Chapter 4
“For you, my lady.” Kaldrek handed Evelyne a strip of dried meat, dipping to press a quick kiss to her forehead before settling beside her. His arm slid around her shoulders, half warmth, half quiet warning to the rest of the pack that she was his. Not that anyone would dare try anything now.
“Thank you,” Evelyne said politely, her fingers trembling in the mountain wind as she shut the book resting in her lap. She took a bite. Then another. Chewed. And chewed.
Kaldrek smirked. “Enjoying your birthday gift? Good story?”
Evelyne smiled tightly, managing only a muffled “Mhm.”
She enjoyed the story Kaldrek had given her immensely.
It was a welcome escape from the harshness of their journey, a charming world of witches and wonder woven through the pages.
She was thoroughly exhausted by sigils and ancient blood rites; she needed something lighter—something magical, something…
romantic. And that was precisely what this book offered.
A refuge she slipped into gladly each morning with the rising sun.
He laughed under his breath. “If it’s giving you that much trouble, you could always use your fangs.”
She swallowed and raised her brows. “My fangs?”
Kaldrek bared the sharp edges of his canines in a playful smile, sealing it with a wink that set butterflies loose in her chest. How he could make something so simple feel so intoxicating was beyond her, and she realized she didn’t care, so long as it was meant only for her.
“At breakfast?” She let out a soft laugh. “I can see it now—my mother gasping, clutching her pearls, and declaring me entirely unfit for polite company. No, Kaldrek. A lady does not bare her teeth at the table.” She mumbled the last part, covering her mouth as she finished her bite.
“Suit yourself,” Kaldrek said, tearing into his own portion with ease. “But the meat won’t get any softer just because you glare at it.”
She smirked despite herself, though the thought of her mother dimmed her amusement.
“I do miss her,” she murmured.
Kaldrek’s arm tightened around her. “I know. We’ll get you home.”
She knew he would. But the word, home, clung to her chest. What was home now? And what lay waiting in the southern lands? She was glad Kaldrek never pressured her into deciding her future. Maybe it was time to open up to him about what thoughts were plaguing her.
At last she managed to chew the meat down enough to swallow, then turned fully toward him. “Do you ever feel drawn to dark magic?” The question escaped before she could catch it. Gods, where was her filter?
Kaldrek stilled, halfway through a bite, and swallowed hard. “What?”
Evelyne folded her hands tightly in her lap, already feeling the heat in her cheeks. “I meant no disrespect. I only wondered whether the thought of wielding the magic within you ever feels… compelling.” She grimaced softly. “That is not coming out as I intended.”
His brows pulled together. “Evelyne…”
Yet she pressed on, unable to leave the thought alone now that it had surfaced.
“After that night, I found myself thinking about your strength. About everything you carry. And I wondered whether you ever think about what might live inside you. Not because I believe you would ever become like her. I only mean… whether you ever question what you may have inherited.”
Kaldrek stared at her. “Inherited from her?”
She flinched. “I know. That sounds dreadful. I meant her power, not her cruelty.”
He stood at once and turned away, pacing a few sharp steps before a bitter laugh slipped from him. “Her power was her cruelty, Evelyne. It was part of everything she was. You think I would ever want that? After everything she did to me? To all of us?”
Her stomach dropped. She never should have given voice to the thought. Of course he would never seek the kind of magic his mother wielded. What a callous, thoughtless thing to suggest. Evelyne pressed her palms to her face, mortified by the words she had let slip.
“I’m sorry. Truly. I never meant it as an insult. I only—”
“So that is what has been gnawing at you?” Kaldrek cut in, his voice sharp. “Some fear that I am going to become what, exactly? A monster like the woman who murdered my parents?”
“Kaldrek, please.” Evelyne’s voice warmed. “Sit. I only want to speak plainly, to let the thought out before it devours me entirely. It has begun creeping into my sleep, and—”
He gave a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “You need to ‘let it out’ by telling me you fear I will become her?” His hands curled into fists at his sides. “Evelyne, I do not even know how to use magic, and I have even less desire to learn.”
He turned on his heel, fury pouring off him.
She had misstepped terribly. His anger and hurt burned through their bond, hot as flame beneath her skin.
Perhaps she should let him go, let the storm run its course.
But the dream of his hands around her throat, his eyes cold and black as night, had haunted her for days.
She could not let him walk away without explaining, not while that fear still clung so tightly to her.
“Please,” she whispered, reaching for him. “Don’t go. Not yet.”
“I have a pack to lead,” he said, his voice hard as steel.
Then he strode away, leaving her alone with the echo of his anger and the hollow ache of regret.
***
That had gone terribly. She had no one to blame but herself; she had all but questioned the very core of who he was.
Kaldrek was good. Of that, she had no doubt.
But her thoughts kept returning to the dormant power beneath his skin, and her curiosity had escaped before sense could rein it in.
She would find a way to mend what she had broken.
She had to. But first, she would try again with Alaric. She had precious little left to risk.
As they pressed on through the last stretch of the mountain pass, Evelyne noticed Alaric walking at the very center of the Glaciermaw formation.
A strange choice, almost as though he wanted as much distance as possible between himself and the Ironwolf pack.
Perhaps he truly did need the space to mend.
The trail ahead was merciless, a narrow spine of ice and stone winding through the northern peaks.
Every step demanded care; one misplaced boot could send them skidding down jagged, glass-bright slopes.
Frozen shards thrust through the crusted snow, and slick sheets of ice gleamed treacherously in the pale light.
The cold pressed deep into Evelyne’s bones, though for once the wind had stilled, making the silence around them feel all the sharper.
They kept going, the quiet broken now and then by a warning about the path or a low chuckle meant to keep spirits from wearing thin.
Something steady held among them, a quiet sense that they would endure this together.
And though the chatter came and went, everyone joined in at one point or another.
Everyone except Alaric. That troubled her more than anything.
A man who had once been so warm and quick with wit now moved beside them without a word.
It felt unnatural, watching someone she knew slip slowly into shadow.
Evelyne slowed until she fell into step beside Alaric. He did not look up, his gaze fixed on the path as though it required every scrap of his attention.
“Alaric,” she said softly.
He did not react.
“Alaric!”
At last, his head turned slightly.
“Are you well?” she asked, carefully crossing a patch of glittering ice.
“Yes.”
Her brows drew together. “Still not sleeping?”
“No.” The answer was barely more than breath, thin and hollow.
Evelyne offered him a prim little smile. “Goodness. Do try not to wear yourself out with all that conversation. Even so, I would wager something is troubling you… though I cannot yet guess what.”
Nothing. Not the slightest twitch of his mouth, not a flicker in his eyes. Only emptiness. She knew then that something was deeply wrong.
She tried again, more gently this time, letting the humor slip away. She would not let silence swallow him whole. “This march has been difficult, but Heidara says we are close to Centaro. Real warmth. Real rest. We are nearly there.”
Still he said nothing. Was he even with her anymore?
Evelyne slipped her hand into his, trying to draw him back to her.
“Look at me. I have not abandoned you. We are still walking the same road. But you must hold on. Whatever is haunting you, this is not who you are. When you are ready to speak, I will listen. Until then, do not let it drag you under. Please, Alaric… stay with me.”
For a long moment, he did not move. Then, at last, he gave the faintest nod.
“Good.” She smiled and let his hand slip from hers, moving to fall back into step beside Heidara.
Even so, Alaric’s strange behavior lingered with her, clinging like a shadow she could not shake. She wanted to tell Heidara she agreed, that something in him felt wrong somehow. But she could not have explained it, not even to herself. This was not the Alaric she knew. He seemed… untethered.
Perhaps that should not have surprised her.
This journey had been steeped in darkness from the start, with fear and death trailing too close behind.
Yes, they had found Cillian. Yes, they had uncovered the truth of the corrupted trade routes.
But there had been no comfort in it, no true safety.
Only blood, grief, and the long road home stretching before them toward a life that already felt impossibly far away.
At least she had found something within the ruin.
Love. A mate. Her wolf. She was no longer confined to a prison of silk gowns and suffocating parlors.
She was freer now than she had ever been, and stronger too.
But Alaric… What waited for him at journey’s end but a wealthy estate, and a family that would expect him to take up the weight of trade and alliance once more, to slip back into duties he had never chosen for himself?
And then there was magic. How much longer could it remain hidden?
The covens must have felt the tremor of what had happened in Nerathar.
Charise Hallowell, the witch they had met in Velenshire, had once said they sensed a shift decades ago, when Vaelora first turned to blood magic.
Surely they would feel this as well—what Cillian had done, what all of them had done.
Evelyne thought of all she had endured, but Alaric’s burdens were no lighter. He had lost Reuben, his family’s carriage driver; lost any hope of claiming her hand in marriage; and somewhere along the way, lost pieces of himself as well.
And unlike her, unlike Cillian, unlike Kaldrek, he was still only human. No fangs, no claws, no bond to steady him. Only flesh and bone in a world growing colder and crueler by the day.
Her chest tightened at the thought. For the first time, she tried to imagine the road as he saw it, and the ache of it settled deep inside her.