She nodded in compliance.
When he seemed pleased with that, he leaned in on her left side—where Nia could hear—but the words were meant for Rem. She blushed when she breathed him in, surrounded by the heat of his body, close enough to see the details of his skin just like when he had carried her.I'm so close to him. He spoke in her ear, his voice hot and vibrating against her skin. "Þrátt fyrir það er ég samþykkja.”
He pulled back, masking his gaze as he left no room for a retort. Ronan gave her his back and walked away to follow his family to the home reserved just for him.
Rem looked at Nia immediately. "What did that mean," Rem sputtered, blinking rapidly, certain she was blushing.
Nia raised a brow with a grin. "It meant'Although, despite that, I approve.'"
12
DO WHAT YOU WILL
R E M
The home reservedfor the Alpha of the Warden Pack was a massive, well-maintained estate. Skillfully carved stone twisted it together, ornate details lining every edge. Petrous architecture gracefully framed tall windows, the entire structure built with notable forethought. Two wooden doors gave way to the home, a steel knocking handle designed as a full moon with an attached ring situated on either door.
Worn, dark wood lined the floors, and the home smelled old.Crafted from another era.Candle chandeliers hung in every room, crystal reflecting the glow of the flames.
It was hard not to notice how the shifters didn’t belong in such a refined building—another reminder that they ruled this world while humanity struggled.
They climbed the broad, ornate wooden staircase that led to a landing with a rounded wall made of paned glass, a windowed hallway exiting off on either side. They ascended higher to another landing with shorter ceilings and skinny hallways. Rem followed Nia to the end of one, where the roughened guard Lothar showed Rem to her room.
It was moderately sized, a singular bay window providing most of the light. There was a desk and chair, a small bookshelf, a twin bed, nightstand, lounge chair, and coffee table. She moved around the corner, the floor creaking below, and spotted a bathroom with modern plumbing for a toilet and sink, but no bath. She turned on the faucet, eager to witness what freely flowing water looked like, but nothing came. Giving a defeated sigh, Rem went back to look over the room.
It smelled plainly of wood and fresh blankets, and she missed how her home smelled.
"Do you need anything?" Nia asked.
Rem set her canvas bag on the stiff bed. How could she possibly ask for anything else? This was more than she had ever had. Of course, her heart ached for everything missing, but materially, it would be insulting to complain.
She then thought ofonething.
"Is there anywhere to bathe?" Rem asked, not needing to look at her throbbing leg to know it needed a proper soaking.
She was certain she had dried blood caked into her hair. The fact that Ronan could flirt with her in this unkempt state was a homage to these creatures, finding something endearing in that.
"There's a bathhouse downstairs. I'll have the fire started for it," Nia said with a smile.
“Yeah, let’s definitely do that,” Rem said.
As Nia left, Rem noticed Lothar hovering outside her door. Once it was closed, she looked down to note his shadow remained. She didn’t know if this was for her protection or if she was to be watched. Rem frowned. How could she help Oliver if she was constantly watched?
Thoughts cascaded quickly with no one but herself for company. When the moment of peace stretched into minutes, the need to cry overtook her. Rem released her despair, the agony, and the weight of it all as she sat down on the bed, tears streaming down her aggrieved face in a silent weep. Rem was very careful to be as quiet as possible, as she couldn’t let them know she was wailing in her sorrows. After a time, she breathed slowly to control herself. Effortless tears soaked her dirtied dress.
It felt so good to cry like this.
Guilt pitted in her stomach. She knew the Callons were plotting against Ronan, and it only exasperated her worry. Shehadto defeat Fiona, and what if… What if that meant doing exactly as Fiona asked, which meant doing something awful to Ronan and his family?
Could she live with that guilt?
Rem went over to the desk, blindly hoping—she found it. Parchment, and even a quill and ink. The tears angrily flowed when all she had to do was spell it out, but she didn’t even know how to spell her own name.
Okay, so maybe pictures?
With a shaking hand—ink all over the parchment—she tried to draw a rudimentary house. The tears stopped, as no curse threatened her when the ink glided onto the paper. Feverishly dipping the pen into ink, the quill in her hands foreign to her, she shakily tried to draw a little boy—
“Ah!” she hissed.
