Chapter 19

Mikalina

Several days later

I'd stayed away for days, getting used to the idea of what Ren told me—or trying to, at least.

I had one opportunity to ask Mini—with Andrei as the interpreter—about Lycans, about Ren and the folklore she'd known as a child. But when the opportunity had risen, I found the idea of talking about Ren and what he told me… not my place. I felt proprietary of him, which was ludicrous in and of itself, given how long I'd known him. But telling that story—his story—felt wrong on every level.

So I said nothing, which gave me no additional answers to my many questions.

And now here I was, standing on the little stoop of the cottage, thinking about Ren and how no matter what reality and what I thought I'd known my entire life, I wanted him. I believed him.

And I wanted to go to him.

For the hundredth time, I thought about the folklore Mini told me about wolf-like creatures. About Ren's species. I did feel like I'd been drawn to this place. And as I stood here on the stoop and closed my eyes, I could feel the wind along my skin and hear the distant sound of birds nearby as if my senses were heightened.

I don't want to ignore what I feel for Ren.

There was more I needed to know, more from Ren, and I knew he'd give me the answers. I knew he wanted to. He'd given me the space I needed to think, and for that I was grateful.

And this whole time, not once did I think about leaving to go back to America.

I exhaled. I'd had no one to confide in, even if I wanted to. No close friends, not even parents who acted like they'd give a shit. They berated me for even wanting to take this trip, making me feel like I was some immature child who couldn't settle down.

"Lycan?" My voice trembled as I whispered that word, the one I'd been repeating in my head nonstop since leaving Ren.

Just then, I heard the sound of a door opening and closing, and a moment later, the soft footsteps of someone approaching. I glanced to my side to see Mini coming forward, her expression fierce amongst her wrinkled face. She said nothing as she stopped before me, watching me with such knowing eyes.

And then she spoke, soft, low words I couldn't understand. She held out her hand, and in the center of her palm was a tiny wooden wolf carving.

"Fate," she said in English, her accent thick. "Love."

I reached out with a shaking hand and took the little figurine, staring at it, wondering how she'd known this was my fate when I hadn't a clue. I'd always felt lost. Until now.

And when she gave me a grandmotherly smile and a pat on my arm, I felt warmth fill me, the kind that said everything would be okay if I just let it.