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Chapter 44

Author: Jane Besh
last update publish date: 2026-05-23 23:00:55

Romy Pov

Rowan told me about the outer settlement visit on a Thursday, which gave me exactly two days to object, argue, and ultimately lose the argument before I found myself on a Saturday morning sitting in the back of a black estate vehicle with my arms folded and Zaric's wool coat draped over my shoulders.

He'd left it outside my door the night before without a note, which was Zaric's way of communicating that he'd checked the valley temperature forecast and decided I wasn't going to be pra
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    RowanThe gray light of dawn was just beginning to seep through the high stone windows when I opened my eyes. The master bedroom was quiet, filled with the soft, steady rhythm of the morning rain tapping against the glass. Romy was curled up beside me, her head resting against my chest, her dark hair scattered across the pale linen sheets. One of her legs was hooked over mine, her body warm and soft in the cool air of the room. I shifted slightly, wrapping my arm tighter around her waist, pulling her closer so I could breathe in the familiar scent of her skin. Usually, she smelled like wild jasmine and warm honey. But as I buried my nose against the side of her neck, my alpha senses flared to sharp attention. Beneath the soft sweetness of her skin, there was something else. A faint, sharp bite of cold river water. The bitter sting of crushed pine needles. And under that, so subtle I almost missed it, the metallic tang of wet iron. I froze, my body going rigid against the m

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    Romy povThe smell of rot and wet pine hit my nose long before I saw the old stone storehouse tucked deep in the western valley. Rain drifted down through the high canopy in a fine, freezing needle-spray, slicking the dark bark of the trees and turning the forest floor into a swamp of black mud. I crouched high in the fork of an ancient oak, my dark leather tunic soaking up the damp cold while I counted the guards below. Two mercenaries walked the perimeter, their heavy iron-soled boots sinking into the wet leaves with loud, careless squelches. Inside the storehouse, yellow lantern light leaked through the cracked wooden shutters, casting long, wavering bars across the dark ground. My target was inside. A high-value broker named Corvin who used to manage supply lines for the old high council. He was selling off troop movements and council crests to whoever had enough coin to buy them. If he lived until morning, half the western border posts would be compromised. I waited until

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    RomyThe heavy stone walls of Stormveil were always coldest right before midnight. Rowan’s deep breathing echoed through the silent master bedroom, his broad arm draped heavily over my waist, pinning me against the warm wool sheets. Through our mate bond, I could feel the calm, rhythmic pulse of his wolf locked in a deep sleep. Gently, inch by inch, I slid out from under his arm. I paused on the edge of the mattress, holding my breath until he shifted onto his side, pulling a pillow against his chest without waking up. I reached under the dark mahogany wardrobe, my fingers pressing against a loose floorboard until the iron catch clicked open. Inside sat my old Viper gear—the fitted charcoal leather tunic, the dark cloth mask, and the twin ceramic daggers wrapped in soft velvet. I hadn't worn them since the high council fell. But the intelligence reports coming from the western border were clear. Small Syndicate scout units were creeping closer to our outer trade lines. Rowan was

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    RomyI stood close to Rowan, feeling the massive heat of his body radiating against the damp air of the high war room. I pulled my left arm from the splint, finally free after weeks of healing, felt light at my side. I flexed my fingers, testing the smooth strength in my wrist, before reaching out to rest my palm flat over the center of his chest. "It wasn't because I didn't trust you, Rowan," I whispered, looking up into his dark amber eyes. The silence between us was heavy, broken only by the steady, quiet crackle of the hearth fire as a pine log split open in the grate. The tension in his broad shoulders was still there, hard as granite, but the angry storm in his gaze had settled into something quiet and deep. "I grew up in the shadows," I continued, my voice steady as a cold mountain draft rustled through the stone window frames. "When you've been hunted your whole life, your first reaction to danger isn't to call for help. It’s to step in front of the blade. The moment I

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    Romy, 23. Present Day. “That dress,” Camellia noted, her polished finger pointing directly at my neck as I turned slightly in the full-length mirror. “It doesn't cover the tattoo.” I kept my eyes on the raven tattoo climbing the side of my neck. It was for Alina, the only person who had ever call

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