sharp, laced with fury. “Daciana is not some bargaining chip you can simply throw at someone.”
“That’s not what I’m—”
“I will not be with her.” The words taste like poison, but I force them out anyway.
Lucian sighs, studying me for a long moment. “Fine. Then I guess I can give Leon the go-ahead.”
I involuntarily straighten to my full height. “The go-ahead to do what?”
“Leon is interested in pursuing Daciana,” Lucian says casually, but I can see the calculation in his eyes. “He asked for my permission because she is one of Astra’s guards.”
Fury floods through me. My wolf slams against my control, snarling, demanding I do something—anything—to stop this.
“Selene and Daciana are the closest people to Astra,” Lucian continues. “I’d prefer they be with men I can trust. I was just being courteous by asking you first, given your…connection.”
“No.”
Lucian tilts his head. “No, what?”
“Leon isn’t good enough for her.”
“Really?” Lucian’s voice goes cold. “Leon is one of the most capable men I know. If he’s not good enough for her, who is?”
The challenge in his tone makes me cross my arms over my chest. “Have you even considered Daciana’s feelings on the matter? She might not like him.”
“That’s what the courtship is for,” Lucian says smoothly. “He’ll pursue her, and if she likes him, she’ll agree. Nobody’s forcing her.” He pauses, then adds, “Besides, Astra thinks Daciana might be ready to settle down. She thinks her friend looks a little lonely.”
Something sharp and vicious tears through my chest. The thought of her lonely—of her seeking comfort in someone else’s arms because I’ve kept her at a distance—makes my wolf howl with outrage.
“I don’t agree with this,” I say, my voice low and dangerous.
Lucian’s expression hardens. “It’s not your place to agree or disagree, Kieran. Daciana is just your liaison. She is nothing to you.” His words are deliberate, cutting. “If you don’t want her, then there are other men who do.”
My body shakes with the effort of keeping my wolf caged. All my instincts are shrieking at me to deny it, to claim her, to tell the King exactly what Daciana means to me.
But I can’t. I won’t.
“I need to go,” I manage, my voice strained.
I force myself to turn and leave with unhurried steps, though my control is fraying with each breath I take. By the time I reach the corridor, my wolf is a snarling, furious presence in my mind, demanding I go back and end this conversation the way I should.
But I keep going, because staying would mean admitting truths I can’t afford to speak.
I’m walking down the corridor, still reeling from Lucian’s words, when there’s a shift in the air.
I freeze mid-step, and the scent hits me—ancient, wild, laced with magic that shouldn’t exist anywhere near the capital.
My wolf stirs instantly, hackles rising.
One of the windows is open, and that’s where it’s coming from.
Without thinking twice, I leap through the window and land in the gardens below with hardly a sound. The moment my feet touch the ground, I’m running.
The scent pulls at something deep and primal in my chest. I know this magic. I’ve known it for centuries. But it shouldn’t be here.
As soon as I hit the tree line, I transform. My body explodes into fur and muscle, and I tear through the forest at a speed that would terrify most shifters. The scent trail is strong, deliberate, as if whoever left it wanted me to follow.
An hour passes. Maybe more. Time loses meaning when I’m like this, chasing something I shouldn’t want to find but can’t ignore.
The trees start to thin. I slow down, then shift back, my body reforming as I step into the human city at the forest’s edge.
There’s a large market going on. Various stalls dot the streets, and colorful banners are strung between buildings. The magic thrums stronger here, weaving through the crowd like a living thing.
I follow it to a small tent tucked in a corner, away from the main shopping area. My hand pushes aside the fabric entrance before I can reconsider.
The woman inside is alone, sitting at a simple, wooden table. She’s not young, but she’s not old, either—somewhere in between, with long, dark hair highlighted with silver. When she looks up at me, my breath catches.
Her eyes are completely white. Blind.
“So, the cursed one comes,” she says, her voice all smoke and honey. “Do you seek answers, Wolf King?”
That face. I know that face. But from where?
“What is a gypsy witch doing here?” I demand, my tone harsher than I intend.
She smiles slowly, knowingly. “Hold out your hand.”
I should refuse. Should turn around and leave this tent, this market, and this entire situation behind. But my hand extends anyway, palm up.
She pulls out an old knife. The handle is wrapped in leather, the blade darkened with age and use.
I recognize gypsy magic when I see it. She needs my blood.
The woman takes my hand in hers. Her grip is surprisingly warm. The knife slices across my palm quickly and efficiently. I don’t flinch.
Using my blood, she draws a symbol on the table between us. Complex. Ancient. My wolf prowls restlessly as I watch the blood form patterns I half recognize.
Then, she stops. Says nothing.
“What?” I snap, impatience flooding through me.
She laughs, delighted. “The gypsy witches will soon leave your territory.”
I frown. “Why? Your kind has been there since—”
“Since you first took our daughter.”
The words stop me cold. I go very, very still. “I have also grieved,” I say quietly. “More than any of you.”
Her smile fades. “Your time for revenge is coming. You cannot prevent the inevitable.” She leans forward, and there’s a terrible look in her blind gaze. “Your souls are bound. You will mark her.”
A growl tears from my throat. “I won’t.”
She shakes her head. “This is the last chance you get.”
Then, suddenly, she lunges forward with impossible speed, grabbing my wrist with strength that shouldn’t belong to someone who looks like her. She forces my sleeve up, revealing the mark on my forearm—black as ink, twisting across my skin.
“A curse on a curse,” she whispers.
My heart stops. “What does that mean?”
“My kind broke our most cardinal law.” Her fingers trace the mark, and I feel magic spark against my skin.
“We do not interfere with the magic of other witches. But we cursed the curse that was placed upon you.” She pauses, white eyes boring into mine.
“That is why we have not moved beyond your territory. We will be struck down if we ever leave.” A slow and vicious smile crosses her face.
“Have you never wondered why you remember each lifetime?”
My mind goes blank. Then, it explodes with realization.
“This is because of you?” The words come out strangled.
Her unseeing eyes narrow. “We wanted revenge. Our daughter should have lived a life of happiness. We will give her that life.”
Fury erupts from me, hot and deadly. “You did this to me! You made us relive—”
“We only made sure you remembered.” Her voice is calm, matter of fact. “The day the curse breaks, my kind will breathe our last.” She releases my wrist and sits back down, her expression softening. “Bring her to see us once we leave. We fulfilled our promise to her.”
I step forward, rage making my movements sharp. But my eyesight is starting to blur. “What promise? What—”
“We cannot tell you everything,” she says, and her voice sounds distant now. “But the curse is weakening.”
“What do you—”
“After all, the curse of a gypsy witch is stronger than any other curse.”
The tent tilts. I stumble forward, catching myself on the edge of the table. My vision darkens at the edges.
“No—” I try to growl, but the word comes out weak.
Then, slowly, my knees give out.
I close my eyes.
When I open them, I’m standing in the middle of a busy street. Humans stream past me, none of them giving me a second glance. There’s a wooden bench in front of me.
For a moment, I wonder if I imagined the whole thing. Some fever dream brought on by stress and the conversation with Lucian.
But then, I look down at my palm.
The cut is still there, fresh and bleeding. And carved into the wood of the bench, with what looks suspiciously like blood, is the same symbol the witch drew on her table.
I stare at it, my wolf snarling in my mind, and only one thought echoes through my head.
What the hell have they done to me?