Page 150 of Wolfkissed
My betrothed wants nothing to do with me.
As if to confirm it, he steps back, brushes his hands down his vest and jacket, as if wanting to rid himself of any trace of me. “Now let’s go have some lunch. The guests are waiting.”
He’s acting as if nothing has happened at all, when my bright hopes are reduced to sparks winking out in a descending darkness.
I miss lunch. Can’t stomach anything right now anyway. I don’t even enter the house, choosing to wander the gardens and orchards, my head pounding and my heart aching.
What am I doing? What am I going to do?
Swallow the hurt,a voice says in my head.Like you’ve been swallowing insults and accepting blows back home for ages, like you’ve been letting your stepparents make you feel small and insignificant.
Nothing has changed.
Nothing but me. I have changed, I feel it in my bones. I don’t feel like sitting down and taking it anymore. I thought I could.
I have come here as an orphan, rejected even by my adoptive family, and hoping for something better, but it’s starting to sink in that this isn’t the family I hoped I’d find.
And worst of all, I miss Valen. I miss him even though I saw him last night, miss him even though I know I shouldn’t. I miss being near him. Talking with him. Laughing with him.
There’s a relief in finding out that Lord Eorl doesn’t desire me, because… I don’t desire him, either. From the moment I met him, I’ve felt repulsed by him. I just didn’t want to accept it.
But isn’t this what most marriages are like?
This is an impossible situation. I can fight it. I should fight it. Demand what I’m due, what any wife deserves—trust, faithfulness, respect. Even if we set love and desire aside. I can make friends and allies, and construct a life on these bare rocks given to me.
But is it what I really want?
Wanting Valen,I scold myself,shouldn’t make you doubt your plans. You don’t undo years of hoping and planning for a handsome fae werewolf.
No, but what about for a kind, wonderful man?
Movement in a corner of the garden catches my attention. There are four men hunched over something. I hurry toward them without knowing why, only that their posture revives memories of my stepfamily’s treatment of me, of my stepsister shoving me to the ground and bowing over me to gloat.
“You!” I shout as I start running. “What are you doing? Go away!”
“Princess,” a male voice says from behind me, and I whirl about with a gasp.
“Valen!” I’m staring at him, my heart pounding, his tall body and handsome face a balm on my soul.
“What’s going on here?” he mutters, watching the men who shoot me dark looks as they hurry away. “Who are they?”
“No idea. They were acting weird.” I nod toward the spot where they had been hanging out, and Valen sniffs the air.
“Blood,” he says. “Wolf blood.”
“Wolf?” Now I see the dead animal. “It’s not?—?”
“Not a werewolf. No. Just an animal that must have sneaked into the gardens.” He frowns. “Lone wolves are sometimes driven to extreme measures.”
“But these men didn’t kill it.”
“No. Kon or Darian must have done it.”
I blink. “Who?”
“My friends. They’re looking out for me. For us.” He lifts his hand to tug on the collar that’s still around his neck, and winces. He lowers his hand to his side, instead, pressing.
I watch him with growing concern. “Are you all right?”
