Page 8 of Balance

So when he spoke, issuing his order, even his guards were momentarily shocked.

“Throw her in the dungeons,” he said, pointing to the woman. Her name escaped the recesses of his thoughts, but names weren’t important anyway.

Not in matters of the heart.

Before tomorrow, the maiden’s heart, and her innocence, would be his to claim.

“Tell her father that his daughter will pay for the lands in reparation for his transgressions.”

There were no words that could adequately describe these confusing feelings. I’d opened this book expecting brilliance, and instead had stumbled upon, what appeared to be a really badly written Victorian romance novel.

I should have been horrified. Itwashorrifying.

I couldn’t look away.

Why in the world would Miles read this garbage? And more importantly, why did he have it stored away so preciously, as if it were a prized item?

I would have to keep reading to investigate this mystery further. There was an answer lying somewhere, just out of reach.

One day, I would understand him.

Chapter Three

Miles

Muse

It was amazing how easy it was to become one with nature once you’d left the shackles of civilization behind. With every passing day, it became easier to breathe; the earth spoke to me and the waxing moon invigorated my spirit.

A wayward branch brushed against my face, and the scent of the damp dirt filled my senses. I stalked forward, following the barely-there trail that might lead to my salvation.

I paid no mind to where I’d been—my trail was marked. All that mattered was finding the beast so I could return home. I’d graduate and finally be useful.

Another brush across my face, the last of unfallen foliage overgrown onto my path, and I brushed the back of my arm across my cheek—remembering, at the last minute and too late, about the patterns on my face. The paint smeared, and I glanced down at my arm, cursing under my breath. Another shirt ruined. It was a good thing animals didn’t care about that sort of thing.

The sound was slight, but enough to alert my prey. The black, furry mass froze, and a low growl rumbled through the area.

There was no use hiding anymore. The creature was aware of my presence. I straightened, holding out my walking stick in front of me in preparation.

I was so close—but only if I was right. Otherwise, I’d have chased after another dead end.

It straightened, the bear’s upper body rising through the underbrush, and my heart sank even as my posture tensed.

I wasn’t looking for abear, but I hadn’t been able to get a clear enough view before to tell.

“It’s fine,” I muttered to the beast. The last thing I wanted right now was another fight. But it should be okay. Animals tended to be drawn to witches. We were, after all, the ones who first gave shifters their abilities. In fact, in some legends there were rumors that shifters were simply witches who’d learned to change forms.

And while that wasn’t the truth, it wasn’t entirely wrong either.

“Sorry to bother you.” And I was. My target today was of an entirely different origin.

The bear towered over me as we stood less than ten feet apart and watched each other. I must have been a sight—my camo might remind him of hunters who frequented the area, but the paint, brightly colored necklace, and walking stick, would be different from the norm.

“You wouldn’t have seen any sort of creature?” I began, talking mostly to keep myself calm. Hopefully, the animal would like the sound of my voice. “It’d be covered in fur, fairly large, walks on two legs all hunched over?”

The bear opened his large mouth, and even though I expected another roar, it only yawned.

The wind rushed through the trees, and my heartbeat echoed through my ears as, for a long second more, the two of us held gazes.