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I set my bag and basket down in order to tie on my cloak. The red almost seems to shimmer in the lantern light. Not for the first time, I wonder if my grandmother spelled it.

Though she never came right out and said it, Vera often hints she’s a spellcaster. To outright call herself a witch is dangerous in our town. But the same townsfolk who would condemn her or cast her out of the boundaries are the same ones who call upon her when they have an ailment or a problem they need help solving. Hypocrisy is acceptable as long as it is discreet, it seems.

With my cape in place, I gather my things and move toward the door, which brings me closer to Heston. I stop in front of him, waiting. He’s on the edge of doing something regrettable. I can see it in his eyes. Not just the disapproval, but the desire to grab me and wrestle me into the role he wants me to play. I shouldn’t goad him, but I can’t help myself.

I stand in front of him, my chin tilted up as I stare into his eyes.

“Fine,” he spits out, stepping to the side. “If you want to risk your life in the forest after dark, I won’t stop you. But know you won’t be welcome in this house until you agree to marry Victor.”

“Then I will never be welcome here again,” I reply, my eyes moving from him to my mother.

She looks both angry and hopeful, as though she’s upset at my defiance but still holds on to the insane belief I’ll come around to her way of thinking.

I wait for a moment, giving her a chance to contradict him. I don’t know why. Probably because, like her, I have the unfounded hope she will one day be the mother I want and need her to be.

Unfortunately, we’re both doomed to disappointment because I will never live up to her expectations, even if I was daft enough to try. And she… well, she will never stop trying to make me into the daughter she wishes I was rather than the daughter she has.

When it’s clear neither of us will be getting what we want, I sigh and open the door.

Night has already fallen. I still have to walk several miles to my grandmother’s cottage with only the moon to light my way. It’s best I get moving.

At least I know I’ll be welcome there, even if I’m not expected. Regardless, I’d be leaving even if I had nowhere to go.

I truly would rather live in a cave in the forest than become someone’s wife…

… especially a man like Victor Woodward.

Chapter Two

Conall

* * *

The light of the full moon sings in my veins, sweeter than honey and warmer than the summer sun. The scent of the forest surrounds me—night flowers in bloom blended with rich earth. I can even smell the new spring growth, fresh and green.

In my wolf’s body, the entire night is alive with sounds and scents. Though I share many of his enhanced senses in my human body, there’s still nothing like experiencing a full moon night as a wolf.

I throw my head back, howling before I sprint forward. I dart around the trees on four paws, no longer holding my wolf back. The sensation is exhilarating and it never grows old, no matter how many years I’ve walked this earth.

I run until my heart is pounding in my chest and my tongue is hanging out of my mouth as I pant. When I finally tire to the point I have to stop, I make my way to the brook running through the forest. The cool water is refreshing as I lap it up, wetting my muzzle until it’s soaked.

My thirst satisfied, I wander over to an open spot of earth to flop down. The cool soil feels good against my belly. With a groan, I sprawl out on my side, closing my eyes. My stomach rumbles but I’m not ready to do anything about it yet.

As I rest, I contemplate hunting a rabbit for dinner. A good hunt is just what I need to help me sleep tonight. The run has burned through some of my energy but I’m still restless. The full moon always brings my wolf closer to the surface, giving him more control. Or lack of control. Chasing down something to eat will have the benefit of filling my belly as it tires my wolf.

My wolf is a part of me, but he also feels separate. We are often of one mind, but there are times we disagree.

Like now. Eagerness to hunt fills him, but it feels so good to lie on the soft ground that I argue I want to rest a little longer. He grumbles, but doesn’t push me to get up, instead letting me doze in the bright moonlight of an early spring night. There is plenty of time to find our dinner.

Then, a scent drifts to me on the breeze. It’s warm and sweet, but with a hint of spice. Like a honey cake dusted with cinnamon and candied ginger. My mouth waters as I draw it in. Without conscious thought, I lift my head, tilting my nose higher into the air so I can take in more of the delicious smell.

But the hunger it stirs within me isn’t for food.

Mate.

My wolf doesn’t often speak to me when I’m in my animal form, but he is growling now.

Mate in the forest.