Page 82 of Mated to the Wolves

“She wasn’t the only one marked,” Bo holds up his wrist.

Uruz, the symbol for the wild ox makes me laugh.

Fitting.

“What does this mean?”

“Why do I have the thorn?” Cadoc adds, holding up his arm. Etched into Cadoc’s skin is Thurisaz. A powerful force that could cause destruction and change, matches him. His connection to Thor’s rune as a warrior also tracks.

“Maybe it’s a blessing. You are a warrior who keeps us safe,” I trail my finger down my heated sternum.

“What’s yours Fell?” I’m not sure I want to know.

“Perdhro.”

“Mystery.” I force the words out on a wavering voice.

I pull down the bodice of my dress to reveal the new bind rune made up of all the runes they now wear on their wrists.

“In my vision, we were all connected by a silver cord?—”

“True mates?” Fell tilts his head. “Historically that’s the sign of a true mate match.”

“It is?” I soak up the new information. Knowledge lets me feel more in control.

Maybe his history pursuit will come in handy after all.

“Surely not,” Bo scoffs.

Cadoc grunts. “It would explain why the Volva placed us all together.”

“I refuse to believe my fate’s always been entwined with yours.” Bo stands. The link between us closes abruptly, shattering the strange sense of harmony.

His denial hurts. A whimper dies in my throat. He stalks away, and for a moment I miss him. Cadoc presses against me and inhale his scent to ground myself. This wasn’t how I planned to handle any of this. I can’t need them. It’ll only lead to pain.

“He needs time. Let it go for tonight.” Kirk presses a kiss to my temple.

“Don’t forget we’re in this together.”

Are we?

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Celebrating Alvablot with a black-tie event is ironic. Originally, this was meant to give an offering to the elves to appease them after the harvest. Yet here we are dressed to the nines to eat tiny expensive canapes, drink sparkling wine, and feel important.

My dress is a tiered lavender number that evokes whimsy. Trailing out around me in multiple layers of chiffon the design is sickeningly feminine. Thin straps show off my shoulders and fold down into a ruffled sleeve that kisses my fingertips.

“I look like a cupcake wrapper.” I stick my tongue out at the reflection I don’t recognize in the mirror.

“Come out, Brat. It can’t be that bad.”

Leaving the hot rollers in my hair, I stride to the door of my room, careful not to trip on the excess fabric. I yank it open and the four men go silent.

“You hate it.”

“No.” Cadoc steps forward and runs a calloused finger down my bare shoulder. I shiver.

“You’re beautiful like this. Soft and touchable like a flower petal, but edgy like the Brat I know.”

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