In the Cottage

After about twenty minutes of walking, we emerged into a clearing where several rustic cottages were scattered among ancient oak trees.

Smoke rose from chimneys, and I could see other pack members moving about—women tending gardens, children playing, elderly wolves sitting on porches. It looked like a small, tight-knit community that had existed in this hidden corner of England for generations.

The largest cottage sat at the center of the settlement, distinguished by its size and the intricate woodcarvings that decorated its exterior. This was clearly where the pack's leadership resided.

They dragged me inside while Samuel unceremoniously dumped Orion's body onto the wooden floor with a heavy thud that made me cringe.

"Careful!" I protested again, but my captors ignored me.

The interior of the cottage was warm and rustic, with exposed beams, a large stone fireplace, and handmade furniture that spoke of generations of craftsmanship.

But my attention was immediately drawn to the man sitting behind a massive oak desk near the far wall.

The Chief was clearly in his sixties, with silver-streaked hair and the kind of weathered face that spoke of a lifetime spent in the outdoors.

His build was still powerful despite his age, and when he looked up from the papers he'd been studying, his green eyes held the sharp intelligence of a leader who'd guided his pack through decades of challenges.

"What's this, Marcus?" he asked the farmer-Alpha who'd captured us.

"Found them by the river, Chief Morrison," Marcus replied with a respectful nod. "Strangers. The woman claims her companion is in some kind of trance, but I suspect they're scouts from a rival pack."

Chief Morrison's gaze moved between Orion's still form and my bound figure. "Rival pack, you say? Which one? The London wolves? Or perhaps those upstarts from Manchester?"

"No," I said quickly, desperation creeping into my voice. "We're not from any rival pack. We're not here to threaten your territory or your people. We fell from a plane into your river. We were trying to escape from a confrontation with someone who was pursuing us, but we're not your enemies."

The Chief's eyebrows rose skeptically. "Fell from a plane? That's quite a tale."

"It's the truth," I insisted. "We jumped to avoid—" I caught myself before mentioning Valentin's name.

These wolves didn't need to be dragged into that ancient conflict. "To avoid someone who meant us harm. We never intended to intrude on your territory."

As if summoned by our conversation, two of the younger pack members—Thomas and another wolf I hadn't met—approached Orion's motionless form with buckets of water.

"Let's see if we can wake sleeping handsome here," Thomas said with a smirk, raising his bucket.

"No!" I shouted, struggling against my bonds with renewed desperation. "Don't disturb him! He's in a trance—if you wake him improperly, you could damage his mind permanently!"

Thomas paused, bucket halfway to its target. "Trance? What kind of trance?"

Chief Morrison held up a hand, his expression thoughtful. "Explain this trance, girl. And speak plainly—no supernatural nonsense."

I took a deep breath, knowing I needed to make them understand. "He's experiencing visions from his past life. When werewolf mates find each other across lifetimes, sometimes the shock of recognition triggers a state where the consciousness becomes absorbed in reliving previous incarnations. It's rare, but it happens when the soul connection is particularly strong."

"Past life mates?" Chief Morrison laughed, a sound devoid of humor. "You expect me to believe that romantic nonsense? Next you'll be telling me you can read tea leaves and speak to the dead."

"I can prove it," I said quietly, meeting his gaze steadily. "I can see past lives through touch. Let me show you."

The room fell silent. Several pack members had gathered to watch the interrogation, and I could feel their curious eyes on me.

Chief Morrison studied me for a long moment. "You're claiming to have the Sight?"

"Not exactly the Sight as most understand it," I clarified. "I can see echoes of past lives when I touch someone. Their previous incarnations, significant moments, the patterns that shape their current existence."

"Prove it," he said simply, extending his weathered hand toward me.

Marcus moved to untie my hands, though he kept a firm grip on my arm as he did so. My wrists were red and sore from the rope, but I ignored the discomfort as I reached out to take the Chief's offered hand.

The moment our skin connected, visions flooded my consciousness.

I saw him as a young man in medieval England, perhaps the thirteenth or fourteenth century. He was a woodsman then, living alone in ancient forests, choosing the solitude of nature over the company of men.

Even in that lifetime, he'd been drawn to the wild places, finding peace among the trees and streams that others feared.

But he wasn't entirely alone. I saw glimpses of a woman—dark-haired and gentle, with eyes like morning mist. His mate from that lifetime. And children—two boys with their father's strong build and their mother's kind eyes.

I watched him make the choice that would define that incarnation—to establish a small settlement deep in the forest, where others like him could live in harmony with the natural world. A community of wolves who chose countryside over city, tradition over progress.

I released his hand and took a step back, meeting his now-wide eyes. "You loved the forest even then," I said softly. "In your past life, you were a woodsman in medieval England. You chose to live apart from human civilization, deep in the ancient woods. You found others like yourself—wolves who preferred the old ways—and you established a community much like this one."

Chief Morrison's face had gone pale. "How could you possibly—"

"You had a mate," I continued. "Dark hair, gray eyes, a healer's touch. And two sons. Strong boys who grew up to be leaders in their own right."

Murmurs of amazement rippled through the gathered pack members. Several of them took unconscious steps closer, their expressions a mixture of awe and suspicion.

"This is all I can tell you from a simple touch," I said, letting exhaustion creep into my voice. "Seeing deeper, into futures or more detailed pasts, requires far more energy than I'm willing to expend. I don't use my abilities lightly—they're meant to help people understand their patterns, to learn from past mistakes and make better choices in their current lives."

The room had fallen completely silent. Even Thomas, who'd been so eager to mock me earlier, was staring with open fascination.

Chief Morrison studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded slowly. "I believe you," he said quietly. "What you described... there are family stories, legends passed down through generations. Details that no outsider could know."

Two other pack members immediately stepped forward, hands extended hopefully. "Can you read mine too?" one asked eagerly. "I've always wondered—"

"No," Chief Morrison said firmly, raising his hand to stop them. "That's enough. This woman and her mate are our guests, not entertainment for your curiosity. They've been through an ordeal, and they deserve our hospitality, not our exploitation."

Relief flooded through me so powerfully that I nearly swayed on my feet.

The Chief turned to Marcus. "Set them up in the guest cottage. Food, clean clothes, whatever they need. And nobody—" his stern gaze swept the assembled crowd "—nobody disturbs the man while he's in his trance. If this woman says it's dangerous to wake him improperly, we respect that."

"Thank you," I whispered, tears of gratitude stinging my eyes. "Thank you so much."

"How long might this trance last?" Chief Morrison asked, his tone now respectful rather than suspicious.

I shook my head helplessly. "I don't know. It could be days, possibly weeks. It depends on how deep the memories go, how much trauma he's processing. I've never seen it happen to someone so powerful before."

The Chief nodded grimly. "Then you'll both remain here as our guests until he recovers. We may be simple country wolves, but we understand the importance of mate bonds."

As Marcus began organizing our accommodation, I felt a profound sense of relief wash over me. We were safe, at least for now. Orion could recover in peace, and I would be here to watch over him.

But even as I followed them toward the guest cottage, a nagging worry remained at the back of my mind.

How long before Valentin tracked us here?

And when he did, would this peaceful pack be ready for the kind of danger that followed in his wake?