Chapter 50
FIFTY
DAHLIA
Two weeks after the challenge, Dahlia stood at the edge of the ancestral denning grounds and tried to remember how to breathe.
The valley looked different in the golden light of late afternoon. When she’d last seen it, blood had stained the ancient stones and Magnus Ironwood had been walking away in defeat. Now, wildflowers dotted the slopes in a riot of purple and gold and deep, impossible blue.
Someone had cleaned the challenge circle until the rock gleamed in the dying light. Chairs had been arranged in neat rows facing a flower-draped arch that seemed to have grown there overnight, woven from wild roses and honeysuckle.
A mating ceremony. Her mating ceremony.
Two weeks ago, she’d watched Cal fight for his life in this valley. Two weeks ago, she’d been barely able to stand, supported by her friends, fresh scars still aching from Magnus’s claws. Now she was healed—mostly—and about to bind herself to a bear shifter in front of everyone she loved.
The scars on her torso had healed to raised pink lines—four parallel marks from shoulder to hip that would never fully fade.
Magnus’s final mark on her. Cal traced them every night, gentle fingers mapping the territory of her pain, kissing each one as if he could erase the memory of how she’d earned them.
Tonight, she would earn different marks. Cal’s marks. The claiming scars that would bind them permanently.
Her stomach fluttered with nerves and anticipation and certainty—the kind that had been building since the moment he’d crashed into her storeroom in bear form and let her feed him honey.
“You look beautiful.” Avine appeared at her side, eyes bright with unshed tears. “That dress is perfect.”
Dahlia smoothed her hands over the cream-colored fabric—simple, elegant, chosen because Cal would be able to get her out of it easily later. The thought sent heat curling through her belly.
“Don’t you dare cry,” she warned Avine. “If you cry, I’ll cry, and then Junie will cry, and—”
“Too late.” Junie’s voice came from behind them, thick with emotion. “I’ve been crying since breakfast.”
Dahlia turned to find her friends assembled—Junie with mascara already smudging, Cassia fighting a losing battle against the storm clouds forming overhead, Narla calm and knowing with Ember perched on her shoulder. Her found family. Her sisters in everything but blood.
“You deserve this,” Narla said.
“Let’s go. Before I lose my nerve.”
Cassia snorted. “Like you’ve ever lost your nerve in your life.”