Page 32 of A Warrior's Fate

“You were in the Hunt.” She returned his tempered squeeze with one of her own, thankful to have, at least, one of the many burdens off her mind. Judging by the fact he was here and offering the gesture, she’d take it he was successful in his endeavor. “Congratulations.”

Declan beamed as he nodded in thanks. “You as well. Two bak and second-best in the run to an alpha: that’s impressive. Though, I shouldn’t expect any less from Io.”

Isla returned the grin, though, a sourness lingered behind it that she hoped he couldn’t detect.

Yes, the reminder of her accomplishment was wonderful, needed as a small reprieve from the chaos in her mind, as a reminder that all of this—the physical and the mental strife—had been worth it. But one little thing, one tiny string of words tarnished the statement.

Yes, Isla was of Io. Her entire life had been spent in those metallic, gold-covered streets shrouded in its rich, deep reds and warm colors. Watching the famed sunsets and sunrises from craggy hilltops. Training with some of the best fighters on the continent. But if she had to hear one more person speak beyond who she was, relegating her existence, her accomplishments, dismissing her due to the pack she happened to be a member of, she’d scream. For now, she thanked him.

“It’s nice to see you upright,” Declan said as the two pulled away. “You were in pretty bad shape when I carried you out.”

“You carried me out?” Her mouth was so dry that she could barely swallow.

There was another reason she’d recognized Declan. His voice. It had been one plaguing her waking nightmares, taunting her as she hovered just above sleep.

“Is she even still alive?”

“After we found you in that house, we weren’t sure what to do with you. You were pretty messed up,” Declan said.

“A house?”

That hadn’t been where Isla remembered being before she’d blacked out. She’d heard stories of how figurative ghosts lingered from a life once lived among the Wilds—the foundations of old cottages, the rotting fabric of old robes, the rusted metal of children’s toys—but she never crossed any of it herself. Something she was grateful to be free from the haunting memory of.

“I think that’s what it was before…you know.” Declan shook his hands as if casting a spell. “A roof and four walls. Decrepit, creepy. You were left on the floor of it, unshifted, and…” He looked her over as she stood completely whole and shook his head. “We thought you were dead.”

“We?”

“Me and another hunter. Alpha’s orders to track you down.”

At the mention of Kai, Isla’s fingers twitched at her sides. Anger boiled. First, at him, but then at herself. For the fact that, just for a moment, she thought he’d actually cared.

“I wasn’t going to leave her in there to die.”

A courtesy. It was just a courtesy.

“No offense to the alpha,” Declan began, “but we thought he’d lost it. He was facing a bak, and there was no guarantee you were even alive. But if we jumped in to help him, I’m afraid both him and the beast would’ve turned on us.” His eyes scanned her again before throwing out a light-hearted, “I don’t know what makes you so special.”

Isla resisted a roll of her eyes.

There wasn’t much, apparently.

Before she could draw a conclusion herself, Declan offered, “Imperial Beta’s daughter, maybe Deimos is planning to make a run for resources or something.”

“Yeah, that must be it,” she said, battling to keep impassive.

Imperial Beta’s daughter could join from or of Io in the list of phrases she didn’t want to hear in her vicinity for at least a month.

“You weren’t the only one in there either.”

Her irritation subsided quickly. “I wasn’t?”

“It’s hard to scent anything in those woods, but there was blood in that house, fresh blood and definitely not yours.” Declan went quiet before he pulled something from his back pocket. “And then there was this.”

Isla’s breath caught as she rubbed at her eyes to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.

Lopsidedly perched on its decayed edges in the palm of Declan’s hand was the marker from the Ares Pass.

“Where was that?” Desperation leaked into Isla’s voice, and she struggled to keep her optimism at bay. So she’d learned, not everything was as it seemed, and the possibility that this shoddy ball of wood presented was so grand, so miraculous, it seemed too good for it to be Fate’s will.

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