Page 132 of Ravenous

And still…

She uncovered the secret cubby where her mother had hidden an expensive transport spell, meant only for emergencies.

What was Meera thinking? She couldn’t sacrifice everything for him!

Can’t I?She’d just been wondering how she could live without him, wasting away, stumbling through heartbreak like a specter. It would not improve.

She slung her pack over her shoulder, aching for everything she was leaving behind. Her home. The cradle. Nettle at the keep. Yet when she thought of Lowell, she felt as if they could do anything together.

Even thwart destiny.

Why couldn’t she have what she wanted most in the worlds? She could. She just had to decide that she needed him more than a child and more than her coven.

So she did.

Just as Lowell would forfeit his mate, Meera gave up her future children, making a compact with Hecate:I will never bear a babe of my own if I may have the male I love.

Magic stirred; trees groaned. Hecate liked these compacts and rewarded witches for sacrifices.

Good, Meera thought.Bind it.

With the transport spell in hand, she murmured the oothspeak to activate it. Her form faded. The Witchwood blurred around her.

And then she stood at the base of Mount Nothrior, bag in hand, hope sparking—small but fierce—at the dream of a new life with a wolf.

Chapter 51Arctos

This is such a bad idea.

He stood before the hearth, staring into the restless flames as he nursed a glass of vodka, wondering how he’d agreed to tonight’s plan.

The fire snapped, throwing molten-orange light across the stone walls. Outside, winter winds knifed through the labyrinth of ravines and snow sifted down the cliffs, yet through all that storm and stone, he could still hear Emilia in the bedchamber finishing her preparations.

Such a bad idea.

He ran a hand over his face, feeling the heat of the hearth on one side, the cold draft on the other. All he’d ever wanted was a simple immortal life—leading soldiers, loving a warrior wife, raising children who might someday follow in their bootprints. Politics and scrutiny had always belonged to others. He preferred steel in hand over whispers at his back.

Yet tonight he would walk with Emilia into a banquet held inher honor, under thousands of critical gazes, among a clan eager for reassurance or ready for judgment.

But he could do it. He would. For her.

He pictured the bermetal smiths pounding glowing ore. Heat, pressure, precision—forging raw metal into something worthy. In these last weeks, Emilia had done the same to herself through grueling training.

Her body had filled out, her limbs taking on a graceful power. She couldrun repeatedly to the peak without losing her breath and was a menace to trees everywhere. She’d even learned to swim—a shaky, stubborn series of laps across the hot spring, her dark hair slicked back, her gaze bright with accomplishment.

Between drills, she waved shyly to the clan, offering hesitant smiles. They’d begun nodding back. The thaw was slow but real.

She deserved the chance to stand before them—not as a burden thrust upon him but as someone rightfully claiming her place.

So he’d dressed accordingly: his finest tunic, winter-dark and trimmed in silver thread, his sword polished bright enough to catch the fire’s gleam. He’d even acquired a welcome gift for her.

“Well…” Her voice came from behind him, low and breathless. “How do I look?”

He turned. An exhalation escaped him.

Emilia stood framed by the doorway, firelight curling around her silhouette. Her expression was lively, her cheeks flushed pink by the hearth’s glow. She’d braided her raven hair into a crown in the old style of the Berserkers. The glossy coils caught sparks of light like woven night.

Taking her with me is a fucking fantastic idea.