Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
Winter … isn’t a witch. Eighteen and magicless. This is all my fault.
—Lorinne Leroux’s private journal.
The smell of eucalyptus permeated the room and the sound of trickling water echoed off the walls.
Winter peeled one eye open to be greeted by light, natural stone.
She was in the bathing chamber—a welcome reprieve from all the black.
The queen, who was as dead as Lenn, had spoiled such a fantastic color.
“Winter, you’re awake.” Emrys’ sweet voice filtered in. She registered his hands next. With palms so smooth, she’d never mistake them for someone else’s. He was rubbing her ears.
Why did that feel so good? She yawned awake, snapping her teeth.
Hello, she barked.
He beamed, brown eyes filling with tears. It looked as though he was about to speak but he covered his mouth and fell atop her instead. “Look at you,” he managed, twirling fingers in her fur. “You’re already crowned.”
Winter tilted her head.
Emrys gently tapped the tips of her ears, making a clinking sound that tickled her eardrums.
“Pure gold,” he mused.
Emrys had always thought too highly of her, but considering she’d been chewed up, she appreciated his spirit. A quick inspection of her hind leg revealed sealed and cleaned bite marks. Frowning, she glanced at a nearby tub and saw rust-colored water.
“The healers came. All your wounds have been tended to, but I was the one to clean you—promise.”
She nodded in understanding. Emrys only wanted the best for her, she trusted him.
Panic struck her with her next breath.
West.
West.
West.
Where was he?
Emrys swiftly transformed into his wolf form. His dark brown fur glimmered in the bobbing firelight, matching his eyes.
Winter, what’s wrong? You can shift back now.
She looked around. Every bath was empty—there was no one else in the room. Where is he?
Westley? He’s been very busy.
Busy?
Decorating, mostly.
What does that mean?
Well, any mage or vampire that refuses to submit gets squashed by a team of wolves, so there’s a lot of fresh red paint on the walls.
There’s also a string of bowels trailing from the throne room to the ballroom, in case anyone needed directions.
And the queen is currently being pressed between the main gates, giving the exterior a little update.
But he should be back soon. He checks in on you every twenty or so minutes.
Winter’s eyes widened a little more with each detail. She’d been expecting West to be hurt, or worse. Please, help me change back. It’s harder than shifting into my wolf form. I can’t keep doing it in bursts.
Okay. Let’s start by telling me what you see when you look inside.
Inside where?
He gave her a pointed look. You know where.
Winter groaned. Was admitting she was a wolf with strange human emotions not enough? She wasn’t interested in learning more about her identity—the final puzzle piece her mother had kept from her.
I’m not sure what I see, she said sadly.
Then we have a problem. If you can’t recognize yourself, how will you ever shift back to that form properly?
Great question. That’s why I’m asking!
Or is it that you’re too scared to look? A challenge gleamed in Emrys’ eyes.
It was unlike him, and it took her off guard.
Silence stretched for almost a minute before she broke it with a huff.
Yes. My mother, a mage, was cursed by what she called a monster.
It lived inside her, breathing her air and stealing her womb.
Together … they made me. I don’t want to know more. Would you?
A curse?
That’s what her journal says. Curse this, curse that.
But you’re a Chosen Alpha, Winter. That’s wereblood in your veins. Potent and pure. Your mother wasn’t cursed; she was gifted.
I am not a gift.
No, you are not. You are much more than that. Whatever happened to your mother, created you. And because of you, I am free. We all are. You can call yourself a monster or a curse, but I only see a queen.
He said it so sincerely, as if she were worthy of his words.
You have a unique kind of power, he continued. When will you start believing in it? I thought mages knew magic only existed when we let it.
Werewolves were known to be wise, but Emrys always added a dash of kindness to his wisdom. She nudged him with her snout. Stop being so nice.
Emrys gave her a wink and stood on his hind legs. He spun gracefully, shifting back to his human form. “Go on, your turn.”
Winter didn’t realize accepting herself as a wolf would be the easiest part.
She was curious about who—or what—had possessed her mother.
Maybe she could try to discover the truth, or maybe even talk to her mother about it.
But that would mean looking at the darkest part of her life and accepting that too.
She wasn’t ready.
Winter shifted in five big bursts that each one took about a minute. If transitioning flawlessly required breaking down the truth about identity, she’d deal with it another day because West just slipped through the iron doors. Or rather, a warrior.
He strode across the cavern wearing a chainmail vest and black leather pants with matching combat boots. Two longswords were strapped in an X-shape across his back. She blinked a few times to be certain this wasn’t Fortress of Fire again.
No pixels.
He approached her coolly, glaring the way a predator stalking their prey would. There was blood painted beneath his eyes in thick strips. Fuck—he looked so hot her mouth was watering. When he swept his ravenous gaze along her body, she remembered she was nude.
Shit.
Winter used hands to cover herself and crossed her feet.
A breath later, there was no space between them.
“Hi,” she whispered, guilt sweeping over her.
He leaned down and eyed her warily. “I hope you know what you’ve started, Winter.”
She wrinkled her brows, wishing there could’ve been an easier way. “A coup?”
West didn’t laugh, he knelt on the limestone. His eyes remained on hers as he cupped the back of her thigh. “My undying allegiance to you.”
“I’ll be going.” Emrys scurried off before she could stop him.
West squeezed her leg, refocusing her.
She wasn’t willing to let him do this. “Get up. I used you.”
He let out a heavy sigh. “I won’t fault you for thinking like a wolf. The sacrifice of one, or two for all. It’s what any noble alpha would do.”
She looked up to the stony ceiling, tears blurring her vision. “Please don’t call me that. What I did was terribly wrong.”
“But had you not compelled me, the queen’s spell would’ve taken over completely. We rendered the most powerful mage in the land powerless. You, Winter, are the only queen this world deserves.”
She blinked. “I don’t—I’m not what you think I am.” She was his worst fear: a liar. There was still so much he didn’t know. A tear escaped, rolling down her face. “Please,” she begged, “stand up.”
“No.” His hand roamed the back of her bare leg. This close to him, she couldn’t lift her attention from the soft intensity in his eyes. “I meant what I said before the hierarchy battle. I am yours. There’s no limit, bargain, or trick. Just my promise.”
She shook her head because he still didn’t know the truth. If he did, he’d take it all back. “They’re dead, West. Everett and twenty other wolves from your pack. They’re all gone.”
He scrubbed his face, leaving behind fatigue and sorrow. “Everett is very much alive. I can feel him through our blood oath. What are you talking about?”
Alive?
“No,” she countered. “You were both … dead. The queen told me she could bring you back, and I agreed to it. I didn’t know she’d use a Resurrection Spell.
I thought she had fancy healers. She stole twenty lives to save you …
and Everett, it seems.” When the queen had said the spell required ten lives for the regift of one, she hadn’t considered Everett to be a part of that evil deal.
But there was another life attached to West’s—his second’s.
West abruptly got to his feet, growling loud enough to rock the limestone. He stormed to the nearest wall and banged his fist into it.
Winter couldn’t imagine how he felt. He’d been resurrected, mutilated, put under a Love Spell, and compelled into performing a claiming.
She slowly stepped towards him. Taking his bloodied hand in hers, she sank to her knees.
“I am forever sorry for the magnitude of hurt I’ve caused you and your pack.
” She dropped her gaze to the floor, unable to look at him.
“If I could change everything, I would. If a promise is what you need, then I promise I would. Please don’t hate me.
I don’t think I want to know a life without you in it. Or a timeline, to be specific.”
He said nothing.
The trickling water faded into the background. All she could hear was her useless heart whooshing around wicked blood. She let go of his hand, wrapped her arms around his leg and dropped her forehead to his knee. “I’m not sure how to express how sorry I am. Please, just tell me how.”
West buried his hand into her hair then gripped it with his fist. “You keep begging.”
“Please forgive me. My heart won’t survive otherwise.” He must know she was falling desperately in love with him? If she needed to scream it, she would. But he pulled her to stand and kissed her instead. Violently.
Her feet left the floor, her back crashed into the rigid limestone, and her breath hitched. She was thoroughly pinned and loved it. West reached back, unsheathed his swords, and tossed them. Their clanking echoed through the bathing chamber.
“I need you,” she panted, “all of you.”
“You’re mine, Winter.”
He pressed his mouth against hers. She parted her lips on contact, welcoming the caress of his tongue. His kiss was better than any sip of champagne. She grabbed his armor, tugged him closer, and spoke through her teeth. “Then fuck me like it.”