Page 10

I don’t like that in a man. I prefer to be in control. My entire field is about control and precision in what I do. In bed, I like being pleasured in certain ways, and it’s easier to guide men when I’m the one in charge. I know what I like, and I know how to get it.

This guy is unpredictable. Although, I have seen him naked, and the sheer size of his…manhood…would make for an interesting—

An “eep” slips past my lips when Griffin’s hands tighten around my waist.

“What are you thinking about while cutting my hair?” His voice is a scratchy growl, and he lowers his head, sniffing.

What is he—

Suddenly, a memory pops up of Leanna complaining about Cedric’s sharp nose. Pair that with the thoughts floating in my head, and I’m flushing in embarrassment. I instantly try to move back, but he holds me in place.

When he looks up at me, those intense amber eyes have me stammering, “L–let go of me.”

He releases me, and I lean away from him, only to fall over backward.

His hand reaches out, wrapping around my wrist, and he yanks me back toward him before I crack my head open a second time.

The force of his pull has me falling into his arms. In an attempt to protect me, he shields me as his own back hits the ground, his arms wrapped around me.

Dazed, I don’t move as I lie on top of him, my head spinning.

“Are you hurt?”

His question makes me shake my head in humiliation. “I’m so sorry!” I scramble off him. “Are you okay?” Water has spilled everywhere, the bowl having been kicked over as all of this was happening. “You didn’t have to—I was just thinking something. Why’d you have to make it weird?!”

I can’t bear to face him. My face feels hot as I pick up the bowl and try to mop up the water with the towel, my back to Griffin. Once I’m done, I turn and see him feeling his hair.

“It’s still long.” He sounds rueful.

“I–I’m not done with it yet,” I say reluctantly. I pick up the scissors. “Don’t move.”

Forcing myself to think about nothing but the acid rain outside, I finish the job.

When I move back, I feel myself gaping at him.

If I thought he looked ethereal with his long, flowing locks, with this short hair, he looks wickedly handsome.

His cheeks are too sunken, but once they fill out with some proper nutrition, he’s going to be a heartthrob.

I’ve met a few good-looking shifters, but no one like Griffin.

He’s checking his shirt to see if it’s dry, and I wonder if he’s aware of how hot he is. He doesn’t seem to be. Or maybe it’s not important in the grand scheme of things, and I’m just shallow.

“The rain has stopped.” He looks up, his eyes sharp.

I look out the window, and indeed, while the skies are still gray, the sound of the constant raindrops hitting the cabin is gone.

“What does that mean?” I ask cautiously. “Can we leave?”

The steady rain has ceased, and not with some dramatic crack of thunder.

It seems to have simply faded, as if it lost interest. The hiss of acid eating through leaves and bark tapers into silence.

The forest outside looks wounded, steam rising from blackened earth and skeletal trees. It smells like burnt copper and rot.

Griffin moves before I do. He strides over to the door and stands there, quiet and deliberate, pressing his palm against the door like he’s listening through it. He’s watchful and calm. Like waiting is a skill he has mastered. Like he has waited a long, long time.

He looks over his shoulder at me. “Stay close.”

I nod, ready to trust him with my life right now. I just want to be away from this madness. Griffin steps outside and scans the clearing. I follow him.

The forest looks wrong. Burned. Wilted. The trees seem smaller, bowed under the weight of something invisible. The air buzzes, too thick, as if the world is holding its breath. After a few paces, Griffin stops. His body goes still in that way only shifters can manage—silent, coiled.

Then, she steps out of the trees.

The witch.

A woman in her forties, her black hair in soft, gentle curls, her gray eyes cold, holding an animosity aimed toward the two of us.

Her feet are bare and leave a burst of greenery in their wake, as if she’s breathing life back into the damaged land.

Flowers and grass grow right before my eyes, blooming and turning green.

“Griffin,” she says, her voice smooth and cold. “I should’ve known it was you.”

I glance at him. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t speak.

Her eyes trail over him like a blade, slow and sharp. “You have a lot of nerve walking into my woods.”

“I didn’t come here by choice,” he says, his voice calm and steady. “We are only passing through.”

She circles slightly, not touching him but close enough to make me uneasy. Her gaze lingers on his neck, the side of his ribs, his wrist where the skin looks thinner, almost raw.

“I can see it on you,” she murmurs. “The years. The chains.”

He doesn’t answer.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” she adds. “Most assumed you were dead.”

I blink. How does she know so much about him?

The witch’s lips curl into something that might be amusement, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “And now the lost king crawls back from whatever pit held him. What a surprise.”

My stomach twists. “King?” I ask, too loud in the unnatural quiet.

Griffin’s expression doesn’t change, but I see it—the glint in his eyes. He doesn’t deny it.

“You’re a king?”

He glances at me, just once. “I was.”

The witch snorts. “Was? You still are. Whether you want it or not. Your brother has never once stopped looking for you. Erik’s a fool to have waited so long.”

I take a step back without meaning to. My breath fogs in the chilled air, though it’s not that cold. The weight of the moment presses down like wet stone.

He lied. No, he didn’t lie; he hid the truth. All this time in that cabin, all the times I mentioned Erik, all the times he did…No wonder Griffin knew so much about him. No wonder he seemed so familiar with the king of the Human Wolf Kingdom.

I recall Leanna telling me about Erik’s older brother going missing, but I never paid much attention. It was Griffin?

The witch turns to him again, dismissing me entirely. “You brought intruders into my territory.”

“I was seeking to evade them. I did not mean to bring harm to your land.”

She tilts her head, studying him like a puzzle piece she doesn’t remember losing. “You’re heading home.”

“Eventually.”

She steps closer, and something in the air constricts. I feel it in my teeth, my spine. Magic, coiled and waiting.

“Don’t mistake my tolerance for forgiveness,” she says. “You brought your curse into my woods. If I had known sooner, the rain would have fallen harder and burned down that cabin, you and your human pet with it.”

I hiss, but Griffin dips his head slightly. Not in fear. In acknowledgment.

“We were waiting for the rain to subside. We will take our leave now.”

She studies him for a beat longer, then finally turns.

“I am offering you safe passage, but know this, a welcome gift to a king long gone: your heart will wither in your own hands. What’s meant to be will not survive. The Goddess gave you not a gift but a curse, your undoing. The fates do not intend to be kind to you.”

Griffin goes still, and before either of us can respond, she’s back in the trees, vanishing between the trunks like smoke, leaving a trail of green life behind her.

I exhale.

The quiet returns. It’s not peaceful, just empty.

I look at Griffin. He’s staring at the place where she disappeared, his face unreadable.

“So,” I say, my voice hoarse, “you’re the king.”

He closes his eyes briefly. “I was taken ten years ago. Captured. Imprisoned.”

“And now you’re not.”

“No.”

I cross my arms, more to keep steady than out of anger. “You could’ve told me.”

His gaze returns to me. There’s no apology in it, but something quieter. Regret, maybe.

“I was still piecing together my memories. I wanted to be sure of everything before I said anything.”

I huff. “That’s one hell of an answer, but I don’t blame you if you didn’t trust me, or still don’t. After what you’ve been through, I wouldn’t trust a stick.”

We stand there silently, surrounded by the ghost of steam and scorched leaves.

The King. Erik’s brother.

I let out a shaky breath. “Well, I guess we’re going the same way, then. Come on. Let’s get out of these woods before she changes her mind.”

The edge of the forest breaks suddenly, like we’ve crossed some invisible line. The trees thin out, the ground softens beneath our feet, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I can see the sky.

It’s a dull gray, heavy with clouds, but it’s sky nonetheless—and it’s not dripping acid, so I’ll call that a win.

I glance at Griffin as we keep walking. He moves like he’s measuring every step, quiet and certain. Even out here, he doesn’t seem relieved. Just focused.

“Do you know where we are?” I ask, brushing a branch out of the way.

“I do,” he says, not hesitating. “We’re far from the palace, but if we keep moving, we’ll make it in two days.”

Two days. That feels both impossibly long and dangerously short.

I chew on the inside of my cheek. “Do you think she’ll tell Erik she saw you?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His shoulders are broad and still, like he’s weighing something. When he speaks, his voice is low. “She won’t.”

“How can you be sure?”

“That wasn’t just any witch.” He glances sideways at me. “She’s old. Ancient. The sort that remembers the first blood spilled between our kinds.”

I shiver at the memory of her eyes, that ageless emptiness behind them.

“She could have killed me,” Griffin says simply. “If she’d wanted to, I’d be dead. She didn’t.”

“So, she let us go?”

He nods once. “Which means she won’t interfere. But she won’t help, either.”

I stare at the trail ahead, broken by brambles and twisted roots. “That’s comforting.”

Griffin almost smiles. Almost. “Didn’t say it would be easy.”

We walk in silence for a while. His presence is steady beside me, but every so often, I feel him looking. Just out of the corner of his eye, quick and quiet. Not possessive. Not protective. Just watching. Like he’s trying to remember me.

The way he focuses on me makes my heart feel strange.

I don’t get butterflies in my stomach; I’m not that kind of girl.

I make butterflies happen. But when Griffin walks next to me, his hand keeps brushing against mine with those thick, firm fingers, and I’m reminded of how he was able to encircle my entire waist.

Even as weak as he is, he was strong enough to handle all those shifters. I can only imagine what he’ll be like once he’s at full strength.

My fingers graze his once, and I pretend it’s an accident, but my heart skips as if I touched fire. He doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t press closer, either. Just lets the space between us thrum.

I clear my throat. “Back in the woods, the witch said something weird to you.”

He tenses slightly. “A prophecy. She’s fond of them.”

“But you don’t know what she meant?”

“No,” he says, jaw tight. “She likes talking in riddles. But prophecies are unique to her bloodline, and none of them have ever been good.”

I believe him. Nothing about the way she looked at Griffin felt like a blessing. It felt like a warning wrapped in teeth.

“You really don’t remember anything else?” I ask softly. “From before? When you were taken?”

“I remember some of it but not all. I’m”—he hesitates—“I’m doubting some of my own memories. I do know I was betrayed.”

In the cell, he called Quentin a traitor. “Was it by that shifter you killed, the one who tried to attack me?”

I don’t say his name, but Griffin nods. “Quentin was my right-hand man. We grew up together, fought together. He was also my guard. I don’t know where I was when he injected me with something. But I know it was him.”

“And now he’s dead,” I murmur. “Good riddance. A little dramatic, though, crushing his heart and all, but very satisfying. Props for presentation.”

His lips tug at the corner as he glances at me. “You talk a lot.”

I shrug. “Somebody has to. You don’t talk at all.”

“I speak when necessary.”

I pretend to yawn, and he chuckles. “The sound of your voice was comforting in the cell. I don’t think I will ever tire of hearing you speak.”

His words make me blush. “Well, you would be the first man to say that to me. Normally, they can’t wait for me to shut up.”

“Then you have been around the wrong men,” he says simply.

“It didn’t help that I was so accomplished in my field. Most of the guys I dated liked me well enough, but they found me intimidating.”

“You will learn that wolf shifters prefer strong mates.”

I blink. “Yes, well, I’m not dating your kind, am I?”

He gives me a long look, and my body tightens at the glittering heat in his eyes. Am I imagining things, or does he look like he wants to eat me up—and not in the grisly and morbid sense?

A gust of wind cuts through the trees, and I hug my arms tighter around myself. My thin shoes slip slightly on the damp soil. Griffin notices.

“You’re cold.”

“I’m fine.”

He stops walking. “Maya,” he says, turning to face me. “You’re shivering.”

“I said I’m fine.”

But I don’t stop him when he steps closer. I tilt my head back to look up at him, my heart hammering. He’s so close I can smell the earth and smoke on his skin, feel the heat radiating off him like a shield.

“I can carry you,” he says. His eyes search mine, not asking for permission but waiting for refusal.

“Carry me?” I scoff. “My legs work perfectly well.”

He shakes his head slightly. “It’ll get us to our destination faster.”

As soon as he says that, he shifts. It’s seamless. No bones cracking, no screaming, no horror. In one breath, he’s standing in front of me, and in the next, there’s a massive silver wolf where Griffin was.

Now that danger is not breathing down my neck, I have the chance to really look at him. He’s beautiful. His fur is clean and looks healthier. So much better than when we first escaped.

When he gazes at me, I freeze, my breath caught in my throat. His eyes—those same sharp eyes—meet mine, and I feel something flicker between us. A spark. Not fear. Not shock. Something warmer.

Griffin lowers himself so I can climb on. I hesitate, heart pounding, then swing my leg over, sliding up onto his back.

His muscles ripple under me, solid and strong. His body radiates heat, and the moment he rises to his full height, I feel weightless.

Then, we run.

The world blurs past us, shadows streaking at the edge of my vision. Wind whips against my cheeks, and I hold on tight, not out of fear but because for the first time in days, I feel like I’m moving toward something.

And I’m not alone.