Chapter 7: Fear

Ronan

Of course Mara’s sister would walk willingly into a forest filled with Alphas while carrying blades beneath her dress.

Of course the one woman capable of silencing my wolf would look at me as though she wanted to carve out my heart.

I wanted her hatred.

That was the most dangerous part.

I had imagined Maeve afraid of me. Desperate enough to bargain. Furious when she learned I had allowed Mara’s letters to reach her.

I had never imagined how good her anger would smell.

My wolf clawed at me again.

Hunt.

“It has not begun.”

Ours.

“She is not ours.”

The lie barely left my mouth before the mirror shattered.

My reflection disappeared beneath a web of cracks.

I stared at the fist embedded in the glass.

Blood ran between my fingers and dripped onto the dressing table.

Behind the fractured reflection, my eyes burned gold.

Not amber.

Not human.

Gold.

The same eyes Maeve had stared into without lowering her own.

I pulled my hand free. Shards of glass fell across the floor.

“She entered willingly,” I said to the creature pacing inside me. “She knew the law.”

The Hunt would begin at midnight. Once the horn sounded, Maeve would have until sunrise to reach the sanctuary.

If she succeeded, she could demand one favor from every Alpha who pursued her. She would ask for Mara.

I had seen the hope flash in her eyes when I reminded her of that possibility. She believed she could win. She believed I might be required to place the woman who murdered my family directly into her hands.

Never.

Mara Cross would leave my dungeon only when I carried her body out of it.

Maeve did not know that yet. She also did not know that I had no intention of allowing her anywhere near the sanctuary.

My wolf pressed against my ribs.

An image struck me.

Maeve running beneath the moon. Her dark hair loose behind her. Her breath coming quickly. My scent surrounding her as I closed the distance. The moment she realized I was there. The moment she understood she had never been escaping me.

Heat rolled through my body.

My claws scored the edge of the dressing table.

I wanted the chase. I wanted her defiance stripped down to raw instinct. I wanted her to fight me when I caught her. And I wanted—

I overturned the dressing table before the thought could finish.

Bottles and glass containers crashed against the floor. Oil spread over the rugs, carrying the scents of cedar, leather, and smoke into the air.

Wrong. All of it wrong.

I needed rain. Berries. Her.

A knock sounded at the ruined door.

I turned with a snarl. “Leave.”

The door opened.

Cassian stepped inside. He took one look at the room and closed the door behind him.

His dark hair had been tied at the nape of his neck for the evening’s ceremony. A black formal coat covered the scars along his arms, but no amount of expensive fabric could make him look civilized when his expression hardened.

His gaze traveled over the shattered chair, broken wardrobe, overturned furniture, and blood streaked across the wall.

“You were gone for less than five minutes.”

“Get out.”

“Did she attack you?”

My laugh carried no humor. “She reached for a knife.”

Cassian’s face darkened. “I’ll remove the weapons from her room.”

“No.”

The word cracked through the room with enough Alpha force to make the remaining glass tremble.

Cassian went still. “You want her armed?”

“I want no one touching her possessions.”

“She entered the Hunt planning to kill you.”

“I am aware.”

“She is Mara Cross’s sister.”

“She is not Mara.”

The answer came too quickly.

Cassian heard it. His eyes narrowed.

Blood continued dripping from my hand. I flexed my fingers, trying to force the claws back. They remained.

“What happened downstairs?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“You touched her.”

My wolf growled at the memory.

Cassian’s attention dropped to my hand. Understanding settled across his face. “Elowen warned you.”

“I did not intend to touch her.”

“What did it feel like?”

I looked at him. Cassian did not back down. He was one of the few wolves alive who could ask me that question and keep his throat intact.

“Like the last three years of hunger were only the beginning.”

His expression changed. Not fear for himself. Fear for the pack. “If she makes it to the sanctuary—”

“She won’t.”

“You cannot know that.”

“I know every path through the Blackthorne forest.”

“So do the other hunters.”