Chapter 11
EMME
The festival is in full swing when I arrive. Lanterns hang from the trees, their golden light flickering against the snow. The clearing is packed with people and animals who’ve shifted into their true form—foxes, wolves, bears, stags—all pacing and circling as the pairing rites begin.
I weave through the crowd clutching the tin of honey cakes, my breath fogging in the cold.
“Gran!”
She’s standing near one of the long tables, wrapped in her heavy coat, her cheeks pink from the cold. The moment she sees me, she breaks into a smile.
“Honey cakes,” I say, handing her the tin, “just like you requested.”
“About time. I was starting to think we were going to break tradition after all these years. What kept you?”
“The snowstorm. I got…” I clear my throat, but my voice sounds strained around the ache tightening my throat. “…held up.”
Gran studies me for a long moment, her eyes narrowing the way they do when she’s reading more than I want her to. Then a slow, knowing smile curves her lips. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it wasn’t the storm that held you up.”
My heart stutters. “It was nothing,” I say too quickly, forcing a small laugh. “Just bad timing and worse weather.”
She hums like she doesn’t believe a word, but she doesn’t press. She just pats my cheek, her touch warm despite the cold. ““Nothing, hmm? We’ll see. I have a good feeling about tonight.”
“Gran,” I groan, but she only smiles, eyes twinkling, before turning to greet another member of our pack.
A wolf’s howl breaks through the chatter. It echoes through the trees and cuts straight through me. There’s no reason for my heart to leap the way it does. No reason for my eyes to sting with unshed tears. But then the scent hits. It’s faint but unmistakable, filling my nose, my head, my heart.
Clove. Pepper. West.
“It’s just my clothes,” I whisper. Just his scent clinging to me from the cabin, from the space we shared. That’s all I’ll ever have of him—a scent memory of a man who was never meant to be mine
I swallow hard and start walking, pushing past laughing, happy couples celebrating the Solstice. The snowmobile waits where I left it, dusted in snow. I’m almost to it when movement catches my eye.
A gray wolf charges out of the shadows. His fur is streaked with frost, his eyes bright as molten steel.
“West!”
He circles me slowly, head lifted as he scents the air.
“You shifted,” I breathe, the words trembling. “At Solstice. To find me.”
My knees give out, and I sink into the snow. He steps forward, pressing his head against my chest with a low, affectionate rumble that makes me shiver. I strip off my gloves and dig my fingers into his thick, warm fur. His coat smells like clove and pepper and home.
He nuzzles my shoulder, my throat, as if trying to imprint the scent of me into his own skin.
A sob breaks loose before I can stop it. “You came back. You chose me.”
His silver eyes lock onto mine, and somehow, without words, I know what he’s saying.
That he’s mine, and I’m his.
“I love you,” I whisper.
He gives a soft sound and licks my cheek, erasing the tears that have fallen.
Above us, the first ribbons of the aurora borealis unfurl across the sky. Ribbons of green and pink spill over us, and the air hums with anticipation.
Solstice magick burns bright and wild under my skin, rising in a rush that feels like both surrender and a promise. I know what I want. I want this. I want him. I want to be bound to West in every way the Solstice will allow—heart, soul, forever.
Magick floods through me as I declare my intention to the universe, spilling into every vein until I can’t tell where the Solstice light ends and I begin. My pulse quickens, the world blurs, and in one breathless rush, I become the truest version of myself.
A fox—white as the snow around us, fur tipped in the jade and rose light from the aurora above.
I pad closer to him, and he lowers his head, pressing his forehead to mine. The connection hums between us, sweet as sugar and everlasting as the heartbeat of the earth itself.
As we run together through the snow, our tracks weaving into one beneath the shimmer of the Winter Solstice lights, I know with absolute certainty that fate was leading me to West all along.