Chapter 3: Move

Maeve

The old woman held my stare for a long moment. Then she looked past me. The blood drained from the faces of two women waiting in line.

I did not need to turn to know something had changed. The room had changed with it. The low conversations softened. Glass clinked against a tray somewhere behind me. One of the guards near the wall straightened.

Every instinct I possessed told me to move.

My wolf rose inside my chest, pressing close to the surface. Not to run. To fight.

The registrar lowered her voice. “Alpha Caine arrived an hour ago.”

My grip tightened around the edge of the desk.

So he was here.

After three years of following rumors, stolen letters, and half-truths, the bastard was under the same roof.

The devil himself.

The man who had taken Mara, tortured her, and kept her alive just enough to use her suffering as a warning.

I could almost feel the final letter tucked against my ribs. The paper was thin from how many times I had unfolded it.

The words were written in Mara’s hand, though the lines had shaken badly across the page.

Maeve, please stop looking for me.

He knows.

He reads every letter before it leaves.

The dungeon is beneath the western side of the house. There is a staircase hidden behind the old council chamber.

Do not come here.

Please.

The final word had been smeared, as though a drop of water had struck the ink.

Or a tear.

I had received the letter six months ago.

The envelope carried no return mark, but the messenger who delivered it had smelled faintly of pine smoke and iron.

Caine territory.

I had followed him for two days before he vanished across a protected border. I had nearly crossed after him.

Nearly.

Only the knowledge that Ronan would sense an intruder entering his lands had stopped me. His pack house was guarded by wolves who did not ask questions before they killed.

The Hunt offered something a border crossing did not. Protection. Once Ronan captured me, he could claim me, restrain me, lock me inside his home, and invoke every ancient law that gave him power over my future.

But he could not kill me without consequence. Not until the Hunt’s courtship laws expired. That gave me time. Time to find Mara. Time to learn the layout of his estate.  Time to discover where he slept.

My fingers brushed the narrow blade strapped beneath my skirt.

“Move.” The order came from behind me. Low. Rough. Male.

Every fine hair along my arms rose. The voice was not loud, but it carried through the entrance hall like distant thunder.

The women waiting in line scattered.

I did not. I kept both hands resting against the desk and forced myself to breathe.

My wolf went completely still. A scent reached me. Smoke after rainfall. Cold stone. Blood beneath fresh snow.

Power rolled over my skin, heavy enough to make the weakest wolves in the room lower their eyes.

A shadow stretched across the open book.

The registrar bowed her head. “Alpha Caine.”

Three years.

I had spent three years imagining this moment.

In some versions, I attacked immediately. In others, I smiled, pretended not to know him, and waited until we were alone. Sometimes, he looked like the monster Mara described—twisted, feral, hardly human. Sometimes, he looked ordinary.

I had never imagined being too furious to turn around.

His presence pressed against my back. Close. Too close. He could have stood anywhere in the massive entrance hall. Instead, he had stopped directly behind me.

I looked at the registration book. His hand appeared beside mine. Large. Scarred.

A heavy silver ring circled one finger. His knuckles were marked with old cuts, and black ink traced unfamiliar symbols across the inside of his wrist.

One of those hands had hurt Mara.

My nails dug into the desk.

“Is there a reason you’re blocking the registration line?” he asked.