Chapter 9 Recognition

Marcus POV

The first day did nothing to improve my mood. The direction lodged inside me wasn't precise enough to provide a name or destination, but it tugged steadily east and slightly south, adjusting whenever the road forced me away from it. I bought a map in the first decent-sized town I passed through and spent half an hour comparing routes before deciding the pull was taking me toward an area known for old estates, older families and enough inherited magic that sensible supernatural creatures tended to mind their own business while passing through.

By the second day, I was reasonably certain I was heading toward Barnett land. The name meant little to me, which bothered me more than if it had meant something. My wolf remained restless throughout the journey, settling whenever I moved in the correct direction and becoming increasingly agitated when I stopped. The first night, he allowed me perhaps four hours of sleep before pacing me awake. By the third day, I was considering turning around purely out of principle, and he responded by pushing so close to the surface that the horse beneath me shied.

"You are becoming intolerable."

He remained unmoved.

The landscape changed as I travelled. Villages became smaller, roads narrower and hedgerows thicker. Barnett Estate began appearing in conversation before it appeared on my map in any useful detail. A blacksmith knew the road, and an elderly woman selling apples informed me that I had missed the western turning before subjecting me to several minutes of speculation about why anyone would be visiting "that old place" after what had happened.

I asked what had happened.

"Miriam Barnett died."

The name meant nothing.

"When?"

"Few days now. Poor thing. Strange woman, mind, but she never did anyone around here harm. Niece came back, I heard. Victoria. Pretty girl. Terrible business with her family years ago."

I heard the rest without listening. The timing was too precise. A few days ago, a woman had cast a desperate spell calling for a protector. The spell had failed violently at its source. Now I was being told a woman living exactly where the call was leading me had died at exactly the right time.

Miriam Barnett. So that was my witch. Except dead witches generally didn't require protectors. Their families might though. I thanked the woman, bought two apples I didn't want because she had been useful and continued along the road. The pull became stronger with every mile, and by the time the gates of Barnett Estate came into view, my wolf was barely tolerable.

I slowed the horse and studied the property beyond the boundary. The estate was old without being neglected, its age carried in mature trees, weathered stone and land that had belonged to the same family long enough to absorb their history. Magic sat across the boundaries in layers. Even without a witch's sensitivity, I could feel enough to recognise serious wards. Most were quiet. Some felt damaged. A few made the hair rise along my arms. I dismounted before approaching the gate.

A man appeared from the gatehouse almost immediately, broad through the shoulders, greying at the temples and carrying himself like someone who had spent enough years guarding other people's property to know exactly how much trouble a stranger might represent. "State your business."

"My name is Marcus. I was called."

That changed him. Not dramatically, but his attention sharpened. When he asked by whom, I looked past him toward the long drive. "I was hoping you could tell me. Possibly Miriam Barnett?"

Something in his face closed. "Lady Miriam died."

"So I've heard."

"Then why would you say she called you?"

"Because she did."

He stared at me for several seconds before asking the obvious question. "What are you?"

There were circumstances in which I found that offensive. These weren't among them. "Werewolf."

His jaw tightened, but eventually he stepped aside and introduced himself as Vernon Hale, gate captain. When I told him it was good to meet him, he replied that he hadn't yet decided whether the feeling was mutual. Despite myself, I almost smiled.

Vernon sent someone ahead rather than leaving the gate unattended, and I walked the horse up the drive beside him. The closer we came to the Hall, the more agitated my wolf became. He pressed against my control with a single-minded urgency that tightened every muscle in my body.

Barnett Hall rose ahead through the trees. But I barely saw it, for someone had stepped onto the front terrace.

A woman. At first, that was all I registered. She wasn't the witch I had expected because Miriam Barnett was dead, which left the niece the apple seller had mentioned. Victoria. She stood beside an older man, one hand resting against the stone balustrade as she watched us approach. Dark auburn hair was pulled into a braid, and she wore a high-necked dark dress that didn'thing to disguise the strength of her shoulders or the generous curve of her hips. She wasn't fragile, but there wasn'thing outwardly extraordinary enough to explain what happened inside me as the distance between us narrowed.

My wolf froze as every sound around me seemed to recede. The woman looked directly at me. Hazel eyes. Gold around the centre. My hand tightened on the reins, and the horse jerked sideways.

The world changed. There was no magic reaching toward me this time. No spell asking a question and waiting for my answer. Nothing invited me closer, and nothing offered me the opportunity to refuse.

Recognition tore through me with the force of a physical blow. My wolf exploded forward. I dropped the reins and locked every muscle in my body as the shift tried to take me. Bones ached, claws pressed against the ends of my fingers and my vision sharpened until I could see the widening of her pupils from halfway across the courtyard.

Mate. My soul recognised hers. And suddenly every inexplicable moment of the last several days rearranged itself into something so obvious I nearly laughed. The witch's spell hadn't done this. I knew what magic felt like. I had felt Miriam's calling touch me, question me and accept my answer. This was nothing like it.

Miriam Barnett had not created a bond. She had found it. Or perhaps she had simply thrown a line into the world asking for someone willing to protect the woman standing in front of me, and the magic had reached exactly where it needed to go.

To me. Victoria Barnett stared down at me with open suspicion and no apparent understanding of what had just happened. Nothing in her expression suggested she had the slightest idea why a werewolf she had never met was standing in her courtyard fighting hard enough not to change shape in front of her.

Her eyebrows drew together. "Are you all right?"

I stared at her. My wolf, entirely unhelpfully, was ecstatic. And I realised my mate had absolutely no fucking idea who I was.