EMBER
The cave is dark when we arrive just before dawn. Torches flicker low along the cavern walls, casting long shadows that stretch and retreat as the wolves file inside. The air hums with quiet anticipation.
They linger, eyes scanning faces, counting heads, waiting for footsteps that never come.
Roman and I bring up the rear.
A squeal comes from our left. Dove’s mother barrels forward, throwing herself into Dove’s mate’s arms. “I knew it was you,” she says fiercely, pressing her face into his shoulder, careful to keep the words from Dove’s ears.
I catch her gaze over the man’s broad back. She sees me then, standing alone beside Roman, and her smile softens. I lift my hand in a small wave and keep walking.
Cullen clears his throat and starts his long-winded speech about mates and blessings, and the strength of the pack this season.
I don’t stop to listen.
My broken heartbeat is louder than his words could ever be.
Our cave is exactly how we left it.
Cold. Cramped. Damp walls pressing in on a narrow stretch of straw bedding.
It’s no surprise no one stole it while we were gone.
I stare at the dank alcove and something hollow opens in my chest. I miss the bed inside the cool cliff.
No, what I really miss was Thorn’s scent.
Breathing in the ghost of his scent that felt like a home I’d long forgotten.
That scent lingers on my nose, my soul, never to be replaced.
Now, looking at the people here, the dark hovel where we sleep, I realize I’m ready to move on.
This is no longer my home; maybe after mother and father died, it never was.
Roman pushes past me and collapses on the straw bedding with a dramatic groan. “Ugh, I miss the beds of the castle already. And the big fire in the library.”
I smile. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“No,” he says, propping himself up on his elbows. “You were thinking about your beefy Alpha mate.” He puckers his lips exaggeratedly, “Oh, Alpha Thorn.”
He smacks his lips again. “Muah. Muah.”
My mouth drops open. “I do not sound like that.”
“Oh, Thorny poo.” He croons, “I miss you.”
“Shut it.” I tackle him into the straw and lock my arm around his neck. “Take it back.”
“Never.” He wheezes, laughing.
We tumble together in a fit of laughter, the first moment of happiness I’ve had since standing in the circle, alone. When we fall apart, gasping for breath and clutching our sides, Roman rolls onto his back and stares up at the cave ceiling.
“Okay,” he says, suddenly serious. “We’ve got a year to get you ready for Alaska.”
I snort. “Who says I want to go to Alaska?”
He turns his head to look at me, eyes sharp despite his grin. “I may be eight, but I’m not stupid. Call it wolf sense.”
I arch a brow. “When did you develop this wolfy sense?”
He shrugs. “I’ve matured this week at the Ancient Castle. You’d be surprised what can happen in a week.”
No truer words were ever spoken. This week changed everything — obviously for both of us.
And deep down, I know. Next year, I won’t be coming back.