Page 17

“She’s had those nightmares since she was a child,” her mother continues, stepping closer, her voice thick with emotion.

“No one could ever wake her. We just had to wait for them to pass.” She smiles sadly.

“She wouldn’t even let me hold her. Always fought it.

But you…” Her gaze drops to where Maya is tucked trustingly against me, clinging even in sleep. “You’re different.”

The words settle heavy in the night air, sinking into my chest like stones.

Different.

I’m not sure what to say to that. I’m not sure I can say anything with the lump forming in my throat.

Maya stirs slightly, a soft sigh escaping her lips, but she doesn’t wake up. She burrows closer instead, seeking more of my warmth.

Her mother’s eyes soften. “Would you like some tea?”

I want to say no. But this woman is important to Maya, to my fated mate. So, I lower my head respectfully. “Thank you.”

“You should bring her inside. She will sleep deeply now.”

Her mother steps aside, and I move carefully, cradling Maya’s slight weight in my arms as I rise to my feet. She sighs quietly, her head resting against my chest as if she has always belonged there.

Maya’s room is small but warm, the scent of lavender hanging in the air. I pull back the covers with one hand and gently lower Maya onto the bed. She curls up in the blanket instinctively.

I hesitate for a moment, brushing my knuckles along her jaw in a feather-light caress. Then, I step back, leaving her to rest.

When I go back outside, Maya’s mother is already at the small outdoor table, pouring steaming tea into two chipped mugs. She glances up at me and gestures to the chair across from her. I sit, the mug warm between my palms.

For a moment, we remain silent, watching the light grow stronger as the sun climbs toward the horizon. Birds begin to stir in the trees, their songs tentative and sleepy.

Finally, Helen speaks, her voice quiet but steady. “Her nightmares started when she was six.”

I look up sharply, but she’s staring into her tea, her expression distant.

“My husband—Maya’s father—he got involved with the wrong people.” Her mouth twists with something between bitterness and grief. “Debts he couldn’t pay. Promises he couldn’t keep.”

I don’t respond. I know there’s more she needs to say.

“She was taken as collateral.” Her hands tremble slightly as she lifts the mug to her lips. “Dragged from our home one night while I was working a double shift.”

My hands clench the mug so tightly, the ceramic creaks.

“There was another child with her,” she continues. “A little boy. They were held together.” Her voice hitches, but she forces herself to go on. “Somehow, they managed to escape. My Maya, she found her way home alone.”

She finally looks at me then, guilt heavy in her eyes.

“Maya barely remembered anything about the event. The mind protects itself, you know? But the fear never left. It just...changed shape. Turned into nightmares she couldn’t explain.”

I swallow hard, my throat thick. The image of little Maya, scared and helpless, wounds me deeper than I would have expected.

“She never let anyone touch her when the nightmares came,” her mother whispers. “She even fought me. Always said she didn’t want to be a burden.”

I think of the way Maya clung to me. How she sought comfort without even realizing it.

“She has spent her whole life taking care of me,” Helen says, voice breaking. “She grew up too fast. Learned to carry everyone else’s pain because no one ever carried hers.”

A tear slips down her cheek, but she doesn’t wipe it away.

“I tried. God knows I tried. But I was broken, too. I was so busy surviving that I forgot how to live. And Maya, she deserved better.”

The shame in her voice is unbearable.

“She’s not a burden,” I say, my voice rougher than I intend. “Not to you. Not to anyone.”

Her mother lets out a weak laugh. “Try telling her that.”

“I will.” I lean forward, setting the mug down with a soft clink. “I intend to.”

She studies me for a long moment, as if weighing the truth of my words. Whatever she sees must satisfy her, because she nods slowly, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“She’s stubborn,” she warns gently.

“So am I.”

Another period of silence stretches between us, but it feels lighter now, less raw.

“She has always been strong,” Maya’s mother says, almost to herself. “But she needs someone who sees her strength. Someone who doesn’t expect her to carry the world alone.”

“I know.” My chest aches with the sheer depth of it, the fierce protectiveness unfurling inside me like wildfire. “I see her.”

“I—” Helen hesitates. “I’m not always lucid. I don’t always remember her, and it hurts her, but she doesn’t say anything. If something ever happens to me, I don’t know what my little firebird will do. I’m all she has.”

“She will never be alone,” I vow to her. “She will always have me.”

Her mother smiles at me, albeit a little sadly. “I hope so. She has a tendency to push people away when she is in pain. Don’t let her push you away.”

“I won’t.”

The tea tastes sweet, far sweeter than I care for, but I don’t mind. Not today.

The sun is higher now, casting strong, clean light across the palace grounds as I make my way back.

The guards at the gates straighten as I approach, and the familiar ache of confinement resurfaces in my chest. Still, I nod at them and push through. I can’t avoid the palace forever. Not when there are duties pressing in from every side.

I barely make it to the main courtyard when the air shimmers—warping, bending—and a portal opens up before me.

Instinctively, I shift my stance, ready to defend if needed. But I catch the familiar scent just as the figures step through.

Cedric, King of the Northern Wolf Kingdom, emerges first, his massive frame rigid, his face carved in a deep scowl that seems permanently etched into his features.

His dark hair is cropped short, and his armor is battered and worn, a testament to the countless battles he has fought.

His entire presence screams war and discipline.

At his side stands the woman who must be his mate. Leanna, despite the heavy roundness of late pregnancy, carries herself with a fierce grace. Her dark hair is pulled back, and her hand rests protectively over her stomach. A young boy stands beside her, his bright eyes wide with curiosity.

A girl follows behind them, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old, her posture relaxed compared to the others. There’s something ethereal about her, something that raises the hairs on the back of my neck.

A witch.

Cedric’s gaze locks on mine the moment he steps fully through the portal.

“Griffin,” he grunts in greeting, clapping a hand on my shoulder so hard it jolts me back a step. “Good to see you still breathing.”

“Cedric,” I manage with a short nod, my mouth twitching in amusement despite the lingering tension in my muscles.

Leanna steps forward next, her smile warm but impatient. She doesn’t waste time with pleasantries.

“I’m Leanna,” she says, glancing sideways at her mate who hasn’t bothered to introduce her. “Sorry about Cedric. He seems to think everybody should know who I am. It’s nice to finally meet you, Griffin.”

She looks innocent and delicate, but given that she is Cedric’s fated mate, there must be something about her that makes the warrior standing beside her seem so besotted. Even now, he’s watching me carefully, as if he fully expects me to attack his woman.

“Erik missed you. More than he will ever tell you,” Leanna murmurs, her voice gentle but firm. “I’m so glad you’re finally home.”

She looks up, and I see Erik watching from one of the windows. He lifts a hand in greeting, and she cheerfully waves back. But I see something in my brother’s eyes, something that she probably doesn’t notice.

I give Leanna another look, and my heart sinks. It seems she has an admirer in my brother.

Poor Erik.

“It is good to meet the queen of the Northern Wolf Kingdom.”

She beams at me. “Now, where’s Maya?”

I gesture toward the gardens. “She is resting in the cottage—”

She’s already moving, her pace surprisingly fast despite her obvious condition.

“Leanna, slow down!” Cedric calls after her, his voice exasperated but fond as he jogs to catch up.

The child takes off after them, his small legs pumping furiously. “Mom! Healer Pat said you’re not supposed to run!”

I blink after them, a little stunned by the whirlwind they’ve just unleashed on the palace.

When I turn back, the young witch is still standing where she stepped through the portal, watching me with sharp, knowing eyes.

She’s different from the others. Still. Patient. Her gaze pierces straight through me.

“You’ve been touched by an Ancient One,” she says softly, as if remarking on the weather.

A chill runs down my spine. I take a step closer, lowering my voice. “You’re a witch,” I say, not a question.

She nods once. “My name is Isla.”

I study her carefully, recognizing the threads of magic that shimmer faintly around her. “Do you know anything about the old bloodlines?” I ask. “Prophecies?”

Her lips twitch into a small smile. “I know enough to stay away from them.”

I have not given much thought to what that old witch said to me, but seeing Isla now, I can’t help but be reminded of it. “The witch I met gave me a prophecy. Would another witch be able to interpret it?”

Isla hesitates. “It can be attempted, but only an Ancient One of that bloodline has the ability to tell you what it means.”

I recount the prophecy, and she listens intently, her head cocked slightly to the side, weighing every syllable. When I finish, Isla closes her eyes briefly, the morning breeze tugging at her loose hair.

“Meanings hidden beneath meanings,” she finally murmurs.

I frown. “Can you interpret it?”

She hesitates. “I can try. But something that powerful takes time. I’ll need a few days. Maybe more.”

Something cold and sharp slices through my gut, but I nod.

“And I should warn you…” Isla’s gaze sharpens, her voice low and steady. “You should be prepared for the worst.”

My shoulders tense instinctively. “Why?”

“Because,” she says, her voice almost a whisper, “prophecies by the old bloodline do not deliver good news.”

The palace seems to alter around me, the walls pressing closer, the air growing heavier.

“And if I were to tell you who it centers around,” Isla continues, meeting my gaze without flinching, “it would be your fated mate.”

Maya.

Her name sears my mind like a brand. The idea of anything happening to her consumes me with a violence I don’t bother hiding.

Isla must see it, because she softens slightly, her next words almost kind. “There are ways to fight fate,” she says. “But they always come at a price.”

I clench my fists at my sides, the weight of the moment settling hard and brutal in my chest. “I don’t care what it costs,” I say quietly. “I’ll pay.”

Her expression is unreadable for a beat. Then, she nods. “I’ll start working on it,” she promises. “But you should stay close to her. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

I don’t need to be told twice. Even if I didn’t know the prophecy, even if none of this magic or fate or ancient warning existed, I wouldn’t leave her side.

Not now. Not ever.

Without another word, Isla steps away, following the others into the gardens.

I stand there a moment longer, feeling the sun heavy on my back, the weight of unseen storms gathering around me.

Maya.

Everything inside me is being pulled toward her, tethered by something deeper than blood or magic.

If fate thinks it can take her from me, it has no idea who it’s dealing with.