Page 58 of His Claim
“Exactly.” She grinned wickedly.
I shook my head, muttering, “Crazy woman.”
Varek chuckled low, the sound rumbling like distant thunder. “Eat,” he said, poking at the fire. “I’m sure you’re hungry.”
The firelight licked at the stone walls, turning shadows into long, strange shapes that moved with the dancing of the flames. The rations were mostly gone, crumbs on our laps, packages tossed into the fire to hiss and blacken.
Elsie chewed the last of her biscuit and smirked at me. “So. You were taken captive by the wolves too.”
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yeah. For quite a while. They never… they never got to me. Not before Varek did.”
Her brows shot up. “Lucky you.”
“Lucky?” My laugh came out much louder than I intended. “It didn’t feel that way. Day and night I sat in the dark, in a cage, and waited for them to come. And every night they took someone else instead. I felt guilty for being relieved that it was never me.”
Elsie’s grin faded, her eyes flickering with understanding. “I know that guilt. I lived in those cages too. But they did take me. Again and again. Until…” She stopped, her throat working, then forced a laugh that didn’t sound real. “Until they decided I was too broken to bother anymore.”
My stomach twisted. “You’re not?—”
“Don’t,” she snapped, holding up a hand. “Don’t pity me. I don’t need it. I survived. That’s what matters.”
I wanted to argue, but I saw the steel in her eyes, so I just nodded instead. “You did.”
The tension in her shoulders eased, and she gave me a small nod back. For the first time, it felt like we weren’t just strangers. We were two women with scars in the same places.
The fire popped, filling the silence.
I glanced at Varek. He sat across from us, back straight against the wall, his eyes reflecting the firelight. Watching. Always watching.
“Elsie said something earlier,” I began carefully. “About you. About your past. Was there… someone before me?”
His head snapped toward Elsie, and the look he gave her could have carved through stone. She just grinned, unbothered. “Don’t glare at me, Commander. She deserves to know what kind of ghost she’s bedding down with.”
Varek’s jaw tightened. For a moment, I thought he’d shut down and refuse to answer, but then his gaze softened as it slid back to me.
“There was,” he said, voice low. “Her name was Elena.”
The fire seemed to dim at the sound of her name.
“She was human. We both were,” he went on, his eyes fixed on the flames. “We lived together and we were… happy. For a while.” His lips pressed tight. “Then the wolves came. They raided our village and invaded our home. I told her to run. She did.”
His throat worked, his hands curling into fists on his knees. “She didn’t make it. By the time I fought them off, she was dead. In the chaos, I was bitten. Everything I had—everythingwehad—was ripped away in one brutal night. That’s when I became whatI am now. I’m a powerful, influential alpha wolf commander, but I hate the Council and all it stands for.”
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the drip of water from the ceiling and the pop of firewood.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. And I meant it.
He lifted his gaze to mine. His eyes were sad and unguarded. “Don’t be. Elena is my past. I loved her, but she died a long time ago. You are my future.”
I stared into the eyes of my mate, feeling something completely unfamiliar welling up inside my chest.
Elsie made a noise halfway between a scoff and a laugh. “Gods, you wolves and your drama. But hey—” she gestured at us with her rifle, smirking, “—at least you’re honest about it.”
I shot her a look, but couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips. Varek’s hand brushed mine, callused and warm, grounding me in the moment.
The fire cast Elsie’s face in light and shadow, and for the first time I really looked at her.
Her cheekbones were sharp, her nose slightly crooked like it had been broken once and never set right. A thin scar cut across her jawline, pale against her dirt-smudged skin. Her hair was dark blonde, tied back with a strip of torn cloth, stray strands curling loose against her temples. She was lean, wiry, all tendon and sinew, like someone who had learned to live on scraps and fury. Her eyes were the fiercest thing about her, gray, piercing, and entirely too restless. They didn’t just look at you. They judged you.
