Chapter 7 ***

Kael’s POV

The whiskey bottle in my hand had turned warm hours ago. I didn’t mind, I still held it more for the feeling of it in my palm than any intention of drinking it.

Isolde was laying down behind me breathing softly into the dark room. She slept the unbothered sleep of a woman who believed proximity was equal to possession. I let her believe it. I needed her to believe it.

I stood close to the cold window frame with my head perched on it. My mind was clouded with the thought of the silver-haired girl probably sleeping in the room at the west-wing now.

Seraphine.

Even thinking of her name felt like someone pressing something hot on an injury I had sworn to overlook.

It’s been exactly 32 days since the night I first saw her.

I had been standing on the high walls of my forte, watching the dark ends of the border the way I always did whenever the wind brought in the wrong scent. This time it felt right. It smelt of spices, cinnamon, blood and something familiar yet totally foreign. It made my mouth water in hunger. It was the most beautiful scent I’d ever perceived.

Before I could recover from the dizzying haze of its aromatic smell, my wolf rose up so fast I nearly lost my footing on the walls.

Mate!

The words had torn out of me before I could stop it. I saw myself move in a jiffy, changing into my large wolf in the cold night air.

As I approached, I saw her on the forest floor broken and battered. Her white wolf bleeding from the open gash on her shoulders and back. Her eyes had been glassy and full of exhaustion. When I reached her side, I felt the mighty pull of the bond overcome me. All I thought was: Claim her! Protect her! Never let her go!

Instead, I carried her to the healers and ordered them to keep her life.

I left her.

I left her there alone pretending that the howling inside my chest belonged to someone else.

When she finally woke up, I gave her the only contract I could survive: Protection. Training. An army when the time comes to burn down Silvercrest to the ground. She accepted it without asking as much as a fight.

I’d thought I would feel relief at her acceptance but I didn’t. Instead, I felt rage. That sort of anger that started off slowly and continued to grow until it overflowed.

I’d spent every waking moment since her arrival resisting, fighting and battling the power of the bond.

I’d made sure I was never in her vicinity, playing it cool whenever she was around. I made sure all my orders went through Rowan; not wanting to leave room for any temptation.

I’d made up my mind to keep my distance. It was best for both our souls.

Somehow, Isolde helped, albeit minimally.

Her presence didn’t necessarily help my case, because there was nothing she could do to make my being conformed to her. She was just here as a guise, a necessary act to fool Seraphine. I needed to make her believe I didn’t feel anything for her.

My wolf hates me for it.

He constantly claws at the edges of my control in a furious manner. He demands I claim her. He doesn’t understand my refusal. He couldn’t relate to the way a mate's death leaves the other permanently divided from themselves. I remember. And I know that I won’t survive the second division.

Therefore, I’ve kept my distance from her.

Deep down I know it’s failing.

Last night at the study I felt the bond pulse when I ordered her not to leave the inner fortress without any company. The order was relevant, as Cassian’s bounty had grown teeth. He had tripled the price for her head, three days ago.

But the way she reacted to the coldness in my voice nearly undid me. Her eyes held mine for one unguarded second. She felt it too. Then she said the one thing I’d been trying to unhear, “one day you will have to stop pretending the bond isn’t there. It doesn’t care how much it costs either of us.”

I’d pretended I didn’t care, telling her that I would keep paying the price and dismissed her coldly afterward. The words left my tongue bitter. After she left, my wolf howled loud enough that I was half certain the entire pack members could hear it.

Every instinct within me demands that I go back to her, groveling if needed; begging her to accept me. Instead, I came here, to this room and to this woman whose scent does nothing to quiet the mighty storm brewing inside me.

She shifted on the bed, murmuring something soft and content, but I didn’t turn to look back because I would only see that she was occupying the space that belonged to someone else.

This acknowledgment sat in my chest like a second heart, heavier and more honest than the one that still beats.

Deep down I knew the truth, I wanted her.

I wanted her so much. The admission was personal, brutal and true. I want to hear the sound of my name escape her lips. I want the silver mark on her collarbone under my tongue. I want to stop pretending that the contract between us is only practical. When every hour of every day I spent denying her felt like I was setting my soul ablaze.

But wanting is the first step toward losing. I learned that lesson with Silvercrest steel still warm in my hands. I will not learn it twice.

I pressed my fist harder against the glass until the cold bit deep enough to feel like clarity.

Distance was the only way out. I kept repeating it until it didn’t feel like a lie anymore.