Page 70 of Destined to the Lycan
A thick silence settled between us as the horse pursued its journey. More than once, I opened my mouth to try and rekindle the conversation, but words failed me. Half an hour later, Ulric slowed down and eventually stopped the horse.
“This is as far as I can take you,” he said in a grumpy tone.
In the distance, I could see the gates to the Weaver’s domain. Unless you had business with her, it wasn’t a good idea to lurk too close to the entrance. The imps guarding the gates were reputed to not only be powerful, but also viciously unforgiving towards trespassers and unwanted visitors.
I turned to look at him over my shoulder. He wouldn’t make eye contact, staring at the horse’s mane instead.
“Thank you, Ric,” I said, using his old pet name. “I know you don’t believe it, but I never meant to hurt you. I loved you then, and I love you still. You were more than a friend or a cousin to me. You were my brother. In my heart, you still are and always will be.”
He didn’t respond, but his eyes glistened, and he blinked to stem the tears that undoubtedly pricked his eyes.
“I miss you. However long it takes, I will pray to get my brother back,” I said softly.
Leaning forward, I kissed his cheek. He didn’t pull away, content to remain stiff. And that in itself was a huge win. He might not be ready to acknowledge our bond, but he no longerrejected it. I hopped off the horse, a smile on my face as hope blossomed in my heart.
Tonight, I partially regained a brother. And in a few moments, I could only pray that the Weaver would give me back my mate.
I shifted back into my wolf form and glanced one last time at Ulric.
“Safe journey… Brother,” Ulric said.
A powerful howl of joy rose from my throat. He snorted, gave me a sad smile, then turned his horse around. I wanted for him to get off the horse so that we could run as brothers in our wolf form as we used to do as pups. But now wasn’t the time. Fate willing, we would do so in the near future.
As I ran towards the massive iron gates barring the entrance of the Weaver’s home, the old tension returned with a vengeance. I still ached everywhere, but fear that she would once more turn me away twisted my insides, dominating my thoughts.
If I have to climb over the damn walls, I will.
If it came to that, the guardian imps would attack. But I was past caring. Nothing and no one would keep me from facing the Weaver and getting the answers I needed. If I had to die trying, so be it.
To my shock and utter relief, the gates swung open when I was still a good hundred meters away. I should be elated. For three decades, I dreamt of this day. But now, only a growing panic filled my heart. What if Lyall had been wrong in sending me here? What if I in fact should have stayed on the plateau and continued my efforts to summon Ranael? What if…?
The sight of the humble thatched-roof house—the cliché witch hut—that appeared at the end of the path threw me for a loop. The Weaver had to be extremely wealthy, if only thanks to the insane amounts people were willing to pay someone of herpower. But those thoughts, too, I cast aside as I shifted back into my human form to approach the door.
As I reached for the handle, the door opened on its own, startling me. I took a couple of steps inside, transfixed by the ageless woman sitting behind a table facing the entrance. To her right, a few meters back, sat an imposing spinning wheel. A luminous thread, clearly imbued with great magic, hung by the spindle, waiting to be spun.
Cliona Nox was beautiful and yet terrifying. I couldn’t say what intimidated me the most between the intense gaze of her purple eyes with the narrow vertical pupils, the unreadable smile that could be interpreted as mocking or flat out threatening, or the insane power that radiated from her.
While I suspected Lyall to be a demigod, there was no question that the Weaver was a goddess. People speculated that she might simply be one of the Ancients. Although it could be possible, I highly doubted it. No mortal or long-lived being could exude this much power passively. She could probably turn me to cinders with a mere thought.
To my dismay, the Weaver raised an eyebrow the moment I walked in, and blatantly ogled me, the corner of her lips quirking with a mix of amusement and approval. My skin instantly heated with embarrassment as I remembered that I was buck naked before her on our first meeting. The fact that her gaze held no lust didn’t lessen my mortification. It was like having your blunt grandmother walking in on you while you were in a compromising position.
I meant to apologize for appearing before her in this state of undress. But completely different words spilled out of my mouth.
“Ranael cannot cure her,” I blurted out.
The Weaver took on an unimpressed expression. “Hello to you, too, Remus Beltaine. Won’t you have a seat?”
She gestured with her right hand towards something to my right, her razor-sharp nails gleaming under the lighting—although claws would probably be a more accurate description.
I jumped at the grinding sound coming from behind me and spun around to see a chair I hadn’t noticed by the door gliding on the floor. Moved by an invisible hand, it stopped in front of the table, facing Cliona.
Although I could have used the rest, I lifted my chin defiantly and recklessly took on a harsh tone to demand a response.
“I don’t want to sit,” I said sternly. “I want answers.”
All amusement immediately faded from the Weaver, and she gave me a menacing look that almost made me tremble.
“Sit. Down,” she commanded through her teeth in the low, almost whispered voice that implied excruciating pain awaited us if we foolishly failed to comply with an order.
