by Ali Winters
“You’re married.”
“I never wanted to marry Charisma.” His hold tightens, but I refuse to be pulled back into his kiss.
“Do you love her?” I ask. I don’t know what possesses me to, but I think if he cared for her, even just a little, it might soften the blow to my pride.
Xander releases me, finally realizing I won’t give in to his advances. He dips his head, then says, “No.”
He reaches for me again, but I step to the side and cross the room to the fireplace and rest my hand on the stone mantle.
“It can still work between us,” he says.
I don’t feel relieved at his words, I feel pity for the poor girl. But marrying for love is a luxury only those who have no chance to improve their situation can afford. I shouldn’t expect him to love her, but he should have some spark of loyalty.
I shake my head. “No, Xander… it can’t.”
My heart should ache. Xander was the man I wanted to marry. Instead, a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Learning of his marriage to Charisma was surprising, and my first instinct was to panic.
“Why?” he demands, his voice harsh and jarring.
I spin to come face to face with him. He towers over me, a scowl upon his face, and hands balled into fists at his sides.
Xander’s sudden anger and hurt smolder in his hazel eyes. I don’t want to hurt him by refusing him—he’s married—he should understand.
I refuse to be his dirty little secret—I refuse to live my life on the side without love or acknowledgment, or hope of a future. That is not something I am willing to be for anyone. Even thinking about it forms an empty pit inside my chest.
I don’t know what will become of me now. I won’t stay with Kitty, she has her own life to live now. And Alaric sent me away. The future I always imagined with Xander is impossible, and I will never return to that shack that masqueraded as a home for too long.
“Why?” Xander demands again. I flinch when his hand slaps the wooden mantle inches from my head. “Because you’re in love with that monster that stole you from me? Is that all it takes, Clara? Some decent clothes… and you fall at his feet.”
I recoil at the venomous words.
The harshness is almost like a slap to the face. He’s never been aggressive like this before. My mouth opens and closes several times—too stunned to form words.
“Why would you say that?”
“Answer me, Clara.”
“He’s not like other vampires—” the second the words leave my mouth, I know it’s a mistake.
Xander scoffs. “You disgust me.”
I pull in a slow breath, trying to tamp down my anger. Zander is hurt, that’s why he’s lashing out. Pain can cause us to do things we wouldn’t normally do. But I don’t have to take it.
“Xander, you are married—your wife is waiting for you down that hall,” I point vaguely in the direction of the party as I take a step forward into his space. “I won’t live my life as your paramour, I deserve better than that. We have to let go of our past… you need to let me go.”
Xander crosses his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes. I don’t miss how his gaze lingers around my neck. He can stare all he wants, what he’s looking for isn’t there.
I turn and stare distantly into the night. Moonlight lines the trees and land in silver, casting thick shadows everywhere it cannot touch.
“What did you have to give him in return for letting you live? To get such a fine dress? I bet you have many more of them upstairs.”
My gaze snaps to his. He’s gone too far.
“You don’t get to judge me. Alaric has nothing to do with this,” I say. “Just because you’re disappointed in the outcome, doesn’t mean you get to treat me like this. You made your choice, and now we both have to live with the consequences.”
Xander grabs my shoulders, his fingers digging in. “So, you did let that thing touch you.”
My face heats—but not from shame. Because I cannot deny it, even if what happened is different from Xander’s meaning. Because I had wanted Alaric… and because I was a fool to think I could come back here and expect everything to be as it was before. Of course, everyone I left behind had to go on living.
But this level of anger from Xander—the sweet boy I’ve known almost all my life—I never would have expected this.
“Xander, please,” I say. I keep my voice soft, hoping it will ease his anger.
“Look at me,” he grinds out.
I swallow. My heart aches. I feel our connection severing as he grasps at every sliver of anger.
Slowly, I raise my eyes.
“How could you?” His face contorts in a sneer. “You betrayed what we had.”
I frown. “Xander, I—”
His fingers dig painfully into my skin. “I bet you fucked that beast and then begged for more just to get whatever you wanted.”
My jaw drops. I scramble to think of something to say. He's being cruel. He's trying to hurt me. Xander knows me better than this. He knows me… and still, he thinks so little of me.
I should say that I am not the one who married a stranger at the first opportunity. I’m not the one who vowed their life to another.
But I don’t.
There is already enough pain between us. Causing more won’t do either of us any favors.
When I don’t say anything, Xander tsks and releases me with a weak shove.
I back up into the wall, putting space between us. Xander glares for a long moment then turns on his heel and strides from the room.
I don’t go after him. If this is what he needs to let go, then he can have it.
Chapter Fourteen
Clara
I lie awake in the predawn light of morning. Outside the window, a dreary gray swallows the entire sky.
Exhaustion weighs heavy on my shoulders, unrelenting after a countless number of parties. I have attended a lifetime’s worth—at least one each night that I’ve been here. Though, I’ve managed to get out of a few by feigning fainting spells or illness. With every passing day, I find I fit in less and less here. Always surrounded by people I don’t know and don’t care to know. It’s lonely in a way I’ve never experienced before.
I’ve found peace on those free nights. Sitting in the meager library and reading by the light of a tallow candle—the flickering light allowing me to transport to another, more familiar place.
Even with guilt prickling at my conscience for not being there for Kathrine, I know it is for the best. Since that first party, I have become more attuned to how the people of Littlemire see me. Before, I was unseen. Invisible. Now, my life has been touched by that of a vampire, and I’m tainted.
Which should bother me, but it doesn’t. I don’t care about the simpering idiots in this town.
This is the life I once fought to have, and I have hated every minute of it.
I blink at the suddenly blurry ceiling and roll to my side.
The window of this room looks out to the northwest, toward the border of the Shade Forest. I’ve only ever ventured into the eastern edge. These trees don’t make me think of the countless days I spent wandering there, learning to lay traps, and shoot an arrow well enough to kill the occasional animal. Instead, the purples and reds bruising the sky and peeking through the spaces between branches remind me of a different forest. One full of greater demons…
A single hot tear rolls down the side of my cheek and seeps into the pillow.
A loud series of knocks pull me from my darkening mood and signal the third wolf hunt in as many days. While the hunts are a break from the parties with far too many people, it is a sickening ritual.
I don’t understand how hunting baby wolves burdened by contraptions meant to hobble it down is supposed to bring good fortune and fertility to the married couple. It seems more like an excuse to boost the egos of those who can’t hunt by giving them an unsporting chance.
My stomach rolls from repulsion. At least when I hunted, it was
out of necessity and not sport.
The first day the pup managed to escape. Kathrine sulked, convinced it was a bad omen for her marriage.
Then yesterday, the wolf was caught and killed. The pelt was carried away to make a gift for the wedding night. I don’t want to know what it could be.
Today is the final hunt and the day before the wedding. If I could get out of this, I would. This month-long affair has only reinforced how much I don’t belong.
I rise from bed and dress. My fingers are cold and shake as I button up the bright yellow hunting jacket. The swallowtail hangs down to the back of my knees. The tan leather breeches fit snug but allow me to move. Finally, I slip my feet into the kneehigh, black riding boots.
After tomorrow, these parties and hunts will be done with, and I will be able to begin my search for a new future.
By the time I get out to the stables, everyone has already mounted up—all twelve of them. Kathrine, Abraham, his brother Watson, the Lord Byron of Progsdale, his wife along with the mayor of Durford, and several others I don’t know.
I take the reins from the stablehand and mount my mare, then guide her to where everyone is waiting. We all walk to the edge of the forest and line up.
Two of the men are laughing and making a wager on which of them will be the one to kill the wolf.
Ahead, the stablehand sets down a metal wire cage, quiet whimpers come from within.
“Are you sure you don’t want a pistol?” Watson asks from beside me.
I smile wanly and shake my head. “No… No. I’m still getting used to staying in the saddle with both my hands. I don’t think I can manage to stay seated while holding anything,” I say playing up my lack of riding experience.
“That’s all right,” Abraham says, reaching over to pat me on the shoulder. “Gives me more of a chance to catch the thing for my lovely bride.”
He says thing as if it’s not an animal just because it’s a wolf. It's nothing more than an old fear of shifters, dating back to when they were blamed for the horrible acts of demons. They are still seen as less than animals.
Oblivious to my distaste for this event, Abraham and Kathrine share a sweet look. He already seems smitten with her, and despite how many times she’s insisted otherwise, I think she is falling for him.
The stablehand releases the latch of the cage and brings a whistle to his lips then blows. A shrill noise sounds and a wolf pup with ruddy brown fur limps out of the cage. The poor thing cowers into a pile of damp leaves as soon as it spots us.
The man swings his foot and kicks the pup into motion. It runs into the edge of the forest with an uneven gait.
We wait atop horses that shift in place as the stablehand’s eyes are glued to a pocket watch.
Time ticks on. A few members of the hunting party have teamed up, while others brag that they will be the one to catch it. Wagers are placed and written down.
The stablehand raises his arm.
My stomach churns.
The hand drops, and every horse leaps into action, running into the woods and splitting up. My horse follows without my needing to nudge her. I barely manage to keep from being jostled off.
I don’t want to see the senseless murder. It’s one thing to hunt an animal for food, quite another for entertainment.
After a long minute, my mare slows to a walk. I turn her head, guiding her to the north of the hunting party. I ride alone for a few hours, keeping within hearing range of the others, but out of sight.
The gray of morning has finally lifted, and the sun shines through the mottled branches.
I breathe in deeply, letting my eyes slide closed, pretending for a moment that I am somewhere else.
A small yelp catches my attention. My eyes snap open and I barely manage to keep myself from falling out of the saddle. Pulling the mare to a halt, I glance around, looking for the source of the cry.
Then I see it. The small wolf pup is curled up and shaking violently in a tangle of mud and branches of a dying bush.
I lift my leg over the horse and slowly lower myself to the ground, keeping an eye on the little wolf. Lifting the reins over the mare's head, I wrap them around a low branch. The horse nickers, displeased.
I inch my way over to the wolf, barely more than a scrappy ball of fur. “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you,” I croon.
The creature freezes and takes a halting step back. When the contraption on its leg catches, fear grows wild in its eyes. It flails and struggles to get free, yelping.
“Quiet, little one.” I kneel in the loam and reach for him. The pup snaps its tiny mouthful of teeth. I reach over his small head and grab the scruff.
It stills. The poor thing can’t be more than a few months old. It’s roughly the size of a medium-sized dog, but still a baby in all ways—including strength and coordination.
I make soft shushing noises as my free hand roams over its back, sides, and each leg, looking for injuries. I get to the booted hind leg, tangled in some dying vines.
“You never had a chance,” I say in the same soothing tone.
It trembles, cowering but unable to get out of my grasp. I reach up and, still holding onto it by the scruff, continue to stroke my free hand down its back, all the while speaking gently. When the pup’s shaking lessens, I reach to scratch behind an ear.
“You’re a sweet little thing, aren’t you?” I say.
Large brownish amber eyes blink up at me.
A growl comes from several yards ahead. I jerk my gaze up to see a much larger version of the little cub watching me.
“That must be your mama,” I whisper, which earns me a small whimper of a response.
Though the wolf doesn’t come any closer, there’s a spark of intelligence in its eyes. A flash I know better than to dismiss. These wolves are larger than most in the area.
I adjust my left leg, stretching it out in front of me, then pull the night forged dagger from my boot. The adult wolf lets out a low snarl.
“It’s okay, I won’t hurt him,” I say.
The snarling stops, but the large wolf takes several loping steps, cutting the distance in half. The cub’s shaking starts anew.
I keep my movements slow, reaching for the vines. I slide the edge of the blade across them, and with a single swipe, the tangle falls away. Before the pup can manage to wriggle from my grasp, I press its back to my chest and hold him there, continuing to talk and shush his whimpers.
After a minute, I bring the dagger to its foot. The other wolf growls again. Before it can react, I slip the blade between the foot and the boot and jerk my hand up, slicing the leather binds.
The boot drops to the ground and I release the pup. It takes a few tentative steps, glancing back in my direction. I give it one more scratch on the head then pat his butt, scooting it on its way.
It runs to the other wolf, and together they disappear into the forest.
I sit back on my heels and sigh. I hope against hope that in some way this makes up for my part in this ritual, and not doing anything the first two days.
I stand and do my best to brush off the dirt from my light breeches. But the soil is damp and I only succeed in smearing it into the material.
Giving up on my hopeless outfit, I look for signs of the wolf's tracks—small paw prints here and there, a scuffling of leaves where his foot dragged, small broken twigs.
I crouch and dig a hole to bury the leather boot. I grab a nearby fallen branch then proceed to sweep it across the path, blurring the tracks left behind to camouflage the hole I made.
I toss the branch and dust off my hands as I make my way back to the horse.
“Thanks for being such a good girl,” I say, stroking her velvety muzzle.
Untying the reins, I put them back into place and mount up. At least that part is getting easier.
I guide the mare around in circles, getting rid of any possible remaining tracks before heading toward the voices of the hunting party.
Kathrine spots me and trots over. Her mo
uth parts as she takes in my appearance. “Oh, Clara, what happened? You’re covered in dirt.”
My heart stutters. “I… I was unseated,” I offer, but it comes out more like a question.
Kathrine giggles, pulling her horse next to mine. “You really do need to learn how to ride,” she teases.
I smile.
“I lost the trail!” Lord Byron of Progsdale says.
Kathrine frowns.
The gaze of everyone from our hunting party drops to the ground. I see a paw print and nudge my horse to the side until a hoof tramps over it.
What a shame. Now they’ll never pick up the trail.
“I thought I saw it run that way,” I say, pointing east, away from the wolves.
“Why didn’t you say so, girl? Let’s go—time is running short,” the mayor of Durford says. He kicks his horse into a trot, causing his round posterior to bounce in the saddle as he rides away.
One by one, each member of the party takes off, hurrying to catch a wolf they will never find. Though Kathrine stays at my side.
I don’t look back in the true direction the wolves ran. There is no reason to.
Hours later and the party gathers in a circle. My mare shifts impatiently beneath me.
“We should get back. The sun will lower soon, and dinner will be ready,” Abraham says. He smiles, but the light in his eyes dims when he glances at Kathrine, head bowed and pouting.
Lord Byron huffs. “It is a shame we didn’t catch the little demon spawn. Would have had better luck on the wedding night producing a boy.”
What a prick. As if the wedding night is any of his business.
“You only have to look at Kathrine and Abraham to know they don’t need luck in their marriage,” I say. “Fate could not have designed a more perfect couple.”
Kathrine beams at that, holding her head a little higher and Abraham lets out a relieved breath of air. They don’t need superstition the day before their wedding, or comments from dirty old men.