Chapter 39

"Ohhhh…" My hand slapped over my mouth as a groan of delight escaped me. Whether it was the sound or my horrified reaction, all three of the women who'd invited me to eat with them broke out into laughter. I hastily chewed the mouthful I'd taken to be able to explain. "I'm so sorry, but this is incredible."

"Mum always makes the best stew," Fern said.

"It's simple but honest food," Saffron said, though I saw the flush of pleasure as she rounded the table, depositing fresh-baked bread rolls onto the small plates beside our bowls.

"And you need to have more of it." Hazel looked me up and down. "I'll wager that you were too thin even before those idiots allowed you to get hurt." She nudged my ribs gently. "Now you're as fine-boned as a bird. Got to eat up, give those boys something to grab onto."

Her wild chuckle played over my skin like the notes of a scherzo played by a string quartet. Music didn't usually have the effect of making me slow, then stop my actions, but that was what I found myself doing. My spoon stilled in my bowl, but it wasn't her chuckle which gave me pause for thought, it was what she'd said before it.

"Enough of that, Mother." Saffron shot her a reproving look. "Jessalyn"—I'd managed to get them all to drop my titles—"hasn't decided if she'll accept the boys yet."

"And why would she?" Fern wrinkled her nose as she looked at me. "Stuck with my brother for life." She made a show of gagging. "I couldn't think of anything worse."

"I'm sure the Garnet pack's sisters think the same about those boys," Hazel said, staring innocently down at her bowl. "But you like them just fine."

The blush that stained Fern's cheeks was something I knew well. Openly showing her feelings, or simply her preference, for a man—or men—could render a woman strangely vulnerable, as though she became a target, giving anyone licence to tease her. As I watched Fern squirm while her mother and grandmother laughed, I considered my own situation.

Did I want to allow myself to ever be that exposed?

"So, Fern, have you found your fated mates?" I asked.

"They certainly seem to think so." She was trying for a sharp reply, but I saw the pleasure that came from that statement. "They are strong, well formed—"

"Not that you've noticed," Saffron said with a grin.

"Only as potential mates." Fern sat taller on her stool. "If I'm to bear them sons, like they no doubt want, then I need to know if they can provide for us when I'm nursing our babies."

"Aye, but it's more than just bringing you the choice cuts of a deer they've caught themselves," Hazel said, poking her spoon in her granddaughter's direction. "Will they protect your space for you? Create a home where you can focus on your children, not on Mother Garnet…" Saffron and Hazel shared a look, both letting out a sigh. "That woman is a holy terror."

"You'll have her whisking away your babies before the afterbirth has passed," Saffron told Fern. "I've told you many times: never mate with a male who won't take your side over his mother's."

Fern shrugged one shoulder, nonchalantly.

"Mother, it might all come to nothing. They may fail miserably at all the challenges of the mating games, and I refuse to be tied to males who can't even muster the strength to put on a good showing in front of the pack."

I watched the banter taking place between the three generations of women, stories about Fern's fathers and Saffron's coming out, but I wasn't really focused on tales of past deeds. My mind had stuck on one thing, and I couldn't move beyond it.

"So… what happens if you don't choose your fated mates?"

The three women went quiet, staring at me in surprise before Saffron smiled.

"I forget this is not the way with human women. You'll need to ask us questions, make us explain the things that make no sense to you, Jessalyn. But in answer to your question, it does happen at times." Her lips thinned and her eyes slid to her daughter, then back to me. "And it might happen now, with you and Creed's pack." She slid a hand across the table, giving my hand a squeeze. "Remember that, no matter what they might have to say."

"You should have womenfolk of your own to support you during the negotiations," Hazel said with a sharp shake of her head. "It's not right what the humans do."

"We'll fulfil that role as best we can," Saffron assured me. "Or, if you prefer someone not connected to Creed, we can ask around—"

"No!" That came out far too sharply. "My apologies, but no. I don't think that will be necessary." I drew in a breath and then let it out slowly. "I don't know how to say this politely, thus I must do so plainly, and I hope you'll forgive any missteps on my part. My people's understanding of the beast…" I saw each woman tense slightly, and I quickly altered my words, "…the wolf shifters of Khean is poor at best. Stories are told of male shifters who sweep in and steal women away."

"They may want to do silly things like that, but they wouldn't try it with one of us." Fern was a smiling presence at the kitchen table, but I saw her wolf as she looked back at me. Her eyes had paled to almost pure yellow. "We'd make clear that mistake."

"And the same goes for human women. If any pack decides that one belongs to them, the same rules apply," Hazel said sternly. "No woman is to be forced or tossed over someone's shoulder like a sack of meal."

I flushed, remembering that having happened more than once in the time since I'd come to know one particular pack.

"Or have their choices taken away. A pack must earn a girl. Your pack, if you choose to accept them, needs to earn your favour. They'll perform silly rituals, showing off in front of all the packs gathered, but that won't be what will help you make your decision." Her focus shifted to Fern. "Either of you. There will be things that they do, often not by design, that will turn your heart, towards them or against them. Stories are told of some of the lengths packs have gone to, to win a girl." She nodded, then held up the finely made ceramic mug in front of her. "Here's hoping the bards sing of your mating hunts."

I forced myself to smile, lifting my own mug in turn, to celebrate the possibility Fern would have just that. Because I knew I wouldn't. What would be required to win my heart would be more than something bards would sing of. Rather, it would be a firebrand, tossed into the complex political situation of our continent, setting everything alight. For me to accept the mate bond, they'd need to help me kill Khean's king.

"There you are." Mother Marian appeared in the doorway of Saffron's cottage, looking me up and down with a smile. "Got yourself something to eat, did you?" The woman sniffed at the air. "Something tasty, too. Probably better than the gruel I had planned."

"Gruel? Pah!" Hazel got to her feet, depositing her dishes in the sink before pulling down another bowl and mug from the wooden cupboards that lined the walls. "You'll have a bowl of my daughter's stew, then?"

"Of course," Marian said, settling down onto a stool.

"The girl needs meat, in her bowl and on her bones," Saffron told Marian as she bustled around, making the healer a mug of coffee.

"Something to help her get through being pursued by your son and those miscreants he calls mates?" Marian said, nodding her thanks as the bowl and mug were set in front of her. "The red-haired one, whose sword is bigger than his brains, and then there's the dark-haired one with eyes like a snake." She shivered theatrically. "Gives me the willies every time I look at him. The prince is a pretty one, but arrogant with it, like most pretty men are—princes being the worst. I always wondered what the gods were about, making Creed think that motley crew were the males he wanted to bond himself to."

Why did I stiffen at her dismissive description of each man? Why did my lips part, ready to utter a sharp retort? More to the point, why the hell was I not joining in to lay bare their many sins? I could have shared stories that lent weight to her comments. Instead, I remained silent, the words unsaid. I lost myself in my thoughts, and my gaze fell to the table, then to where I cradled the mug in my hands, but I found no answers. Instead, I became aware that silence had spread around the table, all of the women now observing me. When they saw my thoughts had returned me to the breakfast table, they gifted me gentle smiles and a nod or two of reassurance and support.

"But the gods have their own ideas about such things," Hazel said, reaching over and grabbing my hand to give it a squeeze. "And only time will tell which way the dice will fall."

I smiled tightly, trying to re-situate the mask I'd been trained to wear at all times, but I was painfully aware that I'd failed to smooth my features into a pleasant expression. Probably because I had returned to the question I'd asked earlier.

"What happens if a woman decides to reject the males' claim?"