Chapter Fourteen

Kaleb's room sat on the top floor of the kennels. As I ascended the stairs, repeating Dean's directions, the bare concrete gave way to paneling and wallpaper. As I walked further into the kennels, it became apparent there was a stark difference in treatment between wolves. The floor went from painted concrete to hardwood, much more fitting with the woodland location. I paused at the windows, looking out over the trees as far as the eye could see.

With the tin of healing salve in my hand, I found Kaleb's room on its own on the top floor. Polished mahogany and brass.

His room was empty, and my stomach sank as I realized how intrusive my behavior was—letting myself into his room was a significant violation.

Still, I didn't want to leave just yet.

The bed was much larger than mine, and the mountain of pillows against the headboard was plush and brightly colored. The duvet looked thick and warm compared to my thin blankets.

I stood in the doorway, unable to get my feet to cooperate.

The bathroom door opened. Kaleb froze with a towel around his hips. My eyes flicked to his sculpted stomach and the necklace hanging between his pectoral muscles. Though Kaleb was slight, his muscles were corded.

Something fluttered in my stomach, and I squashed it, looking down at the tin in my hands as I remembered why I'd come in the first place.

"I brought a salve for your hand." My voice was oddly high-pitched.

Kaleb's lip twitched with a smile. "Come in."

It was too late for that, as I stood in the open doorway like the intruder I was. I awkwardly stepped into the room as Kaleb opened one of his drawers and pulled a fitted shirt over his bare chest.

I moved to the only chair in the room, a worn leather armchair with oddly shaped armrests. I sat down, perching on the edge, focusing on the tin in my hands as Kaleb shuffled about getting ready.

When he was dressed, Kaleb stood before me, holding his hand out. The skin on his palm was still raw.

"I thought wolves healed fast," I told him.

"Another side effect of the Huntsman's curse," Kaleb noted, taking the tin and twisting the top off. If the action hurt his blistered hand, he didn't show it. "Wolves need other wolves to heal."

"Can I help?" I blurted out. "I'm not just looking for an excuse to hold your hand. But why didn't you ask one of the other wolves for help?"

Kaleb shook his head, placing the tin on the side of his armoire. "Wolves don't like weakness."

"The Huntsman did that to your hand." Anger wove its way through my voice.

"I deserved it."

"Did you?" My nose wrinkled. "Because he was going to hurt me. He did hurt me. You just stopped him."

Kaleb looked up at me from behind his long lashes as if noticing my swollen cheek for the first time. "Where did you go this afternoon?"

"Dean and Mitchell took me to the market."

"Dean?"

I nodded, and Kaleb crouched down until his face leveled with mine. He reached out, his palm still scented with the salve. Before I could ask what he was doing, he placed a hand on my cheek, ignoring my instinctual flinch as he cupped his wounded palm to my face. I closed my eyes. My cheek heated, and a moment later, the throbbing disappeared. I couldn't tell if it was from the balm or skin contact. His face was close to mine, his eyes distracted as he watched his hand on my cheek. My lips burned with the need to kiss him. I jerked back, unused to the feeling. Shame filled me.

When Kaleb pulled his hand away, his palm was red but no longer blistered.

"The perks of being a wolf." I joked; my laughter was thready.

Kaleb hummed. "Dean has bitten you. Marked you."

"He didn't know I was a wolf."

"I doubt that would have changed much," Kaleb said, turning his hand over and studying the unblemished skin. "Do you know what a Shíorghra is?"

"Dean and I aren't mates." My brow furrowed. "I'd know. I can see magic. I'd see the bond. Only true mates can have children, right?"

"Yes, that's right."

I brushed my hair away from my face. "Grandmother used to say that the Sídhe have a knowing . You look at your mate, and suddenly, there is no one else."

"There are many ways." Kaleb shrugged. "It's been said the Sídhe can see markings on their Shíorghra that other people can't see."

I sat back. "How would you even know if you can see a mark no one else can see?" I asked myself.

"Wolves have many ways. Scent is one of them." Kaleb continued; his gaze was far away. "But a wolf always knows."

"What if I don't have a mate?" I pushed my fingers through my hair, wincing at the tangles. "I thought Joel hung the moon and stars when I was young. I clung to that for much longer than I should have. I'm not very good at choosing men."

Kaleb smiled to himself, but he didn't answer my question. "Dean is taken with you. I'd say he's a rather fine man."

"I thought there was something between us ," I admitted. "Then this Dean thing happened, and I'm left all kinds of confused."

"Sometimes sex is easier." Kaleb's orange eyes crinkled at the corner as his gaze met mine. "Whatever you have with Dean doesn't affect whatever you have with me. I am an old wolf, Mallory. I have seen females with a dozen male Shíorghra. Us wolves are so few, and our females even less."

I pondered his words, wondering if they were an admission that he felt whatever was brewing between us.

"Sex is simple; it's everything else that's hard," I murmured, ignoring the way my core clenched, wondering what sex with Kaleb would be like.

"I'd argue that if sex isn't hard , you're having it with the wrong people." Kaleb grinned.

I rolled my eyes and nudged him. "Did you just make a joke?"

"I did, didn't I?" Kaleb seemed awfully proud of himself.

What I had with Dean was passionate, desperate, and filled with emotion I didn't understand.

Kaleb wasn't that person. Aloof, detached, and entirely at ease with himself. Did he fuck the same way he approached life? Rolling with the punches, with a dreamlike aplomb?

I reached up, brushing my hair away from my neck, suddenly feeling much hotter than I had a moment ago. I fanned myself and let out a loose breath as I stood up and began to excuse myself.

Kaleb moved so quickly that I hadn't noticed he'd crossed the room, gripping my arm and bringing my wrist to his face. He inhaled the scent of my skin with a perplexed expression before grabbing my other arm and smelling my other wrist.

"Your scent has changed," Kaleb told me, his brow furrowed in thought.

"I'm sick?"

Kaleb shook his head. Where his skin touched mine, gooseflesh followed. He moved closer, pressing his body into mine, pushing his nose into my hair and smelling me.

I felt his cock, hard against my stomach.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. My eyes dipped, and I stared at his throat as Kaleb rocked back on his heels, his eyes staring into mine.

"Mallory—"

I was insane. I knew I was.

I leaned forward, gripping the fabric of his shirt, as I pulled Kaleb closer and placed my lips against his.

He froze, unmoving, as I parted his lips with my tongue. I broke away, my cheeks flaming.

So stupid .

I looked away, biting back an apology.

He reached out, tugging me toward him, and kissed me like a breath of air after a deep-sea dive. All consuming. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, standing on tiptoes as I memorized every moment of the kiss. The softness of his lips and the smell of his skin.

We moved backward, still locked together, as we landed on the bed.

I pulled at his shapeless linen shift, clasping the fabric in my fist as I pulled it up to reveal the softness of his stomach. His flat belly twitched when I feathered my fingers over his skin. He grinned against my lips, his hand snapping up to form a shackle around my wrist as he twisted our bodies until his hips pressed against my butt, pushing me into the mattress.

I moaned, feeling his hardness against the curve of my ass.

He reached around me, his fingers slipping under the waistband of my linen trousers and into my underwear. With his middle finger, Kaleb dipped a digit into my wetness and spread it onto my clit, as he rolled a circle around the sensitive nub.

I bit back a moan as he pulled me to his body, his other hand cupping my breast. He kissed the seam of my jaw as his fingers teased my nipple.

I pushed back, rubbing my ass against his cock, desperate to feel him, even as his fingers thrust inside of me, driving me wild.

It was like a dam had burst between us. I wasn't sure if it was lust, frustration or fear of the Huntsman, but Kaleb and I clung to each other in that moment.

I reached behind me, one over my shoulder to tangle in the long strands of Kaleb's silver hair, the other sandwiched between us as I cupped his cock through the fabric of his trousers.

His breath hissed through his teeth and Kaleb dropped me as if I was on fire, pushing me face first to the mattress. He tugged at my linen trousers, pulling them over my ass, leaving me exposed.

I rose up in invitation, and closed my eyes tight as Kaleb slid inside of me, pinning my body to the bed as he began to thrust.

His weight kept my legs closed, the space tight, as he thrust into me. The mattress bounced with every thrust.

There wasn't any emotion in it. Just animalistic need, as I pushed back to meet every thrust. My teeth gritted and hair in my face, as he rutted into me, hitting a place inside of me I wasn't sure existed before.

Kaleb's thrusts grew uneven, and my own orgasm crashed over me, strange and unfamilar. My thighs grew slick, and the sheet underneath was wet. I shook, as he spilled inside of me, blind to anything but the orgasm rippling through me.

Kaleb peeled himself from the bed, leaving me cold and exposed. He sauntered to the adjoining bathroom without saying a word.

I took his silence as an invitation to leave.

I didn't want to go back to my room. Not yet. Instead, I went for a walk, circling the sunken kennels. The building was boxy, concrete, and entirely at odds with the austere gold and white of the moving castle. It was as if it had fallen from the sky and landed, half buried at the foot of the stairs.

Wyatt stretched out by the steps, surrounded by a host of women I didn't recognize.

He waved me over, his smile wide and welcoming, though I always sensed that Wyatt disliked me. He tolerated me. I had no idea why he always called me over when I clearly made him uncomfortable.

Sighing, I made my way to the steps, deciding that I couldn't afford to make enemies—and the Locket pack had tried to protect me. Even if they had failed.

"Mallory!" Wyatt waggled his brows. "These are my friends. Gina, Tina and Rina."

"My name is Tabitha." One of the women pointed out, her brow quirked.

Wyatt waved his hand dismissively, his eyes fixed on mine as he sat forward with a predatory grin. "Did you miss me?" He asked.

I rolled my eyes. "Let me guess, you told the Huntsman about the stag?"

Wyatt's brows pinched. "Eh?"

"The Huntsman knew about the stag. He knew we caught it." I eyed him suspiciously. "I've asked every other person who was there. None of them told him. It must have been you."

Wyatt barked a laugh. "You think it was me?"

"You caught the stag?" One of the women cooed in awe. "Did the Huntsman give you a prize?"

"He slapped me," I replied dryly.

Wyatt's face creased, a dark expression flashing over his face so quickly I almost missed it. He said nothing.

I held his gaze for a long moment before scoffing in disgust and turning my back on Wyatt and his little harem—marching away to the forest.

I followed the treeline, studying the unfamiliar leaves and the flowers sprouting where the manicured lawn ended. Finally, the trees thinned, revealing a clearing a few steps into the woods. The clash of metal and harsh grunting drew my attention, and I followed the sounds until I came to a dozen wolves fighting. Two armed with swords in a battle that looked more like a dance. Others formed a line, stretching in a routine, moving in unison.

Mitchell stood at the center of it all, adjusting stances and giving advice.

Mitchell had told me how he came to be with the Huntsman. How he had trained for years to find his brother.

I hadn't truly realized what that meant until I watched Mitchell in action. The calm amid the storm.

I found a comfortable patch of ground and sat, watching as the wolves trained.

Two women at the far edge of the clearing in the midst of a bout, fell to the floor grappling. One flipped the other before wrapping her thighs around her neck and engaging in a headlock that turned her opponent's face blue.

"Leaving so soon?" Mitchell lopped up to me, his signature grin in place. "Did you find anything interesting?" He continued. "After all, you've been watching for nearly an hour."

An hour ? My shock must have shown on my face.

"It might benefit you, you know." He gestured to the other fighters with his chin.

"Even if we forget everything once we leave?" I asked sardonically.

"Your body will remember. Muscle built doesn't go away so easily." Mitchell shrugged.

I looked away from his face and the large scar from his forehead to his top lip. The scar ran across one of his eyes, the lid closed.

Even with all of his training, the Huntsman had still managed to blind him in one eye. What hope did I have?

His black hair was tied back in a ponytail at the base of his neck, and though he wore the same baggy clothes I did, I saw the muscles underneath when he moved as if he tried to hide his strength.

There was something warm about Mitchell. Maybe it was the smile or the humor that clung to his remaining eye, crinkling the corner.

His smile widened. "I could teach you a few things." Mitchell tilted his head to the other wolves in the clearing. "It would certainly help with the Wild Hunt if you intended to actually bring down some prey."

I rolled my eyes. "It was a Horned Lord—"

"Yes, it was, though next time, it may well be a Hydra." Mitchell's brows arched.

"Those exist?" I frowned, trying to think of all the monsters from films and fairytales and wondering which ones were real.

"I train the new recruits. It reduces the risk of fatality." He stated.

"Fatality?" I echoed, my voice growing more high-pitched.

"I can teach you how to protect yourself. You need more muscle definition—" He added, reaching for my arm.

I snatched my hand away, stepping back. "Mitchell—"

He closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. "You smell like Kaleb."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Do you think Dean—"

"Do you intend to fuck every single wolf in my pack?" Mitchell laughed bitterly.

Hurt slashed through me; Mitchell must have seen it on his face because his lips turned down at the edges. "I don't mean to be hurtful. I like you, Mallory. You're fucking funny, even if you don't realize it. You're beautiful. Just... Don't think you only have a place among us, on your back, you know?"

"I like Dean. And Kaleb." I snarled.

Mitchell held my gaze. "Kaleb bit you, didn't he?"

I hid my wrist behind my back, though I knew he'd already seen the scar.

If he was insulted by my silence he didn't show it. "You can train with the other women. If you're worried about males."

"I'm not worried about men." I snapped, and before he could speak, I turned on my heel and marched away.

It seemed I was doing a lot of that lately.

I needed some alone time.

Though I had been married, Joel had worked grueling hours, and most of my time had been spent home alone, entertaining myself.

I wasn't used to being surrounded by so many people.

As I marched through the kennels, my bad mood was a black cloud over my head.

When I finally got to my room, everything was as I left it, even with the door unlocked in my absence.

I hadn't realized I'd left Dean with my bags from the market until I found the hessian sack on the end of the bed. Guilt made my stomach twist.

I pushed my fingers through my knotted hair and approached the bed.

I pulled the items from the bag, finding a place for each in a barren room.

I finally reached the bottom of the bag and noticed an unfamiliar velvet pouch. I opened the drawstring and found a dozen sewing needles and a rainbow of embroidery floss. I tried to remember if I had bought them, but I knew I hadn't. I'd been stood with Mitchell, so I knew it wasn't him.

Dean had gone behind my back to get me a gift.

Warmth filled my body, from my cheeks to my fingertips. I pulled the threads between my fingers and marveled at the quality.

How had he known ?

Excitement coursed through me for the first time in days, and a smile pulled my tight cheeks. I ripped off my cotton top and laid it over my legs, imagining all the flowers I'd seen and how to embroider them on the plain and baggy fabric.

I might not have been able to protect myself, I might not have been able to fight or hunt, but I could sew.

Nightmares about Joel's body plagued my dreams, and I soon gave up on having a good night's sleep. Choosing to focus on my embroidery instead of resting.

As the sun rose, casting the room in an orange glow, my fingers cramped, and my stomach grumbled. I put down my needle. My previously plain linen shift was now a rainbow of colors.

I'd gone all out. Using a turkey stitch for the Gerber daisies and a fishbone stitch for the leaves. I'd mirrored the embroidery on both sides, with two fern leaves sitting along my collarbone. Red and white toadstools along the sleeves, and though I'd wanted to add a squirrel along the bottom hem, I'd refrained, not wanting to start something I couldn't finish in that session.

I rubbed my tired eyes, sitting back on the bed and resting my head on the pillow.

It felt like I had only closed my eyes for a moment when someone knocked on my door. I sat up quickly and rushed to open it, my excitement dying when it wasn't Dean, Kaleb, Mitchell, or even Wyatt.

Kacia, the young female wolf from the dungeons. She had brought me food and showed kindness to me. I hadn't thought much about her since I'd moved to the kennels, but if she was at my door, I was being summoned by the Huntsman.

Her eyes dipped submissively, noting my change of expression. "The Huntsman wants me to bring you to his library."

My skin prickled, and as much as I wanted to say no, I knew I couldn't.

The Huntsman would force my hand; worse, he could hurt one of the Locket pack. He had noted my connection to Kaleb, but I didn't want the Huntsman to focus on the other wolves from our little town.

"Sure," I injected false cheer into my voice. "Let me just get changed."

I debated putting on one of the other shapeless linen shifts in my tiny chest of drawers, but instead, I chose the embroidered shirt I had worked on all night. Perhaps it was in silent protest. Even I wasn't sure.

Kacia zeroed in on my shirt, her lips parted in awe. "That's beautiful ."

I brushed my hands down the front of my shirt. "I like to embroider."

"Can all Weavers do that?" Her eyes widened.

My cheeks heated. "It's a skill that can be taught. I wasn't sure if I was allowed."

Kacia didn't take her eyes off my shirt. "You can do what you like with your clothes. But this . This is a skill . How long did this take you?"

"I didn't sleep," I admitted.

"A night?" Kacia's eyes rounded. "You could make a lot of coin, you know. If you wanted to."

I shrugged. "It's just for fun."

"This is art." She stated with vigor. "Would you make me one? I'll pay for it."

I considered her words. "I need more embroidery floss. Dean got this for me."

"At the market?" Kacia brushed her blonde hair behind her ears.

I nodded.

Kacia's head tilted, listening to something I could not hear. "The Huntsman is waiting." She said with regret. "We mustn't be late."

I would never get used to the moving castle, with each piece oscillating like the cogs of a giant machine. As we strode through the rotting stone, we passed bobbing balls of magic light. They clung to the walls, giving the entire castle a creepy kind of darkness. I could feel the floor shifting and grinding—like an escalator at the mall.

Kacia seemed to know where she was going, ushering me through the castle and into the library at the very top of one of the towers. The view from the window made me feel sick, twisting on its side, defying gravity. One moment showing the sky, and the next rolling over to the green lawn. Around and around.

The library extended to the top of the tower, the books covering every inch of the wall space and up to the rafters. Seemingly going on forever.

At the center of the room, round tables formed a circle, with chairs worn with age, the wood rotting, and the fabric frayed.

The Huntsman waited, his fists planted on his hips like some dollar-store Superman figurine. He did not turn towards us, even as he heard our footsteps grow closer.

The table nearest was piled high with books. Leather bound without titles on the front or spines.

"Weaver." The Huntsman's voice echoed throughout the room as he faced us. He narrowed his eyes as Kacia dipped her head and excused herself.

"I believe these journals will be of use to you." The Huntsman's voice echoed through the stacks.

My eyes flicked down to the books and then back to his face. "I can't close the Gate. I'm not powerful enough."

The Huntsman ignored my words as if I hadn't even spoken. "The journals begin with the first Weaver. Brigit, a goddess of the Tuatha Dé Danann, bestowed her magic on her devout. Patron of the Black Widows. Several Weavers have graced our halls since éabha, but many have failed in the task they were needed for."

I eyed him suspiciously.

The Huntsman's wide lips quirked with a sneer. "What is your family name, Weaver? Perhaps you might find one of your relatives wrote a journal for my collection."

"Hunt." I kept all emotion from my voice. "Mallory Hunt."

The Huntsman considered my name with a shrug. "A fine name, though not one from the Aos Sí."

I said nothing.

"I do hope you will find something in those journals. Inspiration, perhaps?" The Huntsman put his hands in his pockets, whistling as he sauntered away.

I waited until he was gone before I sat down, opening several volumes and searching for any names I recognized.

I scoured every leather-bound journal but could not find mention of my grandmother's name.

éabha .

Though my grandmother had taught me, in her own way, most of my human education was half finished. She had taught me math and English. She taught me how to knit, craft, and paint but avoided my magic altogether.

Once upon a time, I believed she was frightened for me—that I would seek out the otherness in the world and leave her behind, like mom.

I found myself enamored with one particular journal, though it was mostly braiding techniques that would be useful for macrame. There was no mention of hair or weaving magic into clothing. Instead, the author made references several times to the ‘threads,' it took an embarrassingly long time to realize that they were talking about the ambient magic that lived all around us.

I'd never tried to touch the magic in the air before.

It was always just there .

Like shadows, sounds, or smells.

I wasn't sure how long I sat, hunched over, with my nose close to the page, when the door to the library opened.

I felt foolish for letting my guard down.

I recognized Donovan, the slimy man from the day before, as he glided toward me.

Dean had threatened and warned him away, but based on his expression, the message hadn't stuck.

As much as I wanted to sit there and believe that Donovan just happened to be in the same place at the same time as me, my luck wasn't that good.

"I can hear your heartbeat, little wolf. Are you frightened?" Donovan grinned, showing every tooth in his mouth. "I just came to welcome you, as Dean rudely interrupted us before."

I didn't care about making a good impression. I didn't care about being rude.

"Fuck off ." I snarled, my nose wrinkling.

"Oh." He elongated the sound. "Feisty."

Donovan drew closer, and I grabbed the journal from the table, eying the exit.

I stepped around my chair, putting a barrier between us. "What is your problem?"

"My problem?" Donovan laughed as if I'd said the funniest thing in the world. "I don't have a problem. I'm just being friendly, is all."

"If you're being friendly, move out of my way." I countered.

"I know you can be friendlier than that." Donovan sneered.

Anger twisted through me like a cyclone. I was so tired of being scared.

I remembered the leather journal in my hand and the scribbles and drawings with various braids. I had no desire to lose more hair, but I didn't have to if the journal was right.

Donovan had the same golden magic as most wolves, though his was darker and slimier somehow. I reached forward with a hand and grabbed the strands, knowing I looked insane to anyone who couldn't see them.

Donovan frowned as I knotted the magic into a bundle, throwing it at him like a grenade.

It wasn't a gun or an explosion, though it sounded like one. Fizzing, spitting, and popping, the magic writhed, becoming visible in a ball of light.

I used the opportunity to escape, racing from the library as fast as my feet would carry me. The journal tucked under my arm.