Page 19 of Touch of Oblivion (Woven in Time #1)

Wren

T he warmth beside me is gone.

I feel it before I open my eyes, a quiet ache within me longing for his steadiness. The blanket covering me is heavier than the one I fell asleep under, thick and soft, carrying the faint scent of cedar, fur, and him lingering in the threads.

Pale light spills through the high window, soft and silver, catching on the curve of the wooden beams overhead. The world is quiet. Just the hum of distant birds and the faint, rhythmic gusts of the wind outside.

I push up to sit and find my gaze snagging on the low table beside the bed.

There’s a small meal in two wooden bowls, one filled with sliced fruit, the other with a fluffy yellow mixture.

My stomach hums with quiet gratitude as I bite into a slice of tart green fruit.

The juice runs down my fingers and I lick at it to keep it from getting onto the bed.

I eat slowly, chewing as I glance around the quiet space in the daylight.

I notice a set of clothes at the end of the bed, laid out in offering.

They’re simple and earth toned. A fitted pair of pants, slightly worn at the seams, and a linen shirt with frayed edges and sleeves. It strikes me how different this is from the carefully tailored clothes I wore in the wraith court. These clothes weren’t made to impress anyone.

When the bowls are empty, I set them down on the table and slide out of the bed before heading to gather the new outfit.

The clothes aren’t a perfect fit, but they’ll keep me covered and that’s all that matters here.

Outside, the mountain air is substantially warmer than it was the night before, the rays of morning sunlight warming the air and the earth.

My head tilts up instinctively as it washes over me, and for a few seconds, I simply bask in it.

It hits me as I lower my chin and take in the vast lands before me, that this is the first time I’ve been able to openly explore on my own. There’s no king to watch my every move. No attendant to cater to me. Just me and whatever decisions I want to make.

While my desire to learn more about this war and where I’m from is constantly in the back of my mind, I can’t deny this moment of independence is sorely needed.

A giddy excitement fills my chest and my feet hastily carry me forward.

I follow the winding path back to the main area where I ate last night and take note of all the details I missed then.

Smoke curls gently from a few chimneys I pass by and I hear laughter from somewhere nearby.

I trail along a narrow footpath to head toward the sound, fingers brushing tall grasses, until I reach a small clearing.

Children are gathered under the watchful eye of an older woman.

Her long braid is streaked with gray, her arms crossed tightly, but her expression is patient.

One boy stands in the middle, barefoot and frowning hard at the ground.

His shoulders twitch before bones begin to shift beneath his skin, and then suddenly, paws appear in place of his hands and feet. Just paws.

He groans in frustration, wobbling as he stares down at them.

“I wanted the full shift!” he grumbles, voice still too high-pitched to sound truly angry.

“You’ll get it when your spirit’s ready,” the woman says. “Half-shifts mean you are beginning to learn from each other, and that’s a good sign for what’s to come.”

Another child giggles nearby, currently mid-shift herself, with soft, long white ears twitching from her head though nothing else has changed. The lesson continues as I move on, their laughter fading behind me and leaving me with a soft smile.

Further down the path is a stall with sliced roots and smoked meats spread across rough-woven fabric. I watch two people trade with barely a word, just one pressing three strips of dried meat into the other’s palm while taking herbs in return.

The air is warmer here in the clearing, sunlight catching on the river that cuts through the valley just beyond the treeline. A few younger kids wade knee-deep in it, shrieking as they splash each other.

There’s no performance in any of it. I’m simply being allowed to exist in their world, being granted a glimpse of it.

For the first time since I woke up in this world, I don’t feel like I’m focused on simply understanding and surviving it, but on actually living in it.

I turn toward the footpath again, not ready to return to Torryn’s home, but unsure of where to go from here. It’s clear there’s a pattern to everyone’s daily lives, and while I’m thankful to get a glimpse of it, I don’t want to disrupt it.

“You’re not simply a craving…you’re a disruption.”

Riven’s words surface in my mind and I can’t help but wonder what he’s doing and if he’s upset with my decision to come with the shifters. While he hadn’t argued with me, the disappointment was clear in the solemn look in his eyes and lack of his usual confidence.

Footsteps distract me from the thought.

I glance over my shoulder and see three men approaching. I peg them to be young adults, each broad-shouldered and relaxed in that loose-limbed way shifters seem to have despite their stature.

Their expressions aren’t threatening, but they are far too curious for my liking as their eyes sweep over my body.

“You’re new,” one of them says. “Didn’t see you come in last night.”

“She smells like the alpha,” another adds, brow arching as he sniffs the air lightly. “He hasn’t claimed her, though.”

I stiffen slightly, keeping my shoulders square even as they close in around me, forming a triangle with me in the center.

“I’m just passing through,” I say carefully. “To find Torryn.”

That name makes them pause, but only for a breath.

“He’s sworn off taking a mate,” the third one says, his voice light but too smooth, almost like he doesn’t believe me. “Not the claiming type. Everyone here knows that.”

“Which means,” the first adds, “you’re not mated.”

They all look at me like that’s the best news they’ve heard all day, and my body shivers instinctively.

“Do you even have a form yet?” the second one asks, eyes narrowing slightly. “I can’t smell any specific spirit on you.”

I shake my head once. “No.”

They don’t need to know that I may not even be a shifter.

“Hm.” The one behind me steps closer, the brush of his feet against the dirt giving him away. “Then maybe you need some guidance. Bonding’s easier when you’ve got someone showing you how.”

I glance over my shoulder at him and narrow my eyes.

There’s still no outward threat but it hangs there, heavy beneath the surface.

I plant my feet more firmly in the earth and straighten my spine, unwilling to step back. “I’m not looking for a guide,” I say, voice low but steady.

They laugh, all three of them, as if what I said was amusing.

One of them leans in close, sniffing the air near my shoulder. “She probably only smells like him due to introductions. I doubt he really clai–”

A throat clears and the three men freeze.

I don’t have to turn to know it’s him. The ground hums through my bare feet, reassuring me of my safety .

“If you’re still standing here in three seconds,” he says, voice so low it makes the hair on my arms stand, “you’re going to meet my newest animal spirit.”

I watch him step into the clearing with a slowness that makes the silence feel heavy with his approach. His shirt is gone, the sun catching on the muscle of his chest and the curve of his scars. His jaw is tightly clenched, eyes glowing faintly, and his fists curl at his side.

He tilts his head slightly as his gaze travels between the three men.

“I promise,” he adds, “you won’t survive it.”

One heartbeat passes.

Two.

They bolt.

Branches snap as they vanish into the trees, stumbling over themselves in their rush to escape the power thrumming just beneath Torryn’s skin.

He watches them leave without moving, and only when they’re gone does he exhale and turn his gaze to me.

The anger is instantly gone from his eyes, replaced with worry that lines his pinched brow and regret that shines in his eyes.

His voice is rough when he finally speaks. “Did they touch you?”

“No,” I say, my own breath still catching up with me. “They just…circled. ”

His jaw clenches. “That won’t happen again.”

I don’t doubt it. Not with the way the earth seems to pulse in rhythm with his steps as he crosses to my side. Not with the way he looks at me now, making my throat dry as I try to find the words to respond.

All I can manage is a nod as a tingle trails through my core.

It reminds me of the claim I felt when Azyric all but told his council not to breathe my air, and once again, no part of me dislikes it.

He just gestures toward the path. “Come on. There’s more I want to show you.”

I glance at him from beneath my lashes as we walk in silence, and I see the tension bleed from his jaw as the seconds pass. His fingers flex at his sides like he’s trying to shake off what nearly happened, and I can’t help but brush my hand against his.

“Torryn?” I ask quietly.

He hums in acknowledgment, eyes still scanning the trees ahead like he doesn’t trust his lands with me anymore.

“They said you’d sworn never to take a mate,” I say, wanting to understand more about their world as well as distract him, if only slightly. “That you’re not the claiming type. What does that mean?”

A breath moves through him, making his bare chest rise and fall slowly.

I keep my gaze forward after that, giving him space to choose silence if he wants it. After a few paces, his voice stirs the air again.

“I made that vow a long time ago,” he says, each word deliberate, measured like he’s walking a path he hasn’t revisited in years. “I thought it necessary then as I became the alpha.”

He pauses, then adds more quietly, “I told myself it would keep things simple, not entertaining any of the women who offered themselves as a potential mate. It was easy then, telling myself to focus on the pack and not my own needs, because none of them stirred that desire within me.”

I glance toward him again, catching the furrow of his brow and the way his gaze stays fixed ahead. I trust he’ll tell me if anything I’m asking is too forward, but I do wonder why speaking of this seems to put him on edge.

“But claiming and being mates…” I press gently, “what does it actually mean?”

He finally looks at me, golden eyes catching the light, the warmth in them shining with…desire now.

“It’s not claiming in the sense of ownership,” he rumbles.

“It’s a bond between two souls. A recognition in both parties that they’re not complete without melding with the other.

It’s said by those that have experienced it that it isn’t truly something that can be chosen if it’s real.

It’s destined from the moment both souls are born. ”

His words instill a sense of wonder at the thought. Like their bonds to animal spirits, it sounds beautiful. A connection that anyone would be lucky to experience.

“And the vow you made?” I hedge, unable to hold his gaze as I finish. “Is it still…true?”

We reach a bend in the trail where the trees part just enough to reveal the mountains in the distance, their peaks softened by a curtain of morning mist. I feel the weight of his gaze as he turns to look at me once more.

Our footsteps falter as I return his gaze and let the silence stretch, warm and steady between us. The breeze stirs the hem of my shirt and lifts the edges of his dark hair, but neither of us moves.

“You make me question it,” he admits, somehow not coming off possessive, just…honest. “Everything I thought I was certain of shifts when I’m near you.”

He hesitates, then adds, “I know we barely know each other. I’m not trying to…force anything. You’re still trying to remember who you are and what kind of life you had before all this. You might’ve had someone you don’t remember. Someone you need to find your way back to.”

I look down, his words brushing gently against the fragile truth I keep tucked deep–because I have thought about it.

In the quiet moments, in the hollow silences between who I was and who I might become.

I’ve wondered if there’s someone out there with pieces of me in their heart and mind.

A life I once belonged to. A love I might’ve promised.

He continues, gentler this time, like he senses the weight of the thought, like he wants to offer space for it. “I just…I don’t want to lie to you, or to myself. Not when it’s the first thing that’s ever felt…different.”

My heart aches in the hush that follows. Not just for the uncertainty of who I was, but for the strange, trembling truth of who I’m becoming…and how easily that truth seems to be stitching itself around him.

When his fingers brush mine again as we begin to walk, I don’t pull away.