CHAPTER ELEVEN I CLAIM YOU AWAKE
T he first hiss of silver smoke slid through the trees like a snake.
Every wolf in the Grove heard it.
Every warrior turned toward it.
Marion did not.
She had both hands on Euan’s shoulders and the whole world had narrowed to the strong line of his throat beneath her mouth.
This was absurd.
That was the only sensible thought her mind could offer.
She should not be kneeling in the snow before an ancient execution stone about to bite the man she loved while Crown soldiers hid behind black pines and an alchemist waited to discover what her blood could do.
No woman with any practical sense would choose such a moment to complete a mate bond.
But then, practical sense had not bought Euan in chains.
Mercy had.
Foolish, ruinous mercy.
It had dragged a savage Highland prisoner into her cottage, pressed her glowing hands over his poisoned wounds, listened to his fevered voice call her his heart, and let his bite change the shape of her whole life.
Now that same mercy had teeth.
Euan knelt before her, still as a man carved out of storm and grief. His eyes were fixed on hers. Gold burned there, but beneath it was fear. Not for himself. Never for himself, the infuriating man. For her. Always for her, until it became another kind of cage.
Marion’s fingers tightened against his shoulders.
“Before I do this,” she said, and her voice sounded much steadier than she felt, “you will answer me properly.”
His mouth softened, though nothing about him relaxed. “Ask.”
“Do you accept this because you want it, or because you think refusing would hurt me?”
The question moved through him. She felt it under her palms, in the smallest tightening of muscle and breath. Behind them, men shifted. A horse stamped in the hidden trees. The silver smoke hissed again, closer now, and someone cursed under his breath.
Euan did not look away.
“If I were selfish,” he said quietly, “I would beg for it.”
That was not an answer, and he knew it.
Marion leaned closer. “Try again.”
A faint flicker touched his eyes. If they were not surrounded by wolves, poison and death, she might have called it amusement. “You are very demanding for a woman who has just returned from the dead.”
“And you are very evasive for a man who was kneeling for an axe a moment ago.”
“Aye.”
“Euan.”
The hint of amusement vanished.
His hands rose slowly, not to hold her, not yet, but to rest over hers where they lay on his shoulders. His palms were large, warm despite the cold, rough with scars. The burned circles at his wrists brushed her skin and made her healer’s gift ache to mend them.
“I want it,” he said.
Something in her went painfully still.
He swallowed once. “I want you. Not the bond. Not the legend. Not because the clan watches or the law requires an answer.” His voice roughened.
“I want Marion Catriona Bell, who bought a dying beast because she could not bear a crowd’s cruelty.
I want the woman who argued with me over broth while half afraid I would bite her again.
I want the mother who would walk into hell for her child.
I want the wolf who ran here to call me a fool before my head left my shoulders. ”
Someone behind them made a strangled sound. It may have been Tavish. Marion could not look.
Euan’s eyes held hers.
“I want this because you are choosing it,” he said. “And because God help me, I have wanted you from the first moment your hands burned light into my blood.”
Marion’s throat tightened so badly she could not answer at once.
That was unfair of him. Entirely unfair. He was not supposed to say things like that in front of the whole clan with Aldrich lurking somewhere nearby and her knees in the snow. He was supposed to be brooding and tragic so she could stay angry.
She blinked hard.
“Very well,” she said, and cursed the roughness of her voice. “That was almost sufficient.”
His brows lifted. “Almost?”
“I am still furious.”
“I know.”
“You should be afraid.”
“I am.”
“At last, some sense.”
His hand came up and touched her cheek.
It was such a small gesture, barely more than his knuckles brushing her skin, but the bond leapt toward it like flame toward dry grass. Marion inhaled sharply. Euan did too. Around them, the Grove seemed to draw closer, black trees leaning in, ancient roots listening.
Morna’s voice came from somewhere to the side. “Lass, the smoke is moving.”
“I know,” Marion said.
“Then be quick.”
“How inspiring.”
“I am not here to embroider pillows.”
Despite everything, Marion almost laughed. Almost. Then the wind shifted and the sharp bite of silver smoke crept over her tongue.
Her wolf rose with a snarl.
Euan’s hands tightened over hers. “If it hurts you, stop.”
“No.”
“Marion.”
She leaned closer until her mouth was near his ear. “If you say my name in that tone one more time, I may bite harder than necessary.”
His breath caught.
Oh.
That had not sounded the way she intended.
Or perhaps it had.
Heat rose into her face, completely inconvenient and entirely inappropriate. Euan felt it. Of course he did. His eyes darkened in a way that made the cold around them suddenly useless.
For one reckless instant, she remembered his mouth on hers in dreams that were not dreams. His hands on her waist. His voice telling her not to let them put silver near her heart. His body held back by guilt when every part of him wanted to cross the space between them.
The bite at her throat burned warm.
Not pain.
Answer.
Euan tipped his head slightly, exposing more of his throat.
Marion froze.
It was not a grand motion. Not dramatic. But every wolf in the circle understood it. She heard their breaths change. Saw Aodh lower his gaze. Saw Rhona’s hand lift to her chest. Even Morna went very still.
He was offering.
Not as chief. Not as alpha commanding a mate to complete some ancient rite.
As a man.
Hers, if she would have him.
The power of that nearly frightened her more than the shift had.
She had been wanted before, or at least desired in ways that felt like hands closing.
Duncan had wanted obedience. Aldrich had wanted her gift.
The village had wanted her usefulness and silence.
Even the clan had wanted her to be either proof or problem, something they could name and place neatly in their laws.
Euan wanted her choice.
And he had lowered his throat before everyone to prove it.
Damn him. She was going to cry after all.
Marion slid one hand from his shoulder to the side of his neck. His pulse hammered beneath her palm, fierce and alive. The wolf inside her pressed forward, not hungry to wound, but hungry to bind. It knew where to bite. It knew the old place where claim met life.
Her human self hesitated.
“What if I do this wrong?” she whispered.
Euan’s mouth curved, faint and broken. “You dragged me from a village auction with less instruction.”
“That is not comforting.”
“It should be. You were magnificent.”
“I was terrified.”
“Aye,” he said softly. “And magnificent.”
Her heart did something foolish.
Behind them, a canister cracked open and silver smoke poured low along the snow.
Warriors shouted.
Euan’s head began to turn, but Marion caught his jaw and pulled his attention back to her.
“No,” she said. “Look at me.”
His eyes locked on hers.
The smoke slid closer.
The Grove blurred.
Marion bent.
Her lips touched the side of his throat first.
He went utterly still.
She felt the shudder he trapped before anyone else could see it. That small restraint nearly undid her. He would let her do this gently. He would let her do this cruelly. He would kneel there and take whatever she chose because giving her choice had become, for him, the only prayer left.
No more fever.
No more instinct alone.
No more stolen beginning.
Marion opened her mouth and bit.
Euan’s body jerked beneath her.
The moment her teeth broke skin, the bond ignited.
Not like before.
Before had been fire in darkness, panic and fever, his wolf reaching for her through poison.
This was moonlight striking blood. Silver and gold tore through Marion so fast she nearly fell forward against him.
Euan’s arms came around her, hard and immediate, but he did not pull her away. He held her through it.
She tasted his blood.
Salt. Heat. Smoke. Wolf. Euan.
Then she was inside him.
Not his mind exactly. Worse. Better. She felt the memory of chains eating his wrists, the burn of Aldrich’s silver, the shame he had carried since waking in her cottage and seeing her blood on his mouth.
She felt his longing in the nights they were apart, the dreams where he reached for her and woke clawing the earth.
She felt his terror in the ritual cavern when her heart stopped beneath his hand.
Marion gasped against his throat.
Euan’s grip tightened around her. His voice broke somewhere above her. “Stay with me.”
But he was there too.
He felt her.
She knew it by the way his breath left him.
Her loneliness in the cottage. Her exhaustion.
Her fear of Duncan’s voice at the door. Her secret gift hidden under sleeves and lies.
The way she had looked at Euan in chains and hated the world for making cruelty ordinary.
The pain of the bite. The shame of wanting him despite it.
The agony of her body fighting itself. Georgie’s small hand in hers. The cold altar. The dark. The waking.
Everything.
There was nowhere to hide.
For a moment Marion panicked.
It was too much. Too open. Too raw. No person should be seen so completely. Not even by a mate. Especially not by a mate.
Euan felt the panic and did not trap her. That was the miracle. His hold loosened, not enough to let her fall, but enough to let her choose whether to stay.
Through the bond came his voice, not heard by ears.
Only if you wish it.
That finished what the bite had begun.
Marion chose.
Her healing light surged.
Silver gold burst out from where her mouth touched his throat.
Euan cried out, and the sound rolled through the Grove, half pain, half release.
The burn scars on his wrists flared white.
Old black veins beneath his skin, remnants of poison that had never fully left him, rose like ink then dissolved under the light.
Every wolf in the Grove felt it.
A great shudder moved through the circle.
Marion pulled back, breathless, lips stained with his blood.
Euan’s eyes were fully gold now.
Not fevered. Not mad.
Awake.
He stared at her as if dawn had taken human form and decided to scold him.
The mark on his neck glowed, silver threaded with gold.
Her mark answered.
The bond snapped fully into place.
Marion gasped.
The world changed again.
She heard Euan’s heart, not from far away now but inside her awareness, steadying against hers.
She felt his hands on her back as if the warmth had entered her own skin.
His pain still existed, but it no longer stood between them like a locked door.
It flowed, met hers, softened. He did not consume her. She did not vanish into him.
They stood together inside the same light.
A wind tore through the Grove.
Torches flared white.
The silver smoke that had crept toward them recoiled as if struck. It did not vanish, but it curled back, hissing along the snow.
Aldrich’s hidden men shouted from the trees.
Marion barely heard them.
Euan’s forehead dropped to hers. His breath came hard. “Marion.”
This time the tone was different.
Not warning. Not fear.
Wonder.
“Yes,” she whispered.
His hand rose to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her wild hair. “You are alive.”
“You are observant.”
A broken laugh escaped him, rough and beautiful. He pulled back just enough to look at her properly. His eyes searched every inch of her face. “You claimed me.”
“I did warn you.”
“Warn me again sometime.”
Heat moved through her so quickly she nearly forgot the Grove.
Then Morna shouted, “Move!”
The world returned violently.
A silver canister flew from the east trees and landed near Aodh’s feet. It cracked open, releasing a thick coil of smoke darker than the first. Wolves snarled and scattered. Warriors drew blades. A horse screamed beyond the trees.
Euan rose in one swift motion, pulling Marion up with him.
This time he did not step in front of her.
He stood beside her.
Marion noticed.
So did he.
Their eyes met.
Something passed between them that had nothing to do with words and everything to do with the fact that they had finally learned.
Together then.
Euan’s mouth curved, fierce and brief. “Together.”
Marion looked toward the trees where Aldrich waited behind smoke and silver and all his polished cruelty.
Her teeth ached with the urge to shift.
“Good,” she said, wiping Euan’s blood from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. “Because I am in a terrible mood.”
From the edge of the Grove, Master Aldrich’s voice came smooth through the smoke.
“Remarkable.”
Marion turned toward it, gold eyes narrowing.
“A resurrected mate,” Aldrich continued. “A reciprocal claim. A silver reaction strong enough to repel active poison.” His soft laugh drifted closer. “Mistress Bell, you are becoming the most valuable woman in the kingdom.”
Euan growled.
Marion bared her teeth.
“No,” she said, and the silver gold light rose in her hands. “I am becoming the last mistake you ever make.”