Page 56 of Wolfkissed
He asked for my home as dowry.
But that’s Stepfather’s fault. He probably asked for the manor’s weight in gold to pay his debts and antagonized Lord Eorl. Besides, if Lord Eorl takes my manor… then it will be mine the moment I become his wife.
That’s what I should do. Go there, find him. Explain what happened. Marry him.
Gods, what am I thinking? The only way to make it there is with Valen’s aid, and why on earth would he help me? I’m out here, at his mercy. That’s probably why he got me out of the manor. To torment me in his turn, take his revenge.
I should run.
Oh Gods, this is crazy. I laugh out loud. Outrun a wolf?
Though this whole picture doesn’t fit in with the concern I saw in his eyes when he revived me earlier. I thought I saw real fear there.
But… no. He was probably upset I’d gone and died on him after the trouble he went into by bringing me out here. I can’t see any reason for him ‘saving’ me other than having me at his mercy.
And now he’s out there, hunting.
Did he shift to hunt? Is he hunting in human form? Why am I so fascinated all over again? That moment when he’d leaped on me in the great hall… I was certain it would be my end. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that he spared me, after the shocking truths Stepfather sprang on us. After losing control and half-shifting. That he carried me away instead. But what is my fate to be now?
Slowly, painstakingly, I get to my feet. My green gown has mostly dried, discolored and stained with mud, the hem torn, the seams coming undone in my bustier. My hair has come out of its updo, hanging loose around my face, hairpins stuck haphazardly into my dark locks. I pick one out and clutch it in my hand until it hurts.
I look a real mess. Iama real mess.
This is an absolute disaster, and I need to make some decisions. Now is the time to run, before he takes me even farther from home. How far could we be? It’s still the same day my stepfather locked me away with a werewolf and then pitted us against each other. I could head back…
…where my family is waiting to kill me in cold blood. So my only real option is to head west, toward Lord Eorl’s house.
Won’t I perish in the woods, without a carriage, without weapons and men to wield them on my behalf?
Only one way to find out…
Leaving the circle of standing stones feels like the biggest step I’ve ever taken in my life. Valen obviously placed me in here for a reason—some residual fae magic in the place? I’ve heard tales like this. And furious with me or not, he said he’d return. Whether that was the truth or a lie, I suppose I’ll never know.
Clenching my teeth, I march through the sparse vegetation. We’re on a low hill, and I make my slow descent toward what looks like a creek. I’m thirsty and hungry. Exhausted and light-headed.
Two facts quickly become apparent over the course of my trek. One of them is that a lady’s boots aren’t made for hiking through the woods and meadows. In fact, they don’t seem to have been made for walking at all.
And the other is… I can’t stop thinking about Valen.
Which is perfectly normal, I remind myself. We had… a very close shave. Together.
But I don’t need him. I’m not in any need of saving. Certainly not from a dark fae wolf. I only need to find a hamlet, a village,a town, and ask for directions. I could play the sympathy card, though it’s not in my nature. If I say my carriage was befallen by robbers and I escaped with my life, would they believe me and put me in a caravan heading in the right direction?
Worth a try.
I’ve always hated being pitied. I was raised to be proud and self-sufficient, to hide any illness or pain, to not speak of my nightmares and anxiety attacks. Buckle up, they always told me. Swallow it down. Hide it. Don’t talk about it. A daughter of Elenor House can’t be weak and whiny.
It’d be disgraceful. Shameful.
But this time I’ll have to grit my teeth and make my case, tell lies, and ask for assistance. I can’t tell people that my family is after me. And I can’t walk to Lord Eorl. It would be dangerous, and anyway, it’s way too far.
The back of my eyes burns. I hate how close to tears I am. These past few days have been too much to process.
This… all this wasn’t supposed to happen. There was a plan. A plan that was made years ago. Everyone knew about it. There were specifics, too. How many trunks I’d take with me. How long the journey would last. How many servants would accompany me. How many more I could send for later. My wedding. The guests I’d invite.
My life stretching ahead of me. My path?—
Something snags my shoe, and I gasp as, arms windmilling, I fall. I tumble down the slope, every hit forcing a painedooffrom my lips, as sharp rocks cut my skin and rough ground abrades my skin.
