Page 74 of The Wolf's Mate

I thank him before heading to the dining room. Even before I enter, I know she’s not there. I can’t feel her. It’s possible she’s shut down the bond between us, but I don’t think that’s it. It’s more likely that my mate isn’t here at all. Hoping I’m wrong, I search the rest of the packhouse.

I check my study, the library, and the courtyard. Hettie is in none of those places. Worry and doubt creep in. This is an all-too-familiar feeling, but there’s still one place I haven’t checked yet.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I reach the second floor of the house in seconds. I dig deep into our bond, but don’t feel Hettie. I tell myself it’s because she’s upset and has blocked me from feeling her. But I know the truth.

When I reach our bedroom, I test the knob. Not locked, so I open it. I prepare myself for Grass’s excited greeting, but the golden-haired dog never comes. It’s dark in our bedroom. The curtains are closed, and the fire has long ago died out in the fireplace. It’s cold here, and though the temperature rarely affects me, I can’t help but shudder. Hettie doesn’t like it this cold.

The door to the bathroom is slightly ajar. I check in here, but it’s empty. There’s no condensation on the mirror or water droplets leftover in the tub. I check the closet next, but Hettie isn’t in there either. Panic threatens to overtake me, and I have no one to blame but myself.

I try one last effort to reach her through our bond, spreading it as far as it can go. I don’t sense her anywhere on this estate. Her scent, which usually overtakes the room, is faint. Almost as if she hasn’t been here in a while.

She’s not fucking here. Out of anger, I grab the blanket atop my hastily made bed and rip it off. It’s irrational, but part of me hoped Hettie was hiding under the blanket, ready to pop out. It’s empty, though.

In my fit of anger, a piece of folded paper floats off the bed and falls to the floor. I almost ignore it until I see my name written across the front. I snatch it up, body shaking as I open it. It’s from Hettie, and her words make me feel true, tangible fear. The words are few, but they have me running through the house like I’m chasing her ghost.

Might as well be.

I’ll fix this. I’m sorry, and I love you.

Hettie

Chapter 35

Hettie

I’ve never considered myself brave. Reckless and impulsive, sure, but brave? Brave are the heroes like Hercules and Achilles. Brave are the fictional characters like Rapunzel and Merida. Brave is something we strive for, but very few of us are placed in situations where bravery means lives are on the line.

I can’t fuck up another family. The Guardian brought me here to make a difference, and I think I finally know what he means. It’s not magic that’s going to save the pack. It’s me. My choice to leave and give Rip and the others a fighting chance. I’ll walk into this knowing I made a difference—to hell with what happens to me.

I just wish Grass hadn’t come along.

He doesn’t need to die because of my choices. I tried to make him stay. Tried locking him in the bedroom, but he kept escaping before I could. Leaving the packhouse undetected was easy, considering so few guards were left. Leaving during shift change also helped us escape without anyone noticing.

So now Grass and I navigate a forest that is still very much a stranger to me.

I’ve always considered myself good with direction and getting around, but it’s different when everything looks the same. I’m not a damn Girl Scout. I don’t know how to read fucking moss on trees to tell me if I’m going in the right direction.

I’m not sure where I’m going, if I’m being honest. I’m going off the assumption that Michael wants me. I’m moving farther away from safety, alone and defenseless, an easy target for the rogue alpha. Eventually, he’s going to notice, and I’m banking on the fact that he wants me alive to keep me safe.

Safe-ish.

I pull my red coat tighter around me. In a field of white, I stand out harshly. There’s no disguising the blood-red color. It’s a deliberate choice to make spotting me that much easier.

I didn’t leave the pack totally defenseless, though. Strapped to my hip is my ax. It’s heavy and makes me lean to the right, but I feel more secure with it on me. It’s like a weird comfort blanket for me. You know, if axes could be that.

After a few strenuous hours of walking, my feet cramp, making each step painful. “We need to rest, Grass. Just for a moment,” I pant, leaning against a tree.

Grass looks around our surroundings. He has made little noise since we started, and I take that as a good thing.

I sink to the ground, ignoring the cold sting on my ass. My head drops into my hands, and I try to even out my breathing. Thinking of what I left behind makes me want to crawl back like a coward. But I can’t. I need to save Tallie and my pack. I need to show Rip that I’m not a total screw-up.

I lift my head when Grass growls beside me. He’s crouched in a defensive position, looking off between trees. I see nothing at first, but Grass doesn’t let up. He barks, getting more agitated.

“What is it?” I ask like my dog could answer, but I don’t sense the danger he does. I try to strain my ears to pick up on any sound, but nothing stands out. In fact, there’s no sound at all. Has it always been that way? Or is this just recent?

I call for Grass. I’m about to tell him to follow when he spins around and barks more loudly and frantically than before. I don’t get the chance to turn and see the danger though because, at that moment, something hard strikes the side of my head. Pain blooms in my skull, and the world goes dark.

A crackling fire draws me out of the darkness. I come awake with an ear-splitting headache and sore muscles. I groan, trying to move my body, but I realize something is hindering my movement. When my eyes finally adjust and I’m not seeing a blurry world, I notice the rope tied tightly around my torso. My hands are bound in front of me.