Page 80 of Teeth To Rip & Tear

“Do you believe that?” Dean cocked his head to the side, “You were married once, it’s normal to grieve.”

I sighed, pushing my dark hair away from my face. “Am I a bad person because I’m okay?”

“You’re not a bad person.” The surety in his voice shocked me. “Not at all.”

“Ever since I heard that wolves can’t have children unless it’s with their true mates, I just...” My lips scrunched together, and my nose burned with tears that threatened to fall. “I can’t stop thinking about what I could have done.I lost a child.I got pregnant and lost a child because I didn’t wait for the ‘right’ person. How many other Wolfkin have experienced the exact same thing as me? I could have dealt with it if there was a health issue. If something happened. But Joel told me I was a murderer and a bad mom because I couldn’t even keep my baby safe. Deep down, I hadn’t believed him. Things happen naturally, and sometimes they aren’t meant to be. But what if I was to blame? If I’d waited for my Shíorghra, my child wouldn’t have died.”

“Its the Huntsman.” Dean reached up, placing a hand on my shoulder, his gaze demanding mine. “You are not to blame. If anything, the Huntsman and his bargains are the enemy. And you are right; sometimes things are not meant to be. You were in hiding. You were taking a potion to subdue your wolf side. Even if you did know about the curse, it would be reasonable to think it wouldn’t affect you. You’re half Sídhe.”

“Do you want children?” I asked.

Dean avoided my eyes. “Yes.”

“Me too.” I brushed my hand against my cheek, wiping the tears. “My mom died when I was born. I had my grandmother, but it wasn’t the same. Deep down, I knew she blamed me. I was the reason that my mother had died. My grandmother was a shouter. She would take over and finish what I was doing because I could never do anything right. Cleaning. Cooking. Even weaving. I wanted a child of my own so bad. In my mind, I planned to do everything right. I wouldn’t do any of the things my grandmother did to make me feel small and useless.”

“I’ve always wanted children. I was an only child, and it was lonely.” Dean rubbed his mouth. “But, some things aren’t meant to happen.”

I glanced at the bathroom door. “Kaleb and Wyatt have been in there a while, huh?”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “Probably eavesdropping.”

Something in the bathroom dropped—it sounded like a shampoo bottle in the tub. “I resent that!” Wyatt called through the door as Kaleb hissed for him to shut up.

Chapter Seventeen

I went to my room, barely having enough time to shower and wash my body before Mitchell came to find me.

By the expression on his face, it wasn’t good news.

“The Huntsman?” I guessed.

Mitchell sighed and nodded. “He’s in a particular kind of mood this evening. The final day of Samhain approaches, and he’s especially morose.”

My eyes widened in horror. “And he’s asked forme?”

Mitchell’s lips pressed together in a straight line as he held out his arms in a universal‘what can you do?’ expression.

“Lead the way, I guess.” I stood up, gesturing to the door.

“At least you managed to wash most of our scents from your skin.” Mitchell quirked a brow. “Though there isn’t much to be done about the bite marks.”

“I have nothing to hide.” I jutted my chin. “I had to wash off the blood.”

“Sure.” He elongated the word, placing his hand on the small of my back as he led me from the kennels. Somehow, even though I was on the way to meet an ancient Fae, who was possibly insane but definitely evil, all I could focus on was that damn hand on the small of my back.

It didn’t take us long to reach the castle, crossing the stone lawn and ascending the steps towards the moving cogs leading into the sky.

Though I dragged my heels, soon Mitchell deposited me at an unfamiliar door at the top of a tight spiral staircase. He knocked once and waited. When the door opened of its own accord, he ushered me through.

“Aren’t you coming?” I whispered, feet hesitating at the threshold.

He shook his head. “I cannot. The Huntsman has requested privacy.”

My hand cupped my throat. No matter how much I wished I wasn’t scared, the Huntsman could ask me to do anything, and if he used his call, I would have to.

I felt sick.

I didn’t want to go inside.

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