Chapter Twelve

I didn't recognize the room when I was startled awake from a dreamless sleep.

The blankets were plain and scratchy, the walls were bare, and the bed was spindly and made of tarnished metal. It wasn't a cell, but it wasn't luxurious either.

Though anything was better than the dungeon with its iron bars.

If I closed my eyes, I could pretend it had all been a dream for a blissful moment.

Once I'd shaken the sleep from my groggy mind, I searched every inch of my room, finding baggy and colorless linen clothes in the small bedside cabinet. There were two doors. One led to the bathroom, and the other was locked.

I'd resigned myself to another day as a prisoner before a near-silent knock announced a guest—Kacia, the young wolf I'd met in the dungeons.

Kacia was slight, and the oversized linen clothes did her no favors. Her hair was a dirty blonde, pulled back in a braid. She gave me a shaky smile, and the previous night flashed before my eyes.

I was in deep shit.

I'd failed the hunt.

What had the Huntsman said about Kaleb? That he would ‘pay the price'?

My mouth filled with saliva, and I wanted to be sick. "Is Kaleb okay?" I whispered.

Kacia didn't answer my question; instead, she took a deep breath and stepped back, pulling open the door. "I'm meant to show you to the canteen. It's where the wolves eat during Samhain. There is a common space if you want to socialize. Some books, games, and other things."

I digested the information, nodding as I followed her from my room.

"We're not in the castle," I said, studying the bare walls.

Kacia glanced at me. "The wolves stay in the kennels during Samhain. Many years ago, the building used to be much smaller. Built for the dogs. We weren't allowed out of wolf form."

Kacia led me to the canteen, past rows of identical doors and endless hallways. I didn't know if I could find my room again without her help.

The canteen was a hive of activity, more of a tavern than a modern dining room. The tables spanned the room's length, filled with wolves eating as if they wouldn't see another meal—I supposed the Wild Hunt was the most dangerous time of the year for those in the Huntsman's service.

I'd made it in time for breakfast, though the crowd made me want to run back to my room. In the end, hunger won out, and I followed another wolf, watching as they picked up a tray, mimicking their actions.

When I had my food, I turned to the sea of tables, unable to find a single seat amongst the masses. Resigned, I wondered if I could take my tray to my room when someone stood up and waved—belatedly realizing that it was Wyatt—Dean's head enforcer. His red hair was a beacon in a sea of people.

Wyatt shooed several people away from his table, waving me over with a bright, pearly white smile.

I would have turned away and sat somewhere else, but a seat couldn't be found.

The others made their excuses, getting up to leave, and I tried not to let it bother me.

I didn't say thank you as I sat on the bench and picked up my fork.

I had no idea what any of the food on my tray was. An unfamiliar game dish made of cream and mushrooms. A cup of brown unsweetened tea and some stewed greens.

I focused on my food, though I felt Wyatt's gaze.

"The tea isn't to your liking?" He snarked.

"I'm from Tennessee." I smiled feebly. "Unless you pour half a bag of sugar in there, it's not sweet enough."

"So…" Wyatt narrowed his eyes. "How about that hunt last night."

I hummed but said nothing as I cut into my meat.

"Did Dean know you're a wolf?" He goaded. "I knew there was something off about you. I'm glad my instincts proved right. Never trust a girl with wide, helpless eyes."

"I am not a wolf. I am a Weaver." I snapped.

"And the Huntsman has it wrong?" Wyatt cocked his head to the side. "You're going to have to explain this to me."

I winced. "He's not wrong. I just… I'm both, okay? My grandmother is Sídhe, and my grandfather was Wolfkin. My mother was half, and my father was Wolfkin. Do you need my entire family tree?"

Wyatt shook his head, shooting me a look I didn't like. "You asked for our protection, dishonestly, I might add. We would have rallied to protect you if you'd told us the truth."

"I'm Sídhe." I pointed out. "I can't lie."

"You certainly can." Wyatt rolled his eyes. "I suppose being a Weaver has its advantages. You could see the magic last night, couldn't you? It was how you found the Horned Lord so fast."

"The Horned Lord?" I echoed, wondering if he meant the white stag. It had been an animal, hadn't it?

"Horned Lords are rare. I'm certain the Huntsman would not have sent us hunting for it if he knew." Wyatt lifted his cup, eying me over the rim as he sipped. "They shouldn't be in the Human Realities. They're too powerful, but we do not kill them. There is a fine line between wild Fae and the Durrach."

"How do you determine which side of the line something falls on?" I sat forward, genuinely curious.

"Typically, the Durrach eat sentient creatures," Wyatt told me.

"But you eat meat?"

"I do." He nodded. "And I often hunt and eat what I kill in the forest. I do not eat humans. The Tuatha Dé Danann do not want the walls between our dimensions to crumble, and the more Fae that come to the Human Realities, the more the barrier ceases to exist."

"Tuatha Dé Danann? The gods?"

Wyatt put his cup down. "The Huntsman does the gods' duty in the Aos Sí. I don't pretend to know the gods' will, but it makes it easier to understand why he enslaved the wolves as he did."

Wyatt had defended the Huntsman before, though I had no idea why. I eyed him as if he was mad. "You like serving him?"

Wyatt's eyes dipped. "The Huntsman's wife killed his hounds. Beasts that never tired, they would ride the veil and find the lost souls from the Aos Sí that needed to return home. When she killed them, the Huntsman needed new hounds to do his duty. The solution made sense at the time. He chose the wolves who helped his wife betray him."

I exhaled a shaky breath. "I'm not sure I agree with that."

"The wolves fought the war for many years." Wyatt pointed out. "We live with the truth we can accept. To me, the Aos Sí is a week-long vacation that I don't remember. When we return to Tennessee, I won't even remember this conversation. Neither will you."

"If the Huntsman lets me leave," I muttered as a thought occurred to me. "If the Wild Hunt only hunts the Durrach, why would they chase the wild stag? Isn't it just a stag?"

"Stags are often prisoners. They are given a chance to live if they can escape. They rarely escape the hunt." Wyatt said simply.

"So, which wolf were you last night?" I lifted both brows.

"Why don't you guess?" He gestured to his red hair before resting his chin on his hand as he stared at me. "Did you hide yourself because of the Huntsman? Many of our kind do. There is no shame in it."

"I am not a full wolf. I didn't even know I could shift; I'd never tried before." I explained.

Wyat's brows arched with curiosity. "Most wolves shift for the first time as a child."

"I don't know what to tell you." I sipped my tea, wishing it was sweeter.

Wyatt chuckled. "Planning on erasing the witnesses?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Kaleb. Dean and Mitchell." Wyatt ticked off on his fingers.

I breathed a sigh of relief. "The Locket pack."

"Curious, isn't it?" Wyatt's eyes glinted mischievously. His gaze flicked to the bite mark Dean had left on my shoulder, though I knew he couldn't see it through the fabric of my shirt.

His words demanded consideration, but I wasn't ready to have a deep conversation over nettle tea and venison stew.

I bussed my tray, trying not to stare at the short, wrinkled goblin creature at the cleaning station. It hadn't truly hit me that I was in the Aos Sí, the home of the Fae, until that moment.

I was hopelessly lost, unable to find my room again; when Kaleb came around a corner, relief painted his features the moment his eyes laid on mine.

"I was looking for you." He told me.

My entire body sagged, and I wrapped my arms around Kaleb's body and pressed my head against his chest. "You're alive." I breathed. "When I didn't catch the stag, I thought he'd kill you for sure."

Kaleb frowned. "Mallory…"

I stepped back and brushed my hands down the front of my wrinkled outfit. "I didn't…" I shook my head to clear it. "I thought the Huntsman had hurt you."

Kaleb's face cleared of all expression as he looked away. "The Huntsman wants to see us both."

My jaw hardened. "Do I have to?"

Kaleb gave me a long look. I closed my eyes and took a measured breath, but it did little to calm the anger that pulsed through me. The Huntsman had put me in a cage. He had taken me to the Aos Sí against my will. He had forced me to change shapes and to hunt.

"Does he know who my grandmother was?" I asked, my eyes still closed.

"I don't think so," Kaleb said reluctantly. "I doubt you would be alive if he knew."

"This is a dangerous game." I exhaled, bending at the waist as I struggled to catch my breath. "I want to go home. I don't want to be here."

Kaleb gestured to the hallway behind us. "We shouldn't keep him waiting."

Kaleb kept his chin lifted and his gaze head-on as we left the kennels and made our way to the castle. We passed a dozen people milling about, chatting excitedly about last night's hunt. Apparently, though several groups had spotted the white stag, they hadn't been able to catch it—something that had never happened before.

It seemed the hunt had been successful in other ways. A wolf named Donovan had brought down a malicious boggart that had found its way to the Human Realities and had begun preying on humans—feeding on their fears before eventually feeding on them.

We passed the bloody cloak in its display case and Fae of all shapes and sizes. Some I recognized from storybooks, and others I couldn't have imagined in my wildest dreams. Men with waistcoats and goat legs, or women with fingers made of branches and skin of bark.

Kaleb moved through the castle quickly, no doubt having spent years traversing its halls. He wasn't fazed even when he opened the door to open air a hundred feet above the ground. Though my stomach leaped to my throat. Instead, he shut the door and directed me to another path, finally reaching one of the upper towers of the castle—and the Huntsman's private quarters.

Punishment.

Kaleb was going to get hurt. I just knew it.

I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, wondering how the silver wolf was so calm about it all. He'd been there to hear the Huntsman's threats. He knew I'd failed the Hunt. I didn't want to go into the room. My fingers tingled, and my stomach gurgled as I rocked from one foot to the other. If I thought it would have helped, I would have run away as fast as I could.

Kaleb knocked once, standing with his hands knitted together behind his back.

We waited several minutes before a deep, languid voice echoed through the door. "Come in." It drawled.

Kaleb opened the door, gesturing for me to walk through first.

The Huntsman's office was as dusty as the rest of the castle. Seemingly forgotten and lost to time.

The Huntsman sat behind his desk, his dark cloak draped over his shoulders, the hem picking up dust. He didn't look up, midway through writing a letter as he dipped his quill in ink.

Kaleb locked the door behind us and stood at my side.

I felt sick.

Unable to focus, a bead of sweat rolled down my face before dropping from my jaw. My chest tingled with the same frenetic nervousness I'd felt when I'd done something wrong, waiting for Joel to notice. And he always did.

The lump in my throat grew larger with every second until every breath stung, and my eyes watered with unshed tears.

Finally, the Huntsman placed his quill in a little pot and shifted his still-wet letter to the side. He knitted his fingers together, placing them before him as he finally gifted us his attention.

"Yesterday was your first hunt." The Huntsman said without emotion. I felt the weight of his gaze like a hand on the back my neck. "You will live because it was your first hunt."

My eyelids fluttered as I tried to see through my unshed tears.

He had planned to kill me.

The Huntsman continued, not waiting for a response. "I am very interested in how you hid yourself for so long. It is not often that a new wolf can avoid the call ."

My lips mashed together, but when the Huntsman looked at me with strange goat-like eyes, I felt the truth bubble on my tongue like a dissolving aspirin. "Herbs. A special concoction."

"Hmm?" The Huntsman knitted his fingers together and leaned forward with his elbows on the desk.

The truth continued to pour from my mouth. "Chamomile, vervain. Wolfsbane."

"That mixture would do more than hide a new wolf." The Huntsman said with veiled interest. "But Weavers have no need for herbs."

"I'm not a strong Weaver," I told him, and it was the truth.

The Huntsman's brows lifted, disappearing into his hairline. "You are a child. Barely thirty. I'm certain with time, you will come into your magic. Perhaps without sacrificing your hair."

"Why do you need a Weaver?" I blurted out.

"To close the Gate." The Huntsman cocked his head to the side, eying me with strange alienness. "You found the white stag but allowed the beast to go free. A dangerous criminal who had been gifted the chance for freedom if they could allude my hounds. Given the form of a stag and set free." The Huntsman pinched the bridge of his nose. "You gave clemency that was not yours to give. You are a wolf, and it is the gods' will that you are their teeth. The hounds protect the veil between the human world and the Aos Sí. When the transformation spell wears off, that stag will walk on two legs and be free to commit many more crimes."

I didn't point out that offering someone the chance to be free and then getting angry when they took that chance seemed wildly unfair.

"It wasn't a stag, Master." Kaleb tilted his head with a bow. "It was a Horned Lord."

The Huntsman sat back. "A Horned Lord, you say?"

Kaleb kept his face forward and his hands behind his back. "Yes, sir. I saw it with my own eyes."

The Huntsman's dark gaze flicked to mine. "How could you have found a Horned Lord?"

I reached up, brushing a lock of hair away from my eyes. "I saw the magic."

The Huntsman considered my words. "I suppose being a Weaver and a Wolf have their advantages."

"Am I a prisoner?" I asked.

The Huntsman eyed me shrewdly. "No wolf is a prisoner. They are simply working off a debt."

"Your bargain isn't fair." My fists clenched.

"Why?" The Huntsman cocked his head curiously. "My hounds were dead, and I needed more." I didn't see him move. The Huntsman sat behind his desk one second, and the next, his hand formed a bracelet around my wrist. "You are not in a position to argue for the wolves. When the Beast King refused to give over my wife for the sake of something as foolish as a mate bond, he forfeited the right for his pack to continue. I wasn't entirely unfair. If a fated mate bond was so important, it stands to reason that a wolf should be mated before carrying a child to term."

How many children had been miscarried? How many women had cried as they bled?

I would never forgive him.

Until that moment, I hadn't associated my miscarriage with the Huntsman's curse. Even if losing the baby had always been something Joel had blamed me for. Claiming it was something I must have done, though I wanted our baby so desperately. We'd tried for so long; every negative test, every fucking month, had stoked a rage inside of me that would never die.

The Huntsman had killed my child before they had been born, and I would not forget that.

My head had moved before I felt the blow, though I knew what a backhand felt like. The sharp sting in my cheek and the pain in my neck from my head forced back. The Huntsman stood over me, his hand still raised, and I realized I had fallen. My knees ached from the stone floor.

Kaleb reached out, gripping the Huntsman's wrist. " I let the Horned Lord go." He said without emotion.

I cupped my cheek, unable to look away from the Huntsman's raised hand.

The Huntsman's chest heaved, his dark eyes wild, as he stared down at me. I could sense his blood lust. The manic anger in his eyes demanded he keep hitting until I couldn't move.

I scrambled away while Kaleb moved, standing before me as a shield. I said nothing and reached for the door and the heavy key that sat in the lock. I couldn't take my eyes off the two men as they stared at each other. The Huntsman was so incredibly large compared to Kaleb. One of them looked like a beast, and it wasn't the male who could turn into a wolf.

Kaleb held up a single finger. "You cannot build loyalty with your fists. You cannot strike those you are sworn to protect. The bargain is very clear. Some lines cannot be crossed."

"She's—" The Huntsman's nostrils flared as he pressed his lips together. "Get away from my sight, Kaleb. Horned Lord or no, I do not wish to set eyes on your little project again."

Kaleb nodded stiffly, finally letting go of the Huntsman's wrist. Though there was no mark on the Huntsman's skin, Kaleb's hand was blistered. Red, raw, and weeping.

I opened the door, fumbling with the ancient key and wiggling the handle before I could get out. Kaleb followed, cradling his hand to his middle.

Neither of us spoke until we reached the staircase overlooking the lawn.

"Why did you do that?" I whispered.

His expression was strange, as he had been presented with a puzzle he couldn't quite work out.

"How quickly do wolves heal?" I asked, looking at the gummy flesh of his melted skin. "How did he do this? Is his skin made of acid or something?"

"A hound cannot harm the Huntsman," Kaleb murmured.

"But he can harm us just fine, right?" I frowned, trying to ignore the throb in my aching cheek. It was going to bruise, I could tell.

Kaleb lifted one shoulder and let it drop in a noncommittal shrug.

"Who do you think told him about the stag?" I let his hand go. "I don't think it was Wyatt. He doesn't like me, but he belongs to Dean. He wouldn't sabotage the Locket pack."

Kaleb hummed but didn't confirm or deny my suspicions. "It doesn't matter." He gestured to the steps, and though I wanted to argue that he needed medical attention, his expression stopped any argument I might have had.

"I'll heal." His voice was clipped. I reached for his hand, hoping that my skin could offer a healing effect, the same way his presence had healed me in the cell. Kaleb marched away without looking back.