Chapter Thirty-Two

The morning after my trip to the library with Sierra, I awaken in a much brighter mood than I have in…well, ever. Not just because I got to spend several hours with my mate, but because for once, it feels like there was actual progress made between us. Instead of fighting me off and shutting me down at every turn, Sierra seemed far more open to me. I knew that constructing a painting studio for her would intrigue her, but I didn’t expect her to be so touched by the gesture.

I also know that I can’t take all the credit for her starting to soften, even though she’s still mostly closed off—whatever Claude said to her when they warded the castle yesterday seemed to alter her perspective as well. Wyatt mentioned last night that Claude and Sierra spoke at great length during their time together, I intend to seek Claude out so he will tell me exactly what they discussed. If he has an in with her—which would make sense, considering they’re both creatures of magic—I will convince him to use that leverage to direct her closer to me.

Everything about Sierra is calming, steadying, and beyond pleasing to me; if I could manage it, I’d have her glued to my side at all hours of the day and night. Last night, when she touched me of her own volition for the first time, it felt like nothing short of a religious epiphany. Her softness pressed against my hardness, her delicate hands roaming my muscles, the steadily deepening interest in her eyes, it was a potent aphrodisiac. When she leaned down to kiss me without having to be coerced…that’s probably as close to a divine experience as I’ll ever get.

Before getting down to official pack and royal business, I plan to find Claude and interrogate him about Sierra. I open the entrance to my chambers, only to find a startled Sierra standing in the doorway, her hand poised to knock. It looks like she’s almost as surprised at her presence here as I am by it—I didn’t expect her to seek me out so soon despite the genuine connection I suspect—hope—we started building last night.

I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice. “What are you doing here?”

She darts a glance around, with an expression of guilt as though she feels she’s doing something wrong. Considering her upbringing to hate shifters, she very well might feel she is.

She holds up the key I gave her last night, the one to her painting studio, and says, “I wanted to paint for a few hours while Leisel’s doing her morning lessons with her new tutor.” A frown furrows her brows, and even that’s beautiful. “Thank you for getting her the tutor by the way. I also wanted to ask…”

She trails off, shifting uncomfortably foot to foot, cheeks reddening with embarrassment. Has she not caught on yet that she could ask me for just about anything and I’d give it to her? I suppose not. Up until last night, our relationship was more combative than anything—I was too focused on doing damage control and preventing her from trying to leave to focus on the upsides of matehood—such as gift-giving. I know witches are particularly inquisitive and prone to shiny, pretty things, and I have every intention of spoiling Sierra, but up until now, I didn’t have the opening to do so.

“Anything you want, ask. It’s yours,” I tell her plainly.

She nods slowly, then says in a rush, “I never got a formal education. I don’t feel like I’m fit to lead without it. If you could set me up with a tutor or instructor to go over things I wasn’t able to learn from my parents or teach myself with the help of textbooks, I’d appreciate it.”

I recognize that her lack of education seems to embarrass her, and that sends my soothing instinct into overdrive. I don’t want her to be embarrassed about anything. The fact that she—with extremely limited resources—managed to educate herself and her sister to the extent she has is beyond impressive and a testament to her strength of will and value for learning. I want to pull her into my arms, kiss her, and tell her I’d give her my heart on a silver platter if she asked for it.

Instead, I settle for saying, “Of course. I’ll set it up. For now, go ahead and paint—tell me if the studio’s missing anything and I’ll have it brought in.” I step aside, motioning for her to enter. “Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

On the same table where we had dinner last night is laid out a breakfast spread. I don’t usually have time to eat breakfast, but it’s set out for me every day. If I can convince Sierra to join me, though, I’ll gladly partake. I don’t think she understands what a pleasure it is to just have her in my personal space. My wolf starts pushing to the fore, also wanting to get time with her again. He’s absolutely enamored with her after she spent time petting and cooing at him last night, and I know from here on out he’ll be much more persistent in pushing for time with her.

Sierra nods hesitantly. “I did…”

“But?” I offer.

She shifts from foot to foot awkwardly again. “But there wasn’t any coffee available, and if I don’t get my caffeine fix, I turn into a monster.”

“Don’t we all?” I say with a chuckle. “You know you could always ask the servants for something additional if everything isn’t to your liking.”

Sierra lifts one shoulder. “I’ve never had anyone serve me before, so I feel awkward asking for more. They already laid out such an elaborate spread, most of which will go to waste.” She frowns at the latter sentence, obviously unhappy with the thought.

With her upbringing in such a rural, run-down village where the villagers only got to eat what they hunted and harvested each year, I imagine the concept of anything going to waste wouldn’t sit well with her. Now that I think about it, I don’t know what the servants do with the leftover food—things like that were beneath my notice before Sierra.

Having her around has offered me new perspective after new perspective, and I see more and more just why the gods paired us. We’re opposites in many ways, but she sees the world through a different lens than I do, which is invaluable to someone in my position.

“I don’t know what happens to the leftovers,” I admit, deciding that honesty is best. “There are two orphanages in Kinrith, I’m sure they’d appreciate a food bonus.”

Sierra’s eyes brighten at that. “Yes, they would. In Aesara, we didn’t have an orphanage—we couldn’t afford one. Whenever a child was left orphaned, the villagers would meet in a council and decide which couple had the resources to take them in. Then, that couple would be sent leftover foods from markets and shops to help—it was a difficult system since we had little to spare but very effective. Leftovers should never be wasted, not when there are hungry mouths around the continent to feed.”

I listen with great interest, as always enjoying the sound of her voice as she speaks and liking even more that she’s offering up information without me having to pry it out of her. She looks a little startled at her own talkativeness but quickly recovers when I lead her over to the dining table and pour her a cup of coffee.

“Milk? Sugar? Honey?” I ask her.

“You don’t have to serve me,” she replies a bit awkwardly.

“No, but I want to,” I tell her. “I like doing things for you. It satisfies both me and my wolf, who, by the way, is begging for more time with you.”

At that, she smiles a little. “He looks like a grizzly bear but acts like a teddy bear,” she says, almost fondly.

It sounds like she just might like him as much as he likes her. Well, not as much—that wouldn’t be possible, but I’m confident that at the very least she’s curious enough about him and comfortable enough around him to agree to spend more time with him.

“Only with you,” I respond. “You should see him in battle, he’s fucking vicious. With you, though, all he wants is to be close to you, just like me.”

I can tell that my words make her uncomfortable and that I just might be pushing my luck at this point. I wouldn’t say I’m on bad terms with Sierra after last night, not like I have been before, but I’m not exactly on steady footing with her either. I know I still need to tread carefully. If I let her see the truth of just how much I need her, it’d send her running, and I can’t have that.

Sierra hesitates for a moment, then says, “Well, I’m not going to risk spilling coffee in the painting studio, so if he wants to join me for that, I won’t oppose. He’s kind of adorable.”

At that, my wolf lets out a whine and pushes against my skin so hard I almost shift on the spot. That’s a rather unusual occurrence; I’m very in tune with my wolf, more so than most shifters, so he usually doesn’t surface unless we’re both in accord. Around Sierra, though, it seems none of my usual rules apply.

In the end though, I don’t care if I’m in wolf or human form—either way, physical contact with her feels spectacular. She’s a lot more uncomfortable touching me than she is him, for all the obvious reasons—mainly, I can’t seem to keep my desire leashed around her. I can’t be touching her and not veer in an intimate direction; I want her too much.

Last night was at once bliss and absolute torture. Feeling her soft fingers exploring me, knowing that her interest in me that way was there but not being able to act on it…if she hadn’t kissed me and then spent twenty minutes on my lap, her delicate hands running over my flesh, I don’t think I would’ve been able to contain myself.

I don’t like the lack of self-control I experience around her, but I also know that’s exactly what happens with matehood. Instincts take over and wants and desires become insatiable untamed needs.

Before my wolf can force a shift, I retreat to my bedroom, strip down, and give the other half of me control. A flash of pain overcomes me as my vision blurs and dims. Reality fades away as darkness momentarily takes over. When it recedes, my wolf has taken the wheel.

He paws at the ground, stretching and shaking out his fur before trotting back through my chambers and into the main area, where Sierra’s seated herself at a table with a mug of coffee. My wolf inhales deeply through his nostrils, picking through her various scents. She smells like a delicious mix of vanilla and jasmine. Beneath that, he senses that she added a splash of milk and two spoons of sugar to the coffee. He stores that information away, wanting to learn as much about her as possible.

She looks over to us upon our entrance, eyes softening visibly at the sight of us in wolf form. My wolf trots up to her and paws at her leg, silently requesting a similar arrangement to last night—where we’re both on even ground so he can drape himself over her lap and get covered in her scent.

“Alright, alright,” she says with a small laugh, picking up her mug and lowering herself to the ground with her back propped against her chair legs.

I don’t love the thought of her sitting on the ground—it’s beneath her—but my wolf loves the extra contact and closeness. Like he did last night, he drapes his head over her leg and waits, very impatiently, for her to start petting him.

She doesn’t make him wait long, reaching over with her free hand and burying it in his fur, deliberately scratching behind his ear in a way that makes him pant happily. He sits with her, luxuriating in her scent and attention, until she drains the last of her coffee and gives him a small pat along his spine.

“Alright, wolf, it’s time for me to go.”

He lets out a rumble of irritation at that, not liking the thought of losing the closeness that he revels in. I nudge at him to relent and not push her too hard too fast, and he stands with a chuff, going back to my room, rather unhappily.

When I emerge again in human form, I see that Sierra’s already in her painting studio, mixing pigments with a linseed oil base.

I don’t think she notices me watching her from the doorway, but then she calls out, “Why are my paintings hanging on your walls?”

“Because they’re incredible, and I like having them near me. They’re a daily reminder of how talented my mate is,” I respond.

Sierra hums but doesn’t turn around to face me. I decide I’ve pushed her enough for today and tell her to stay as long as she likes before leaving my chambers and turning to what’s now my second order of business; interrogating Claude.