Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
M ireille was seated at the dining table in the cabin in the Oread Woods, her soft, chubby fingers resting on the surface.
By the hearth, Vivienne was bent over a copper pot, a faint, prismatic glow surrounding her. Their cabin was so remote that it had never been outfitted with any magical energy or appliances. It had never bothered Mireille in childhood—she’d never known anything different.
“Mother?” Mireille’s hands rushed to her throat. Her voice was high and youthful. Innocent. Centuries away from her current cynical tone.
Vivienne didn’t answer, just kept stirring that pot.
Outside the window, time was not obeying its normal cadence. In the span of a minute, the sun rose and set twice, and the leaves of the trees vibrated, as if stirred by a violent breeze. A raven with green-black feathers landed on a trembling branch, and a fox scurried through the trunks, a blur of red and brown, its eyes incandescent streaks in the false night.
“Mother,” Mireille asked again, and as Vivienne turned, Mireille braced herself. The last time Mireille had seen her, Vivienne’s throat had been a gruesome mess of torn flesh and serrated muscle.
Mireille vented a relieved sigh as Vivienne faced her, neck smooth and unmarred. She looked exactly as Mireille remembered her.
Vivienne’s coal-black hair was coiled into a low bun, a severe part bisecting her skull. She wore a simple black shirt tucked into a pair of wool trousers.
Her cold, silver eyes swept across her daughter as she joined her at the table. Mireille could count on one hand the number of times her mother had looked upon her with anything resembling true affection.
Whatever was on the hearth continued to bubble and pop in the pot. It had a rich, mouthwatering scent—some kind of meat cooking in broth with a peppery punch of rosemary.
But there was something beneath it. Something game-y. Something that made Mireille’s mouth water at the same time as her stomach roiled with instinctual disgust.
“I had to do it.” Vivienne’s brows knit together in feigned regret. “It was the only way to protect you.” Vivienne grasped Mireille’s hand. Her mother’s fingers were ice-cold, another sign that this was not a true memory. They had always been so hot and dry, as if her wolf had evaporated any lingering moisture from her skin. “I didn’t want him to know you existed, but he tracked us down. He was always the most skilled of hunters.”
Mireille’s gaze caught on something in the window. A cloaked figure, its face half-hidden in shadow, emanating that same multicolored shimmer as Vivienne. Above its broad shoulders rose the pommel of a sword carved into the shape of a grinning skull.
The pale moon crested the figure’s head, a ghostly halo, and in a flashing blur, it moved to the door and began pounding.
“Do not worry,” Vivienne said, emotionless despite the frenzied thuds. “He cannot get you in here. He will never find you again.”
A thump shook the door, but the hinges held. A male voice roared from the other side. “Let me see her!”
“What is in the pot, mother?” Mireille whined, a tear slipping down her cheek.
Vivienne slapped her across the face. “What have I told you about crying? Do not ever show that weakness. You and I are strong, lone wolves.” Vivienne stood from her chair and knelt before Mireille, digging claws into her shoulders. Mireille cried harder. “You must stop, Mireille.”
Vivienne grabbed a cloth napkin and scraped the wetness away, the harsh starched fabric scratching Mireille’s cheeks.
The pounding at the door continued. “Let me in, Vivienne! It’s been centuries. She needs to know .”
Vivienne crossed to the pot and scooped up a serving of stew so deep red it was almost black. She set the steaming bowl before Mireille—the game-y scent was even more powerful, overtaking the rosemary—then placed a pewter spoon beside the dish and tucked the napkin into Mireille’s collar. “Eat.”
Mireille hesitated, and Vivienne pressed the spoon into her palm.
“Now, Mireille.” Vivienne’s silver eyes blazed with fury and the kaleidoscope of faint color surrounding her pulsed brighter. “Eat!”
Mireille dipped her spoon into the stew and pulled out chunks of reddish-brown meat dripping with dark crimson juices.
Mireille swallowed her rising disgust and took a tentative bite.
It didn’t at all taste how it smelled. It wasn’t revolting.
It was delicious .
It tasted like a warm hug. Like tears of joy. Like a blissful day spent with bare toes in the grass and a cloudless, blue sky overheard.
As she chewed, the taste changed.
Bitter fear coated her tongue. The horror of a loved one’s lifeless eyes. The yawning dread of a world coated in ash, burning bodies strewn across a smoldering wasteland.
She chewed once more, and the flavor changed again.
The spicy, hot rage of frustration, with ankles and wrists bound. An inferno of anger. The most familiar taste.
She swallowed, and a blinding spear of pain tore through her. A red stain bloomed on the napkin covering her chest.
Vivienne grabbed her by the chin, then forced Mireille’s spoon back into the stew. “Finish it.”
The cloaked figure had ceased his banging. Was peering through the window, his gloved hands pressed against the glass. She still couldn’t see his face beyond the shadows of his hood. But she could feel his eyes upon her. Could feel his love and anguish radiating toward her.
Vivienne forced the spoon into Mireille’s mouth, closing a palm over her lips and forcing her to swallow.
She didn’t even taste the chunky lumps as they burned down her throat. Another gush of liquid poured from her chest.
She choked against her mother’s hand, and Vivienne pushed the bowl away, the liquid spilling across the table and onto the floor.
Vivienne swept Mireille into a crushing embrace. “You did it. Mother always protects you.”
Mireille tried to conjure up any feeling at all for these words, but there was a hollowness in her chest. As if something was missing.
Something vital.
Mireille’s face went slack against her mother’s shoulder.
Vivienne stroked her hair, cooing soothing words. “You’ll be safe now. You never need to worry about him or anyone else discovering your secrets. Ruthless efficiency, my pup.”
Vivienne settled Mireille onto her feet and removed the cloth napkin to reveal a large, gaping wound in Mireille’s chest.
Right where her heart should have been.