Page 110 of Fated Exile

Frustrated, I study the statue—and spot a knife sheathed at his hip. Though Gregor holds a long sword overhead in his right hand, ready for battle, his left hovers near his belt, where a knife is held. I heard a story once that the long-dead elder saved the knife for close battles, twisting it mostly in the back of those who betrayed his pack or turned against his leadership.

Legends claimed that he used the dagger to fight an ancient direwolf that lived in the mountains, and when he slayed it, the wolf's blood was used to coat the dagger in magic that made it impervious to rust and capable of killing any living creature.

The dagger was never found after his death, and our pack isn't the only one with a statue to him, but maybe it was kept nearby. Maybe, even, it was stored in the statue closest to the last known location of the direwolf.

"What is it?" Roarke's voice calls out of the darkness, full of worry. "Did something just happen? Tell me you're okay."

"It was just a little glowing and a cryptic message," I shout back at him, stretching up to grab Gregor's knee. I heave myself up onto the platform of his statue, throwing my free arm around him for balance. "I'm just checking something out, hold on!"

"When we were kids, your dad would've grounded you for a whole month for climbing one of the elder statues like that."

"Yeah, yeah. Put me in time out."

Stretching up, I push to my toes and reach up towards Gregor's sheath. My fingers scrabble around the stone shape of it, and my heart leaps as I reach for the top. There's an edge there, a bit of the carving that dips inward, as if it's a real, hollow sheath and not a connected piece of stone.

Maybe that means the dagger inside is real, too. Someone could've had the foresight to take the dagger and put it inside the stone statue. This high up, no one would've noticed if the handle was real, and the pack may have forgotten—

But no. My fingers scrabble for the handle until I've got a grip on it, and I pull, but it's stone. Pressing my fingertips around the edge of the sheath, I discover that the hollow inside stops after a few millimeters. It's a false sheath, capable of holding absolutely nothing.

In denial, I try several more times to get a better grip on the dagger handle and pull it up. I even slide around the back of the statue, my face pressed to Gregor's stony ass, so I'm high enough to look down into the sheath. But as much as I try, it just doesn't budge.

And the statue is sleeping now, either incapable of giving me answers or uninterested in doing so.

Leaping off the base, I shake myself off and glare up at Gregor. "Strong and wise my ass. More like cryptic and quiet." Regretting my words, I mumble, "Thanks for trying, though."

He had to have been referring to his own dagger. That much is clear. The only question is where it is, and how to find it before Delphine attacks.

Questions I still have no answers to.

* * *

Roarke and I pace back home in our wolf forms, taking turns leading the way. His fur glints in the moonlight overhead, his muzzle tilted towards the ground, catching scents. I watch him leap over a stream and feel my heart squeeze, the urge to tell him that I love him rising sharply within me.

The only thing is, I'm not in a position to sayanythingwith my mouth, given my current form. And this doesn't seem like the right moment. Besides, are these feelings in me love, or just a combination of infatuation, lust, and closeness from the mate bond?

I want to say that I love all five of my mates. I certainly think that I'll be able to say those words to each of them one day. It pains me that I've said them to Kieran and no one else, even though I know how they feel for me.

So much of the time we've spent together has been interrupted by chaos and complicated by an artificial timeline. If we'd had four years together as intendeds, building a bond before our Mating Ceremony, maybe it would be different. But the curse didn't give us the luxury of time, so now I find myself with threads of fate binding me to five men who I desperately need, deeply care for, and don't quite know if I love.

No wonder Hazel wound up in trouble and near death in the square. Bonds of mate or bonds of fate, the threads run deep within us, tugging at places in our heart we didn't know we had.

I'm going to circle back around and patrol the west border,Roarke tells me as the house comes into view, pacing up to rub his shoulder against mine and nudge me with his muzzle.The house is close by, so I'll be there if anything happens while you're on your way home.

I snort.What, you don't think that I can walk five hundred feet by myself?

He gives me a baleful stare.Delphine wants you, and she's taken you at least once.

Yes, but she won't be able to do it again so easily.

About that.He rubs his muzzle against mine, then pulls back to look into my eyes, his face grave even in wolf form.I've been thinking about what you said you heard inside Peter's memory. What if the blood Delphine was talking about was yours?

What do you mean? How would she have my blood?

You spilled it on the Mating Circle,he points out.She's been lurking nearby, and so have her vampires, from what we've seen. Maybe she was involved in the curse that sickened Cat, and she was hoping that you'd spill your blood to try to wake the elders, so she could take some of it.

That's a pretty big leap to make. She'd have to ensure a lot of things went down in order to make that happen.

It just occurred to me while we were there tonight. Maybe it's just paranoia, but—be careful. I don't want to think about her taking you again.

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