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My family.

And my family had been pointing me at their enemies my entire fucking life. I'd killed for every one of them. I'd kill for her too.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

ROSALIND

The bathwater was warm, but the hand on my shoulder was warmer.

Gunnar sat on the edge of the tub, his dark hair still damp from when he'd dunked his head into the water before pulling me against him. His broad knees bracketed my side as he worked a thick lather of scented soap between his palms. The coppery scent of blood and the damp stench of the forest had vanished down the drain, replaced by steam and the rich aroma of lavender and crushed vanilla.

My husband's large hands moved over my skin with excruciating care. He smoothed the suds over my collarbone, down the curve of my ribs, and across the sensitive, aching swell of my hips, washing away every trace of dirt and pine needles. There was no rush in his movements, no rough demand. Those heavy hands—hands that had broken men, hands that could tear through flesh—handled me as if I were made of spun glass.

I tilted my head back against the porcelain rim, my clouded eyes staring up toward the hazy glow of the ceiling light. An ache bloomed in the center of my chest, distinct from the physical throb lingering between my thighs.

Is this what love feels like?

I didn't know. Sorsha had raised me on a strict diet of paranoia, strategy, and leverage. I had been conditioned from infancy to believe that every touch was a transaction and every intimacy was a vulnerability waiting to be exploited. I hadn't known I was capable of feeling something so soft, this terrifyingly tender.

Cool water whispered over my scalp, trickling through my hair and down the back of my neck. The soft splash of it returned to the bath. Gunnar's broad palm supported my head while his fingers combed carefully through the wet strands. A rivulet escaped toward my face. My husband's thumb caught it at my hairline before it could reach my eyes, the rough pad sweeping slowly across my forehead.

Such a tiny thing. Those enormous hands could weaken the most powerful of men. I felt their strength. Knew exactly what they were capable of. Yet he wouldn't even let a drop of water bother me.

A thick towel enveloped me, warm and impossibly soft, swallowing me from shoulders to toes. The floor disappeared beneath my feet as Gunnar lifted me from the tub. Water dripped from my legs with soft little taps against the tile until my feet met the plush rug.

He dried me slowly, patting rather than rubbing, the towel absorbing each cool trail of water from my skin. I heard the whisper of silk before he gathered the nightgown over my head, felt the smooth fabric glide down my body and settle against freshly washed skin.

Then his arm slipped beneath my knees again. I barely had time to breathe in copper and peppermint before I was against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath my cheek as he carried me to bed.

He pulled back the crisp cotton sheets—freshly changed, cool and clean—and tucked me in, smoothing the heavy duvet over my shoulders. The mattress dipped heavily a moment later as Gunnar climbed in beside me, sliding his long, warm frame under the covers.

He didn't press his luck. He didn't try to pull me beneath him. He simply lay on his side, his broad hand settling gently over my hip, anchoring me to his chest. For a long time, neither of us spoke. His thumb moved lazily over my hip beneath the covers, tracing the same small arc over and over again.

"I agreed to marry into your family to get away from my mother."

Gunnar's thumb paused. I waited for a question, but he only waited for me to continue.

"To her, I was an asset. A bargaining chip she could dress up in pretty clothes and eventually trade for something she wanted. Her little pink doll. Keep her clean. Keep her pretty. Keep her useful. Then give her away to the right man when the right deal came along."

"You're not a doll. And you're sure as fuck not anybody's pawn."

I'd spent years perfecting the illusion of the helpless little blind princess. Gunnar had seen through it in days. Maybe even hours. Strangely, that didn't frighten me. I lay there listening to his heartbeat and wondered what would happen if I told him everything.

The whispers. The lies. The carefully placed pieces of information. All the little fires I'd started and then watched spread from pack to pack.

There was no reason to tell him now. That plan was over. I wasn't going to destroy the Blackwoods. I would dismantle everyone else. Every corrupt pack that had poisoned this city, including my mother's.

The Blackwoods would be safe. Gunnar would be safe.

"My mother asked me to spy on you."

I waited for his body to stiffen. It didn't. Instead, his arm tightened around me, drawing me closer until my cheek was pressed firmly against his chest. He lowered his face into my damp hair and breathed me in.

"That doesn't surprise me. Your mother's a smart woman."

My entire body went rigid.

"Do you know why my family still practices arranged marriages?" he continued. "It's not about dividing loyalties. It's supposed to do the opposite. Bring families together. Addie married Vidar. Now the Vanes are tied to the Blackwoods. Nell married Magnus. Her pack is now entangled in business dealings with ours. Marriage isn't supposed to take somebody away from their family. It's supposed to make both families stronger."