Page 27 of The Alpha's Mail Order Bride

She didn’t recognize the woman standing at the edge of the trees. She had bright silver eyes like most of Kurivon’s residents, which told Claire she was a wolf, but she couldn’t remember seeing her among any of the groups she’d spent time with. And she had a feeling she would have remembered someone so striking. The woman was tall and noticeably slender, even beneath the flowing robes that hid most of her figure from view, but what stood out most was her hair, which was such a pale shade of blonde it may as well have been white. She was young—in her early twenties or even her late teens, by Claire’s judgment—but there was a gravitas and wisdom in her curious, level gaze that had her second-guessing that assessment.

She spoke with a smile, her voice soft and melodious. The inflection told Claire she’d been asked a question, but none of the words made any sense.

“Sorry, I haven’t learned any of your language yet,” Claire said apologetically, spreading her hands. The stranger tilted her head, and Claire saw her own lack of comprehension reflected in those silver eyes. “And I’m guessing you don’t know English, either.”

The wolf shrugged with a helpless little smile. Claire couldn’t help but laugh a little. The stranger must be from Belmont’s pack—they had come to Kurivon a little later than the wolves who’d belonged to Reeve and Darion’s packs, and had been slower to learn the second language that the island had adopted. Maybe that was why she hadn’t met this woman before. Or it could have something to do with her profession. Syrra had told her a little about what lorekeepers did; though their roles and specialties varied based on the individual’s gifts, and the structure and requirements of their packs, she understood that the life of a lorekeeper was always a busy one. This woman’s robes were secured by a pale blue sash—she couldn’t remember seeing that color on any of the other lorekeepers. Shame she couldn’t ask her about it.

“Claire,” she said, pointing to herself. It felt rude to sit here in silence without even introducing herself, as content as the stranger seemed watching the sea. The wolf’s eyes widened, and she nodded gravely.

“Claire,” she repeated, the sleeves of her robe falling away from the slender finger she pointed at Claire. As she turned the gesture onto herself, Claire could see that her hands were patterned with intricate designs—tattoos, perhaps? “Anessi.”

“Anessi,” Claire repeated, hoping she was right to assume that was the woman’s name. “Nice to meet you,” she added pointlessly, bowing her head to underline the gesture. The wolf smiled and nodded her own head. Claire couldn’t help but reflect that she’d already received more warmth and kindness from this stranger who didn’t even share a language with her than she had from Darion in the whole first week they’d known each other.

Had something shown in her face? Perhaps. The wolf settled into a cross-legged position a few feet from the edge of the cliff, an expression of thoughtful concern on her face. Claire watched curiously as she reached into her pocket to withdraw a deck of cards. Did she want to play with her? How was she going to explain the rules? The wolf’s slender hands flew as she shuffled the cards with almost supernatural speed, made all the more impressive by the fact that her silver eyes didn’t leave Claire’s face. She felt oddly hypnotized by the regard, holding that gaze without blinking, some strange instinct telling her that to look away would be to break some kind of spell that was being woven…

The next thing she knew, the wolf had set down three cards on the rocky soil. A gust of wind tugged one a little out of line, and Anessi looked down at it sharply, breaking her focus. Claire blinked, suddenly feeling silly, but when the wolf looked back up at her, there was a grave concern on her face that sent a chill down Claire’s spine. She spoke a few sentences in that melodious, flowing language that Claire so enjoyed hearing but could never understand, so all she could do was shrug in response. They were at an impasse.

As if on cue, both women turned at the sound of footsteps. Two wolves were visible on the path through the forest, moving at the slow, easy pace of wolves on patrol who didn’t expect to find much. Anessi leaped to her feet, eyes bright, calling to the wolves in that shimmering language. They exchanged curious glances as they emerged onto the rocky outcropping. The dark gray wolf settled onto its haunches, but the one with the jet-black coat tilted its head. The air shimmered and Claire felt the odd pressure change that she’d come to associate with shifter magic, and suddenly the wolf was steadying herself on two legs, blinking as her human eyes adjusted to the light out here.

“Yara! Hi!” Claire was pleased to see a familiar face. The woman gave her a surprised little nod, then glanced at Anessi, who was shifting impatiently from foot to foot.

“You’ve met our newest lorekeeper, huh? Bet you guys have had a lot to talk about.” Anessi was speaking rapidly, her voice soft and urgent, and Yara’s teasing smile faded as she listened. She turned back to Claire when the lorekeeper had finished. “The cards say you’re in trouble, she says.”

“The cards?” She blinked at the lorekeeper, who was restlessly shuffling her deck of cards in her hands. From here, she could make out intricate patterns on the backs of the cards—they matched the wolf’s tattoos. She remembered Suzanne going through a tarot phase, and frowned a little. “Should I be worried?”

“Raske says she’s got more raw talent than any apprentice he’s trained before,” Yara said with a shrug. “If she’s worried, I’d be worried. She says it’s matters of the heart?” The wolf looked a little embarrassed. “I don’t want to pry, but—is everything alright with Darion?”

Claire considered putting a brave face on it, but what was the point? She was exhausted, the weather was miserable, and she was pretty sure that last night marked the worst heartbreak of her life so far. “No,” she said softly, not liking how quickly she felt tears spring to her eyes at the admission. “No, they’re not.”

“Right,” Yara said grimly. “I think this calls for tea.”

An hour later, the three of them were sitting in the cottage Yara shared with her brothers, both of whom had been unceremoniously kicked out of the dining area and sent on their way. This was definitely not how Claire had imagined this day going, she reflected faintly, feeling an odd sense of unreality creeping in. The strangeness of the situation was only accentuated by the halting nature of the conversation, the long uneasy pauses while Anessi spoke rapidly and Yara worked hard to translate her words into a language that she, too, had only a passing familiarity with. But some instinct told Claire that this was important—that Anessi was someone she should trust, that her guidance would be valuable here.

And so she found herself telling the story of her time on Kurivon, perhaps for the first time in its entirety. The pauses while Yara translated gave her an opportunity to reflect on what she’d said and what came next, to let the swells of emotion settle that might have otherwise carried her away. In the end, it was a much more measured, balanced telling of the story than she’d been intending to give to Suzanne. Still, there was very real sympathy on Yara and Anessi’s faces as they conferred briefly in their language.

“We’re both sorry for what you’ve gone through, here,” Yara said gently, reaching out to touch her hand. “He’s been an asshole. That part was me, not the lorekeeper,” she added, flashing her a quick grin that made her chuckle despite her heavy mood. Anessi cleared her throat and murmured a question, and Yara’s expression grew serious. “She wants to know if Darion’s your soulmate.”

The lorekeeper nodded to her translator, but her silver eyes were trained on Claire’s face, boring through her with an intensity she’d rarely encountered before. Claire dropped her eyes to the mug of cooling tea in her hands, at a loss for how to answer the question. If they’d asked her yesterday, with Darion’s arms around her and that rare, precious smile playing across his lips, she would have answered without hesitation. But yesterday was a long, long time ago.

“No,” she whispered, looking up to meet Anessi’s unflinching gaze. “No, I don’t think so.” How could a soulmate have treated her like that? How could a soulmate have told her that the most beautiful day of her life had been a mistake?

Anessi looked at her for a long moment, then nodded and turned to speak to Yara in a low voice. She spoke for quite some time, but Claire kept her eyes downcast, feeling terribly sad and alone all of a sudden. Finally, Yara touched her hand again. “She says you shouldn’t be hurting like this. She says she knows a way to help, if you’re willing. A ritual.”

Claire chuckled weakly. “Does it involve chocolate ice cream and bad movies?” Matching blank stares from the wolves at the table. She sighed, missing Suzanne. “Sorry. Human joke.” She set her tea down and took a deep breath. “Okay. Tell me about the ritual.”

It was late afternoon by the time she got back to the house. The sky was still pressing in on her, the heat oppressive, but her mind couldn’t have been further away from those little discomforts. She hated the part of her that was afraid to see Darion, but another part of her, one she hated even more, was almost hoping he’d be there.

But the house was as quiet and empty as it had been when she’d left, as though nobody lived there at all. She gave Darion’s door a long look, half tempted to push it open to see if he was in there, but she couldn’t quite find the strength. Instead, she checked the place by the door where he kept his sword. It was gone. That meant he was gone, too.

Good. She could use some time to herself. After what she’d learned today, she had a lot of thinking to do…and a serious decision to make about her future here.

Chapter 16 - Darion

It became very quickly clear to Darion that he couldn’t stay in this house. Not with Claire upstairs, a scant handful of steps and a closed door away. He knew it was only a matter of time before he weakened again, let himself go to her, threw himself at her feet and begged for her forgiveness. It had been stupid to let himself give in, to make love to her the way he had; it had only made it harder to do what needed to be done.

So instead of tossing and turning in his bed all night, he methodically cleaned the entire house from top to bottom. He washed every last dish, cleaned up every last trace of the last meal they’d made together. Making his bed was especially painful—the linen smelled like her, and he couldn’t move without a fresh memory assaulting him, setting off the aching sense of yearning for her anew each time. At least she’d taken her clothes with her when she’d gone upstairs. It would have been too hard to face her long enough to return them.

By the time the house was in order again, it was almost dawn. Darion paused for a moment at the front door, his eyes on the stairs even as he buckled his sword to his hip. It would be the easiest thing in the world to walk up those stairs and knock on her door…and that, he told himself firmly, was exactly why he needed to go.

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