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Would it be better to live a dull, lonely life of my own choosing?

Or would I enjoy a life full of travel and adventure, even if every important choice was already made for me?

If I refused, would they drag me out of here anyway?

And if they let me stay, did I really want to spend the rest of my life in a house full of nothing but hunger and ghosts?

“I need some air.” I nearly knocked over my mug of tea as I rose abruptly from my seat.

“Ary!” Gemma stood to follow, but I was halfway out the door. Quick when I wanted to be. “Ary, wait—”

The cabin’s door slammed behind me, cutting off her words and granting me immediate reprieve from the suffocating truths within walls that now felt like a prison cell.

Her story wheeled through my mind until I’d memorized each and every detail.

Details of the world I lived in but was hearing about for the first time.

At least a thousand people desperate for my arrival and eager for guidance I was incapable of providing.

A betrothal to a well-renowned, handsome soldier I had never met and would likely disappoint with my lack of confidence and abilities.

Two four-hundred-year-old-men, one of them my real father, the other an evil sorcerer who, according to a prophecy from my dead, clairvoyant aunt, only I could kill.

But I weighed one hundred and ten pounds and certainly had no magic.

It all felt like a cosmic joke, and I couldn’t shake the image of the gods, or god, or whoever was out there, reclining in their golden chair with a tasty snack and refreshing drink, watching me scramble, laughing at me.

Behind me, the door of the cabin squeaked open.

“Gemma, I need to be—”

I froze. It wasn’t Gemma. The sight of Smyth’s towering form in the dim morning light glued my tongue to the roof of my mouth. I sucked in a breath as he covered the distance between us, my tattered blue knit hat and gloves in his large hand and a thick wool blanket draped over his forearm.

“What are you doing?” I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand.

He carefully slid my hat over my head, my gloves onto my small hands, and laid the blanket over my shoulders.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He stepped back and folded his powerful arms across his broad chest. He gave a subtle nod of approval at my covered body and gave me space.

“You just ran outside into the dead of winter without a coat or covering. You’re asking for frostbite, hypothermia, or both. ”

“I wanted to be alone.”

“That’s not happening,” he answered tersely. “But you won’t know I’m here.”

I wasn’t sure that was possible. His rigid stare burrowed into my back like a fox hellbent on making me its den .

“What happens if I say no?” I gulped, glancing back, then up at him. Gods , he was big. “What happens if I stay here?”

“If you’re lucky, eventually, you’ll die of starvation,” he answered brusquely.

Quickly—almost imperceptibly—his tense gaze scoured over my thin, quivering body from head to toe.

“But something tells me you already know that, so I’ll humor you.

” He watched me wrap my trembling arms around myself, a flash of annoyance—no, anger— darkening his brown eyes.

“If, by some miracle, you manage not to perish in these deplorable conditions Elowen has left you in, it won’t be long until Molochai finds out where you are and hunts you down.

When that happens, the wolf in your barn will seem like a friendly stray mutt compared to the monsters—both men and beast—that will abuse your flesh before they feast on it.

After a long, horrible while, they will kill you—gradually, tortuously—and let their hungry dogs gnaw on your bones. ”

The contents of my stomach roiled, even though they were few.

“So I don’t have a choice?” I breathed, tears welling, threatening to flood my cheeks.

“You do have a choice, Ary.” His mouth thinned into a stern line. “It’s just a very shitty one.”

A surprised, tearful laugh bubbled up and out of my throat. He was harsh but honest, and I found myself grateful for that.

“Why me?” My breath billowed in front of my face, and my voice cracked. “Gods, why is it me?”

I would have thought it impossible for Smyth’s rugged, scarred features to soften.

But when he saw my tears, they did. All of him softened.

The tension in his muscles released and a comforting wave of solidarity washed over me like scalding-hot water.

It burned me, only for a second, then cooled and left sizzling, rejuvenated skin in its wake.

“I suppose we’ll have to figure that out together. ”

I puffed out a ball of mist, faking irritation, but his comforting words were a soothing balm over my aching heart and confuddled mind.

Smyth kept me company until I’d had enough of the cold and turned back to the house.

He reached over my shoulder, gripped the door, and pulled it open for me.

I trembled at the heat of his body so near.

At the alarming and irresponsible—albeit undeniable—urge to ask him to wrap me up and shield me from all this.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, hoping he knew I wasn’t just grateful for him getting the door.

The others stood when I entered. I let the warmth of the indoors soothe my trembling breaths and took note of a steady Smyth standing behind me.

“Okay,” I forced out.

“Okay?” Gemma repeated hesitantly.

I straightened my shoulders and tried to feign confidence. If I faked it long enough, maybe it would stick.

“I don’t know how I’m going to do it. I can’t say it’s what I want because I don’t really know what I want.

” Frustration welled in my chest at the sympathy in their eyes.

I felt no malice for Gemma and these men, but sympathy seemed easy to give as a consolation prize for something I had little choice but to accept.

I think I preferred Smyth’s brooding in the corner to the pity of friends.

“Even so, what I want doesn’t matter when the life of every person in this world is at stake, does it? ”

And it was either go with them or, according to Smyth, die a slow and terrible death, but I didn’t have the gumption to admit that part aloud.

Silence.

My pulse raced, guilt threading through me for my sour words. But was I wrong? What would appease them, if not my acceptance? I tried to concede without holding back the truth of my feelings. It was a delicate balance I’d need to learn in order to lead .

“We won’t disappoint you,” Caz finally assured me with a wink and a smile.

I blushed, unacclimated to the doting attention of men. The overwhelming amount of testosterone in the air made me want to retreat into myself.

Ezra cleared his throat. “Can I have a moment with Ary?” He glanced at the others. “Alone?”

Smyth gauged my reaction, and when I didn’t object, gave a terse nod to Caz, Finn, and Gemma and ordered, “Outside.”

Smyth had been mostly silent since tending to my wound. He’d let Gemma and the others take the reins for a while, but it was clear he was in charge. They grabbed their coats and braved the cold. Smyth followed, not without shooting a warning glare at Ezra before closing the door behind him.

The silence between us was awkward, like prickly little spikes suspended in the air, waiting to strike if the wrong move was made, the wrong word spoken.

That wolf must have left behind some of its fighting spirit when it bit me, because I found myself speaking first, even though Ezra was the one who asked to talk.

“Do you…” I cleared my throat, sticky with nerves.

Ezra sat down on the tattered crimson sofa in front of the fire and gestured for me to sit across from him. I obliged.

“Do you have any other family in the Caves?”

My cousin fiddled with a stray thread. “My dad passed away when I was young, but my mom is still alive.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “About your father.”

“We’ve all lost someone.” Ezra shrugged, and I sensed he didn’t want to discuss his own losses. “We take care of each other.”

Having a community like that did sound comforting, even if going there meant thrusting myself into a role I would never be ready to fill .

After a long pause, Ezra released the sofa’s thread from between his fingers and sighed. “I can’t imagine what all this feels like.” He looked around from where he sat, hands resting on his lap.

I took my time assessing his boyish features. He, too, was handsome. His dimples crinkled when he smiled, and his dirty-blond hair was thick and disheveled. To me, Ezra’s most familiar trait was that blue-eyed curiosity I had seen in Ollie. They weren’t brothers, but they could have been.

“And I know Gemma said it, but I hope it helps to hear it from me… you’re not alone in all this.”

I forced a smile and nodded. “You look like them.” I faced the fireplace and watched as the heat of the flames danced languidly. “Phillip and Ollie.” I waited for Ezra’s reply but was greeted again by silence. “I never did,” I explained further, turning to face him. “I never looked like them.”

“Do you look like your mom?”

“No.” My mother’s chestnut waves always flawlessly framed the stunningly sharp angles of her rectangular face, and her hazel eyes could criticize you from miles away. And her skin was warm and tan. Quite a contrast to my soft face and pale flesh. “She’s beautiful.”

They all had been beautiful. Of the few memories I had, my favorites were Ollie’s bright eyes, his little hand in mine, and his giggles trailing behind me through the yard.

I could remember the joy I felt with him on those days.

There had been a few, filled with playing in the fields not too far from the house on the rare occasion it was warm enough to forgo our hats and gloves.

He had been a brilliant little boy with a mind fueled by excitement and imagination.