Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
The house Tauren had grown up in was a world away from the lonely one-room huts that he and the rest of the unmated alphas lived in. It even put the cozy thatch and timber family homes we’d passed on our way to the bonfire to shame. The thing was a damn castle.
At least that’s what it looked like to me.
Constructed out of cut stone instead of wood, the structure was larger, darker, and more imposing than any of the others I’d spotted in the village.
Three stories tall, not counting the crenelated towers that rose up from the corners, it looked like it had been constructed centuries ago.
Long enough for the wind and rain to wear down the sharp edges of the stones.
With thick moss growing in the mortar lines and deep green vines creeping up the dark walls, I felt like I had accidentally fallen through time, into an era before steel beams and poured concrete. A time when a forest manor straight out of the Middle Ages wasn’t out of place.
Cenric led the way up the path to the front door and held it open for us—a solid slab of wood expertly carved with a tangle of animals. I spotted wolves and foxes, elk and bears, ravens and eagles, all lunging with open mouths toward the large brass knocker in the center.
Unsurprisingly, the interior was every bit as grand as the facade. The walls and floors were solidly constructed—well-insulated too, with thick rugs and colorful tapestries adorning the empty spaces.
And despite its obvious age, the place had been well maintained. The floorboards didn’t creak or groan under our feet, and the air was fragrant with the scent of wood oil. There were no cobwebs in the corners. No dust in the crevices.
It was a magnificent home.
But one that made Tauren tense up beside me.
“Is everything all right?” I asked, sensing the darkening shift in his energy.
He gave a tight nod.
“I’m fine,” he insisted. “I just haven’t been back here since…”
Since he was kicked out seven years ago. Since he was pushed to the edges of his pack’s land.
Seeing the taut lines of suppressed pain radiating out from the corners of his eyes made my heart clench. I squeezed his hand a little tighter, hoping my support helped at least a little.
Once Cenric closed the door, he led us down the candlelit hall to a large, open meeting room near the back of the house.
Drogan stood near the center of the hearth, facing the fire, his hands held stiffly behind his back, his formidable body silhouetted by flashing orange flames. Just like at the bonfire, he was surrounded by his advisors.
Even though the room was dark and sprawling, it wasn’t cold. A large, crackling fire burned in the oversized hearth, giving off enough light to illuminate most of the empty space. Only the corners of the room were left draped in shadows.
Even though I was sandwiched between Tauren and Kyre, the Pack Leader’s eyes instantly zeroed in on me.
“No!” His booming voice echoed through the cavernous space. “I will not allow kirre in this house.”
“Fine,” Tauren said, already turning around. “Then we’ll return to the bonfire.”
“You will stay,” his father commanded. “The girl can wait outside.”
Tauren shook his head. “Absolutely not. Hannah is my mate. She stays with me.”
“Oh for the love of the Fates,” Drogan groaned. “You can stop with the games, boy. There’s no crowd to lie to in here. We all know that petulant thing can’t be your mate—not your real mate.”
“What other kind is there?” Kyre asked defiantly.
“Ask her.” Drogan thrust out his arm, jabbing an accusing finger my way. “The kirre are famous for their infidelity. I doubt the harpy lasts a week in Tauren’s bed before she’s off in search of another alpha to corrupt.”
Wow.
I guess the guy really didn’t like losing an argument. Something told me this conversation wasn’t going anywhere as long as I was in the room.
“It’s okay.” I cupped my hand around Tauren’s bicep. “I can wait for you by the door while you talk to your dad.”
It wasn’t like I had wanted in on this battle of wills anyway.
“No, you can’t,” Tauren doubled down. His voice was firm, his expression hard as the stone walls surrounding us. “The only safe place for you in this house is by my side.”
Judging by all the angry faces glaring at me from across the room, he was probably right. I might not die tonight, but that didn’t mean someone wouldn’t try to attack me—just that I’d live to tell the tale.
Well…for a little while at least.
“No kirre is safe in the Wilds,” Drogan said, his voice dripping with malice. “You never should have brought her here.”
“Is that a threat?” Tauren asked, his whole body tensing.
“It is the truth, boy,” Drogan shot back. “You’re the only one who refuses to see it. A ferus and a kirre can never be bonded together.”
“The Lykaon is right,” a deep, new, masculine voice called out behind us.
I swiveled around just in time to see a man in black leather robes striding into the room, shoulders squared, and head held high. In his hands, he carried a heavy book that appeared even older than the centuries-old home we were standing in. Calindra followed him, walking a step or two behind.
The Lore Keeper—it had to be.
Who else would be walking around dressed like a warrior priest?
A chill swept through me as the formidable alpha strode past on his way to Drogan’s side.
Going by the gray streaks in his hair and the lines around his eyes, I guessed he was about a decade older than Drogan.
But despite his age, there was nothing weak or frail about the man. Everything about him exuded power.
Cold, calculated power—a sharp contrast to the Lykaon’s fiery temper.
“The texts are clear,” he continued, dropping the heavy tome down on a table near the hearth. It landed with a resounding thump. “A kirre woman and a ferus alpha are utterly incompatible. It would be impossible for them to successfully mate.”
“See?” A smug smile curled Drogan’s lips. “I knew they were lying. That bitch isn’t anyone’s mate. She’s nothing but a pretender. A perversion of the natural laws.”
But before Drogan could pull a muscle patting himself on the back, the Lore Keeper shook his head. “I did not say that, Lykaon. I’m afraid the situation is far more complicated.”
Of course it is, I thought with an inward groan. I’d give anything for things to be straightforward and simple just once in my life.
“Explain yourself, Keeper.” Tauren’s father demanded.
If Drogan was hoping his harsh tone would intimidate the black-clad Keeper, he must’ve been disappointed. Without turning his head, the Keeper glanced out of the corner of his eye at his Pack Leader, disdain dripping from his overly composed demeanor.
“I intend to,” he drawled. “But first Calindra and I must speak with the girl—privately.”
“Absolutely not,” both Tauren and his father barked at nearly the same time. They even sounded alike. Despite all the bad blood, the gap between them wasn’t as wide as either might think.
“Hannah stays with me,” Tauren repeated.
“And as Lykaon, I demand to be present for all interrogations.”
The Lore Keeper’s lips thinned and flattened, his annoyance on full display. “So be it, but everyone else must leave.”
Drogan’s advisors waited for him to nod in agreement before silently shuffling toward the door.
Kyre clapped Tauren on the shoulder. “I’ll go back to the bonfire and meet with our friends. I’m sure they are eager to hear more about what’s happening.”
“Cenric,” Drogan called out to Tauren’s cousin. “Follow him and make sure there isn’t any traitorous talk.”
Cenric gave an exaggerated eye roll behind his uncle’s back before agreeing and shadowing Kyre out of the room.
The empty hall somehow felt even darker and more immense now that there were only five of us in it.
Every pop and crackle from the fire echoed off the stone walls, punctuating the tense silence in the air.
I shifted back and forth on my feet, feeling the uncomfortable prick of Drogan’s and the Keeper’s dark stares.
After another couple of seconds, I pressed myself closer to Tauren’s side and broke the unbearable silence. “What did you want to ask me?”
The Keeper lifted his chin slightly. His eyes narrowed—almost as if he was surprised that I had dared to initiate conversation with him. “Where are you from, girl?”
“First, my name is Hannah—not girl,” I said. “And I’m from San Jose.”
The Keeper blinked. His head cocked slightly to the side. For a second, I was certain he was going to shoot me the same disdainful glower he’d shown Drogan, but instead a spark of intrigue flashed in his dark eyes.
“I don’t know that place,” he said.
“It’s just a city in the kirre world. Nothing special.”
“And you like it there?” He inched closer, his eyes narrowing, focusing in on my features as if he was searching for something out of the ordinary. Hidden horns, maybe, or a third eye tucked beneath my bangs.
“It’s fine.” I shrugged.
“But you left it and came here,” he said. “Why?”
“You know why,” I answered. “I’m sure Calindra told you about my dreams.”
“What dreams?” Drogan piped up.
The Keeper studied my face for another second before glancing over his shoulder to answer his Pack Leader. “Apparently, the gir—Hannah has suffered from nightmares of the Wilds for seven years now. They started the same time Tauren was given his first vision of her as his mate.”
“Nightmares?” At first, Drogan sounded confused, but it didn’t take long for that to fade and a self-satisfied smile to take its place. “See, even the girl’s own mind is fighting against the unnatural pairing.”
But the Keeper shook his head.
“No, I don’t believe that’s what is going on here. This is something else.” He turned his attention back toward me. “You believe your dreams are prophetic, don’t you?”
Images of fangs and claws sprang up in my mind. The tang of blood filling my mouth. The sharp, piercing pain as I rattled my last tortured breath.
I looked away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”