Chapter 20

THE MORRíGAN

The sun peeks through the trees, and the warmth of the rays gently heat my skin. I stretch and narrowly miss hitting a wolf in a head. They shift beneath us, and it's so lovely.

Ciara is curled up in my arms, clinging onto me in her sleep. She didn't have any nightmares last night. That's probably more to do with being surrounded by Pack, than anything else, but I would like to think that I had something to do with it.

In this light, I allow myself to drink my fill of her face. Freckles pepper her cheeks, and her red curls have blown everywhere in the night breeze. She looks peaceful, and those worry lines that I've come to associate with her have eased.

I don't want her to worry. I don't want her to be concerned about anything.

She opens her eyes, blinking blearily at me. "Hey." Ciara breathes out the word, and I want to capture it with my mouth.

"Morning," I say back.

She's not high on that first flood of magic anymore.

Will she still want me?

But then she wriggles where she lies, giggling as the wolves move beneath us, and moving until she is lying flush against me. "Good morning," she says, the emphasis firmly on the good. "May I kiss you?"

Some sort of panic overwhelms me and my mouth opens and closes multiple times. "I… I…?"

"No?" But she doesn't shrink back, like she might have done some days ago. My Ciara remains open and smiling, waiting for my response.

I lean up and kiss her, running my fingers through her wild hair. She kisses me back with wild abandon and the Pack murmurs its satisfaction. This time I really do elbow a wolf and their pained yip brings us both back to ourselves.

I'm gulping in air, like I've forgotten how to breathe, and her pupils are wide, as if she's trying desperately to take in every inch of me. We're a mess. I love it.

The alpha plods over and gives me a look. I might be higher in the hierarchy than he, but I am certainly ignoring social niceties. I nod and slide my arms under Ciara to hold her as I stand. She squeaks and squeals, and I want to nip her to keep her in line. The sweetest thing.

"Come, you," I say, setting her down and leading her away from the wolfpile, away from her cottage, deeper into the forest.

"Where are we going?" she asks, and I don't reply, kissing her instead, but when I turn to lead us onward, she stays on the spot, stubbornly keeping her place. "Answer me." There is the slightest tremor under her words, and I stop and turn back to her. Jutting out her chin, Ciara meets me questioning gaze. "If I ask a question, I'd like it answered."

From any other person, I'd have dismissed such a statement out of hand, but I know my Ciara, and I can hear how hard it was for her to speak such words. "I am sorry. I would like to take you to the lake. It is beautiful there, and more secluded so we can kiss without bothering the wolves."

She swallows, and then nods. "Thank you. And yes, that would be quite lovely."

Something has come back up between us, a wall of sorts, and I'm careful with her as we head in the direction that I indicated, but as we walk, she becomes more confident. It's as if she sees that she can speak her concerns, her worries, and nothing will change between us—for it shan't.

The forest opens up onto the lake, and it is calm and placid, deep blue mirroring the sky. I have spent more time here, since returning from behind the Veil, than nearly anywhere else. I flew over it first, and found myself circling round and round, before perching on a rock and sitting in the peacefulness.

And when I shifted into my wolfshape for the first time, this is the first place I came, ready to plunge into its depths, and wash the dust of two thousand years away.

Ciara steps out in front of me, and she takes a deep breath. "I didn't know this was here."

"Most people don't; you have to go deep enough into the woods to find it, most mortals don't like that."

She laughs then, a breathy sound. "Are you saying that I'm not like most mortals?"

I come to stand behind her, and wrap my arms about her waist, pulling her closer to me. "You are not like most mortals. You fed a stray wolf. You believed me when I told you the truth. You are Pack."

"And I don't have to be able to shift?" she asks. "The wolves won't someday mind that I'm not like you, and I can't run with them like you can."

"You are Pack," I reiterate. "They just see you as a very odd-shaped wolf. And what's to say that you can't run with them like I can?"

She looks down at her bare feet. "Maybe with trainers…"

I don't understand how she doesn't realize that it's not about what she puts on her feet, or how she moves; it's about who she is.

Pulling her to face me, I take her face in her hands. "Ciara, you are Pack. That means that you'll never be left behind, you'll never be alone again. And no, you won't be able to run as fast as other wolves—but do you really want to go hunting?"

She shivers at that. "Maybe not, but playing…."

"Playing we can do. Wolves love to chase."

"They do?" and she shivers again, only this time it's for a different reason.