Chapter 5

Shawn's sudden appearance catches me off guard. I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off, his voice like a winter wind.

"One night in the lake, and you're throwing a tantrum?" His expression is cold, detached. "You've been punished. Let's move on."

He's so sure I'm head-over-heels for him, just acting out. I part my lips, but no words come.

Noticing my silence, his voice eases a fraction. "You and Quinn both went under; that's why I'm here. I've pulled a few days off and I'm driving you out to the pack's hot-spring villa to recuperate."

I don't want to go, but before I can refuse, he's already barking orders to the servants. "Pack their things. We leave now."

The villa sits halfway up a misty mountain, the views breathtaking. Shawn personally shows us to our rooms.

Quinn's room faces south, flooded with light and roomy, dressed to her taste—crabapple branches in a jade vase, silk sheets, even the orchid incense she loves. Mine? It's tidy, yes, but assembled in haste, a film of dust still edging the window frames.

A maid brings two bowls of medicinal broth. "Shawn says you both have lingering chills. Drink this, then soak in the springs for the best effect."

Quinn takes one sip and wrinkles her nose. "So bitter…"

Shawn chuckles, taking her bowl. "I've got a trick for that."

"What trick?" she asks, curious.

He takes a swig, then leans in, passing the broth to her lips with his own.

"Still bitter?" His voice is low, teasing.

Quinn's cheeks burn; she ducks into his chest, suddenly shy. Shawn chuckles and gives her earlobe a teasing tug. "You'll be my mate in a few days, and you still blush? What are you going to do on our binding night?"

I sit motionless, as calm as still water, and empty the bowl in a single swallow. The bitter draught scorches my throat, bringing back the memory of my last life—ill, isolated, swallowing medicine just like this with no one to care.

After I took that blade for Diana, my body never recovered. I'd choke down bitter herbs, struggling, but whenever Shawn visited, he never showed a flicker of concern.

I thought he was just cold by nature. Turns out, he just didn't care.

Mist hangs above the hot springs, and a jagged ridge cleaves the pool into twin halves. Quinn and I settle into the she-wolf side while Shawn lingers in the adjoining wolf pool; his outline drifts faintly through the vapor.

"This water's amazing, Shawn!" Quinn's voice is bright, playful.

"Like it? I'll bring you back often," he replies, warm as a summer breeze.

Their back-and-forth is so intimate, it's like I'm not even here. I lean against the pool's edge, eyes closed, pretending I'm invisible.

Then Quinn shrieks. "Help! A snake bit me!"

Before I can react, pain sears my calf. I look down—Quinn's flailing sent a green snake my way, and now two bloody puncture marks mar my leg.

Chaos erupts.

Shawn storms in, grabs the snake by its neck, and flings it away. "Get the healer!" he bellows.

He scoops Quinn up, leaning down to suck the venom from her wound.

"Shawn, no!" a servant cries. "You're too valuable to risk that! Let us do it!"

"Back off!" he snaps. "Quinn's my mate. No one touches her."

He works frantically, spitting out venom, then glances at me, my face already paling. "You lot," he says, pointing at two guards, "suck the venom from Leah."