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She did not stop for the children who she had hoped to call her own. Her eyes burned even though she had stopped lying to herself. Another battle she failed to win, another mark against her.

She hurried from the gathering hall with her head down. She could hear the buzz through the pack link—she had given them enough gossip to keep them entertained through the winter months. The snowflakes dusted her long brown hair as she hurried away from prying eyes. She did not wait for her sister, though she felt her presence behind her, hesitant and reaching out too late.

“Fae…”

She did not look at Sion, either, though he tried to catch her eye, his mouth half-open and a hand outstretched, as if he might still stop this, if only she would let him.

She walked on.

But she was aware of another gaze.

She did not need to turn to know it.

Thick hair the colour of ripened wheat, braided neatly down her back, a red ribbon threaded through it like a deliberate wound. Cool blue eyes— measuring and finding her lacking—fixed on her with a patience that made Fae's wolf bristle and snarl in the back of her mind. Her mouth filled with teeth, which she had to work to force back. Wolves were simple creatures, driven by instinct and hers sensed the threat. She feared that if she waited, her wolf would do the unthinkable and tear out the seductress’s throat.

Impertinent little thing. A slimy one wearing a cloak of weakness. The one that her stepchildren loved.

Blaidd had brought her home from the mountains.

A fact-finding mission, he had called it—yet another one he had volunteered for to get away from her. He had returned with an injured she-wolf slung across his back like a babe, her blood soaking his cloak, her breath shallow and fragile.

And then she stayed.

She bitterly thought of the way she has slithered into Fae's home and made it her own.

She ate the food Fae placed on the table and offered nothing but barbed remarks in return—comments about how cold Fae’s gaze was, how unwelcome she felt, how difficult it was to feel comfortable among strangers. She cried when she wore Fae's borrowed clothes, eyes lowered, voice trembling, as if insulted by the cast-offs of another woman. Fae could do nothing right.

And Blaidd had looked at Fae with cold eyes and said nothing.

Because in those blue eyes, he saw Isolde, his dead beloved.

Isolde, his wife, the other half of his soul, murdered when an enemy spy had slipped past their defences during a raid and slaughtered the women in one of the underground dens. Isolde and their unborn child had died there, along with the others. Their children, only seven at the time, had been hidden in another shelter, spared the sight of their mother's death.

Spared, but not untouched by the tragedy.

Fae’s bare feet carried her down the familiar paved path to the place which she had hoped to make her home. She was from a strong beta blood-line, her wolf blood running hot despite her weary heart. Eight years it had taken her to admit bitter defeat in the face of indifference. She was twenty-six now and wiser. The roots of the dying bond in her chest throbbed a sombre song as she worried about her uncertain future in a foreign land. Did he feel the pain of her breaking heart wherever he was hiding in the mountains? Did he feel how silent her side of the bond was as she steeled herself for that final cut.

Her pace slowed, her anger cooling into first despair, then resignation. She let herself feel the roughness of the path beneath her bare feet, the faint promise of snow carried on the wind. The earth called to her wolf, inviting her to run. The scent of wet stone and crushed pine needles curled into her lungs. The familiar scent of home.

She could see the house in the distance. To her left was the blacksmith's forge. Sulien, the wise and keeper of secrets, stood within. He was like a force of nature himself—a tall, powerful figure whose looming presence seemed to blend the wild strength of his wolf blood with the seasoned skill of a master smith. His arms were broad and sculpted, muscles rolling beneath skin bronzed and sweaty from the heat of the anvil. Thick forearms, corded with sinew and defined by years of swinging a hammer and shaping iron, reflected a legacy of countless hours forging steel into tools, blades, and symbols of resilience. Tattoos slithered up his arms and onto his neck—the story of his ancestors and his legacy. His right wrist was a blank slate, as he had yet to find his mate, waiting for the ceremonial mating ink.

Shadows danced on stone walls lit by the relentless glow of coals burning in the hearth. Sparks leapt like fire spirits when his hammer met red-hot metal, filling the air with a warm haze and the smell of iron and sweat. Beside his ancient anvil, racks of tools—tongs, hammers, chisels—hung like weapons, gleaming where the firelight glanced their edges. Glowing metal sat nestled in beds of coal, shifting from bright orange to white as Sulien worked, shaping the heat with calm focus. The forge was alive with sound and light: the rhythmic clang of hammer on steel, the hiss of steam as metal cooled, and in the background, the low creak of wooden beams that had borne witness to his craftsmanship for years.

In this space, Sulien did more than shape metal; he channelled the ancient strength of the wolf-blooded into every piece he created, infusing each forged work with resilience, spirit, and a quiet, indomitable power. He wore his leather vest like a shield. As she passed, he looked up and his cool grey eyes met hers. Blaidd’s brother had always looked upon her with respect and sometimes unbearable sympathy. For a long moment, an unspoken message passed between them.

Has it been decided, sister? his calm gaze seemed to ask.

She gave him a short, shaky nod before turning away and continuing on.

***

She had lied.

A lie of omission, but a lie all the same.

There was a whispered story of an amulet crafted by a pack in the eastern land—old magic woven into twine. An artefact said to weaken the mate bond, slowly eroding it if worn long enough. Not a severing—nothing so clean—but a slow unravelling. But there was a price to pay. She just didn't know if it would be too high.

Freedom from this loveless chain around her neck.