Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
VICTORIA
Iset down my pen and stared at the notation I’d just made for the third time.
The words blurred together. My mind kept circling back to last night instead of staying focused on compound interactions and magical residue patterns.
Feral hadn’t come to bed until I was asleep.
I’d lain in the dark, listening for his footsteps or any sound from the sitting room that suggested he’d join me.
The absence had registered acutely. That empty space beside me where he’d been the night before.
I’d thought… Well, I wasn’t sure what I’d thought he’d do after what we’d done together, though it wasn’t this.
Fear had crept in during those long minutes. I worried he’d regretted what happened. He could be pulling back behind his alpha walls, the ones that kept everyone at a careful distance.
Except the evidence didn’t support that conclusion.
Fresh flowers sat in the urn this morning, in water this time. He’d brought me breakfast and tea just the way I like it. He’d stayed close all day without demanding anything. Sat in his father’s chair beside me and offered help when he thought I had need.
Those weren’t the actions of a male with regrets.
So what did he want?
The question sat in my chest, poking painfully at my ribs. I’d ask him directly when the right moment came. No more waiting for things to resolve themselves through proximity and careful avoidance.
My pen lifted, waiting for dictation I wasn’t giving.
I couldn’t stop thinking about his hands. His mouth. The way he’d looked at me after, like he’d discovered something he hadn’t expected to find.
The witch who counts each breath and beat, Acorn said from the windowsill, who measures what her eyes can’t see, forgets to look at what stands plain before her feet.
I huffed at him. “Mind your own business.”
He stretched, arching his back in a long curve, tail high and bushy, completely unbothered by my tone. His tail flicked once before he settled back in his patch of sun.
I closed my notebook and stood. The office had gone dim, late afternoon light filtering through the windows at a slant that suggested evening wasn’t far off.
Walking into the sitting room, I spotted Feral on the balcony, sitting on the bench, facing the forest. His shoulders had that particular set to them that meant he was working through something in his head.
I strode in that direction.
He glanced back, and for one moment his face showed pure want, before he controlled it and his expression smoothed into something more careful.
My breath escaped my lungs in a whoosh.
As I joined him on the balcony, he rose and turned to face me, towering over me.
“Join me for dinner with the pack,” he said. It was nearly an order, though not quite. The words came out like he’d been working up to them. “Tonight’s special. Everyone’s eating together.”
Before I could answer, he took my hand. And then he was moving, taking me back through the suite.
I let myself be led, trying to memorize the feeling of his hand holding mine, the calluses at the base of his fingers, and the way his grip stayed firm without being too tight.
Behind us, Acorn scurried to catch up. The wolf who leads without a word, knows well the path to what he’s earned, the squirrel’s voice sang in my head.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
It means you’re both ridiculous, and I’m enjoying the show.
Feral stopped at the top of the stairs.
I saw the effort in his expression, the way he’d made a decision and was following through despite whatever uncertainty sat behind it.
He reached toward me but paused.
“I want to carry you down,” he said. “I’m asking, not demanding.”
My chest cracked open.
It was finally happening. Something was, anyway.
“Yes.”
He lifted me, and it was nothing like the possessive grab on our wedding day, when he’d flung me over his shoulder. This time, he gently placed one arm under my knees, the other supporting my back, and settled my weight against his chest like I was a person who mattered.
My arm went around his neck.
He took the stairs slowly, his breathing steady. I felt the jar of each step through his body, plus the controlled strength in the way he moved.
Outside, the clearing had been transformed.
Long tables had been arranged in rough lines, and a few pack members were building a bonfire along one side.
Platters of food covered a buffet table.
The whole pack had gathered, at least a hundred wolves in human form, talking and laughing at tables and in clusters.
“You didn’t get your reception,” Feral said. “This could be it instead.”
What a way to make me swoon. It was a good thing he was still carrying me.
The noise and movement cut off the moment he appeared. Everyone turned their gazes our way. Feral’s expression dared them to keep staring. Most grinned and looked away, returning to their conversation.
A few lingered. Kirk’s face stayed neutral, but his eyes showed approval. Maria’s grin came right away, and she gave us a nod.
Acorn surveyed the crowd, though his gaze kept darting to the dark woods beyond the clearing.
Feral set me down beside the buffet table and put a plate in my hands. He stayed at my elbow as I moved along the line.
“You’ll like this,” he said, pointing. “Kirk thinks it’s terrible, but it isn’t.”
He noticed me looking at one particular dish and gave me some without asking if I wanted it.
I was fascinated by this attentive, almost-shy version of him he must keep hidden beneath the gruffness. The way he made sure I had enough food. The small adjustments he made to my plate’s contents based on preferences I must’ve mentioned in passing.
I liked it more than I could logically account for.
We joined Kirk and Maria at one of the tables. Our pack members shuffled over to make room.
Maria waited exactly three seconds before starting. “So about that mop.”
Feral snorted. “Yes, about the mop. I’m telling you, it was an amazing ride. I’m thinking of asking my wife to create a fleet of them. We can all ride them the next time we ride into battle.”
I caught the tease in his eyes.
His words shut everyone up. Until someone laughed, realizing he must be joking. Which, given his expression, he was not. A fleet of mops. I found the idea quite appealing.
“I think you were terrified,” Maria said with another laugh.
Feral huffed. “I was not.”
“You were,” I said.
His head swiveled toward me.
I met his gaze. “You made a sound like a wounded elk when we dropped three feet.”
Kirk tried to cover his laugh with a cough.
Feral’s expression promised unspecified consequences no one at the table took seriously. I, however, kind of hoped he carried them out—later.
“Tell the story about the southeastern border dispute last month,” Maria told Kirk, clearly deciding to move on before Feral actually followed through on any threats.
Kirk settled into his story. Halfway through, the narrative took a turn I didn’t expect. Something about a confused rabbit, a mountain peak, and Kirk ending up nearly drowning in a waterfall.
My laughter pealed out.
I caught Feral watching me, his expression soft.
“Lady Victoria,” Robin said from across the table. “About the silverleaf tea you suggested. My shift still hasn’t come back, but I’m not as tired. When can I expect it to help?”
I set down my fork. “The silverleaf addresses the fatigue by supporting your body’s natural energy production. It won’t restore your shift on its own, but it should help you feel more like yourself while we work on the underlying cause.”
He nodded, though justified concern remained on his face.
Tessa leaned forward from further down the table. “What were you doing with those glowing vials you had out yesterday?” she asked me.
“They held bioluminescent compound extraction,” I said. “The fungi that grows on the trees here produces light through a chemical reaction. I’m isolating the compound to see if it can be used in preservation spells or as a light source that doesn’t require sustained magical energy.”
Silence stretched around the table.
I tensed, realizing I’d gone into full explanation mode without checking if anyone actually wanted the technical details.
“That’s amazing,” Tessa said. “Can you show me sometime?”
“Of course.”
The conversation moved on. Feral ate and listened but didn’t say much. But his knee pressed against mine under the table and stayed there.
Acorn made a tour of the table, stealing from multiple plates, getting caught each time. He negotiated his way out of each situation through a combination of pathetic looks and strategic offerings of bits he’d already stolen from someone else.
“Your squirrel has no shame,” Kirk said with a laugh.
“None whatsoever,” I said.
The meal wound down as the bonfire came to life, flames catching and climbing into the darkening sky. Someone produced a fiddle, a drum, and something that looked like a wooden flute.
After the plates were cleared, dancing started. Some people laughed and shifted mid-spin, loping around the fire in wolf form before changing back. A few couples slunk into the woods, hands linked.
Acorn went very still where he sat on the table beside my plate.
I followed his gaze to another squirrel at the tree line, looking our way. Smaller than Acorn, the squirrel had a distinctive white patch on one ear.
“Is that a friend?” I asked. “Or do I need to cast a spell to scare them away?”
His whiskers wiggled. No spell, please.
He patted my arm once, then launched off the table, flying above the dancers, landing on the ground beyond.
He trotted over to the other squirrel, and the two spiraled up a tree together, their movements coordinated in a way that suggested this wasn’t their first meeting.
When did he have time to do something like that?
They vanished into the canopy.
I stared after him, realizing I’d been dismissed by my own companion.
Feral watched too. His mouth pulled at the corner, not quite a smile but close. He offered me his hand. “Dance with me.”
I looked at his hand, then his face. “I’m not coordinated.”
“I’ll keep you upright.”
“That’s optimistic.”
“It’s a fact.”
I took his hand.
He pulled me to my feet and led me to the space near the bonfire where others had already started moving to the music. The fiddle played something lilting and rhythmic, the kind of tune that may have been passed down through generations.
Feral tugged me close and started swaying, taking me along with him. His hand settled on the back of my waist. The fire’s heat and his became indistinguishable.
I kept starting to ask him what he wanted from us, from this, but the question would dissolve before I could voice it.
He leaned down and kissed me lightly. I was sure it was a test.
Well, I’d always been good with tests.
I kissed him right back.
He pulled away to check my face. I reached up to his jaw, stroking his stubble, and pulled him back down.
The second kiss lasted longer. His arms tightened around me.
The pack existed somewhere in my peripheral awareness, but the center of my attention had narrowed to the pressure of his mouth and the solid warmth of him against me.
I became aware of the pack again when someone whooped.
Feral’s expression as he glared around dared someone to comment but none came. The music continued. The dancing went on around us.
He swept me around, spinning faster and faster while I laughed, only to stop and lift me up for another kiss.
My mind kept spinning and my heart… Alright, I’d gone from falling to fallen. There was no backing away from this king now.
The question I’d meant to ask had stopped feeling necessary. The answer was happening in real time, written in the way he held me and the heat in his eyes every time he looked at me.
The music eventually stopped, and the pack began dispersing. Some slipped into their tree homes. Others headed for the tree line in groups of two and three.
Feral tugged me close and took my hand.
“I need you,” he growled in my ear.
“What’s stopping you from taking what you need?” The time for being coy had flown.
“Nothing?”
My smile rose. “Exactly. Nothing is stopping you.”
“Yes, you’re right.”
“Always.”
His snort rang out. He tugged me toward our tree.
Inside, he swept me up in his arms again and started up the stairs.
One hundred and four of them stretched above us.
I watched the steps, counting them out of habit more than any real interest in the number.
His breathing stayed even. He took them two at a time near the top, his pace not slowing despite my weight and the distance.
At the landing, he shifted his grip, sliding me down his body until my feet touched the floor.
I loved that he didn’t let go.
I looked up at him, finding his face shadowed in the dim light of the corridor. But his eyes were clear.
“Bedroom,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
I nodded.
He opened the door and urged me inside.