Chapter 3 - Selene
I’ve been his wife for almost a full day, since dawn, but only seen him for around four minutes since the old man declared us mates and I felt the mating contract snap into place.
They came for me at first light, Bram and two women, one carrying a dress.
Bram looked almost embarrassed as the women informed me the alpha was waiting and offered to do my hair.
Obviously, my hair was already done, so I shrugged the suggestion off and weighed my options.
Knowing this whole situation is fake, and a simple ceremony won’t give him access to the bond magic, I decide to let him have his charade.
So, I walk down the hill, and I ignore how handsome Ronan looks even when he’s trying to look disinterested. I see the gold in his eyes.
I tell myself that Maren will reverse all of this as soon as possible and I’ll shove that mating contract down his handsome throat.
And then I let Bram walk me back up the hill.
The whole thing took less than four minutes, and Ronan barely spoke to me; he didn’t follow me.
But I knew he’d turn up again. Like clockwork. So, I wait.
It turns out you can get used to almost anything—even a kidnapping or fake mating contract, it appears. Especially if the man who took you keeps turning up every evening to lose at chess.
I’m still counting the nights, still running my fingers along the wards every morning for the break I haven’t found yet, and I certainly haven’t forgiven him for kidnapping me.
But somewhere over the last week or so, the initial panic has settled into a routine that isn’t altogether unpleasant.
I choose more books from the shelves, the boy, Bram, brings my food, and in the evening, Ronan arrives to sit across from me, refuses to answer questions, and loses at chess.
He appears to think he’s a great strategist, yet his chess performance suggests otherwise.
Tonight, he’s already two pieces down and doesn’t seem remotely bothered.
“You’re cheating,” he says, as I take his knight.
“I’m a witch,” I say, sliding it off the board. “We don’t need to cheat. We’re just smarter than the wolves.”
“Is that what you tell yourself?” he mutters.
“It’s what the board tells me,” I reply, tapping the side of the board where his casualties are piling up. “Your queen is next, by the way. I’d apologize for showing you up yet again, but we both know I don’t mean it.”
The corner of his mouth does that thing that’s almost a smile but not quite. I’ve started mentally cataloging when I win one, which is something I refuse to examine.
The fact remains, it’s not fair. How one man can be so fascinatingly handsome and broad, making the cabin feel smaller and more intimate just by being here, and yet be completely off-limits by virtue of the fact that he’s my enemy?
I’ve decided the best way to handle it is to carry on beating him at chess and avoid looking directly at his face.
I need to stay focused.
He moves a pawn badly, and I wonder, not for the first time, if he should focus more, too.
I glance over at the stack of books he brought with him tonight, all herb lore.
I mentioned a couple of days ago that herb lore for healing is one of my interests, and now he turns up with books.
Is he trying to be nice, or is this just manipulation?
I hate that it still made me feel warm inside, so I crush the feeling flat and take his queen instead before finishing the game swiftly.
“So,” I say lightly, the way I’ve asked every night, “are we going to talk about your silly plans, or are we doing the dance around it again?”
“We’re going to dance around it until I say so,” he replies, just as lightly.
“You know, most kidnappers at least break into a monologue. I expected a monologue by now. The grand plan. Perhaps a maniacal laugh or two.”
“I’m not most kidnappers,” he replies smoothly.
“No,” I agree, before I can stop myself, “you’re really not.”
It lands with a bit too much honesty, and we both clock it.
His eyes lift from the board and land on mine, dark and steady.
The cabin suddenly feels even smaller, the fire crackling next to us, and my pulse racing for a man it has no business racing for.
A man who drugged and kidnapped me. I’d be insane to be swayed by a few games of chess and a bit of witty, if frustrating, conversation.
I look back down at the board first. I always look away first, and we both know it. It’s the only thing that’s keeping me on the right side of dignified.
“Tomorrow,” he says after a moment, as if he’s just decided something. “You can go outside.”
My head comes back up. “Outside.”
“Yes, you can go see the settlement,” he replies, lining the chess pieces back up neatly and beginning the next game. “Escorted, of course. You won’t go near the docks or the main gate, and you come back when you’re told. But you can go for a walk.”
I narrow my eyes, because I can’t imagine this man giving away anything nice for free. “Why?”
“Because you’ve been clawing at my wards day and night, and it’s probably easier to let you see there’s nowhere to run rather than explaining it to you.
” He stands, unfolding all of that impressive height in the all too small cabin, and looks down at me with something that borders on amusement. “Checkmate, by the way.”
I look at the board. He’s right. The infuriating man has taken me in an embarrassingly few number of moves.
“I let you have that,” I lie, tilting my chin.
“Sure you did,” he says, and leaves.
I sit there after the door clicks and the wards flare, looking at the board.
I wonder if he handed me those earlier games just so he could cut me down when I wasn’t looking.
I’d do well to remember that every time I get a warm feeling in my chest because he brought me a book or let me go for a walk.
I need to remember who he is and what this is.
The next morning, after I’ve just finished breakfast, there’s a knock on the door, but it’s not Bram; it’s a couple of guards that I’ve only seen loitering in the background.
Behind them, I see the settlement stretching out down the hill and the sunshine.
I don’t need to be asked twice if I want to go for a walk, and step out onto the porch, breathing in the cool, salty air.
I don’t want them to think I’m overly grateful, though, because I’m sure that’s what they want, so I’m polite but distant as they follow me down the hill.
I thought Ronan would take me out; I thought he wouldn’t want me out without him, so to be allowed to just walk around, albeit with guards, feels strange.
Halfway down the hill, I almost want to run back to the cabin, but I force myself to keep going.
If I’m going to escape, I need to see what I’m dealing with.
I’m braced for a full-blown rogue camp, packless shifters all living like animals in their own filth. The kind of place a woman wouldn’t be safe walking through unless she had guards, so I guess I’m lucky some have been supplied.
But that’s not what this is, and I struggle to process the scene as I reach the neat row of well-maintained cabins and gardens that line the streets. There are even shops and a busy bakery with a line out the door. I pass a bigger cabin with a fenced play area and the sound of noisy children.
“The school,” the guard says when he spots me staring. “Cara runs it. My two are in there now.”
“Your two?” I repeat, stupidly.
“Two girls,” he says, scratching the back of his neck.
“Their mom passed when they were babies. I was injured in the same accident. Couldn’t work, couldn’t hunt, so the pack threw us out.
We’d have been finished, but I heard about this place.
Alpha took us straight in, and the girls are doing great. ”
I don’t even know what to say to that. I know I have a tendency to offer clever responses when faced with shifters; it’s almost like an armor I use while I judge if it’s time to run, but anything vaguely witty dies in my throat, and I just find myself nodding along.
We keep walking, and the settlement keeps refusing to be what I imagined.
I try to keep my face neutral and hide my surprise as we turn another tidy corner with flowers in pots against the wall, and I spot a large clinic building.
A man is sitting outside and lifts his hand to wave.
I instantly notice his heavily scarred face and the burns that extend down his arm.
An old injury that must have been catastrophic.
“Don’t mind this,” he says cheerfully, as if he’s accustomed to people being put off. “Good for frightening the pups and gets me out of any hard work.”
An older woman comes out of the clinic door and immediately admonishes him. “Dax, behave.” Then turns to me. “You’re the witch.”
“I’m the witch,” I confirm.
“Emma,” she says, looking at me as if weighing something up. “I heard you know about herbs? Always looking for someone who can use the right ones at the right time, if you ever want to lend a hand. Whilst plotting your escape, obviously.”
I laugh despite myself at her deadpan delivery. “I’m not plotting an—”
She giggles, cutting me off. “We’ve all been dragged somewhere we didn’t want to be at some point,” she tells me, “and we all start off plotting.”
I like her, even if I don’t want to admit it, so I feign indifference, but the truth is I do love using my herbs.
I make no promises, and the guard points out that if we take the next turn, we can loop the settlement and walk back up the hill.
I’m not going to fight him on the direction as I don’t know the way, so I take his lead, and we continue on, passing a small garden where a woman is working with salt on a table, creating patterns on a simple template.
I’d know that work anywhere—it’s ward magic.
She glances up and clocks me at the exact moment I clock her and gives me a small nod of acknowledgment, one witch to another.
“Nice to have another witch here,” she says.