Page 29 of The Alpha's Mail Order Bride

Well, she wasn’t going to waste any more time. First stop, the cottage, where she’d been living in uneasy solitude all week. His cottage, she told herself, hardening her heart against the sentimental attachment she felt to it. It had nothing to do with her anymore. It had never been her home, not really, no matter how much she might have wanted it to be. She took the stairs two at a time and barged into her room, grateful her suitcase was already mostly packed. She jammed a few last things into it then slammed it shut and zipped it up. And when she stormed out of the door, she didn’t bother looking back. What was the point? There was nothing worth remembering here.

And pretty soon, she was going to prove it.

Her anger gave her strength, making her heavy suitcase feel lighter than air as she dragged it behind her through the familiar streets of Kurivon. There was a tension on the streets here, an uneasiness that had begun to build the day after Darion had disappeared into the woods, courtesy of reports from the island’s lorekeepers that demonic activity was on the rise again. Stricter curfews for the young wolves of the community and increased patrols were the only real changes so far, but the atmosphere was markedly different. It was the right time to be leaving, she told herself firmly. As much progress as she’d made with her sword fighting—Lyrie had told her she was a natural—she knew it would be a long time before she’d be any good at helping the wolves defend their home from their ancient threat. Better that she get out of here, at least remove herself as a liability.

After a few quick stops—some final errands, returning a few borrowed items—she found herself on the final doorstep, heart thudding in her chest. The door to Reeve and Lyrie’s cottage swung open as soon as she knocked, and a worried-looking Reeve ushered her inside.

“Darion’s safe,” she said without preamble. “I found him in the forest up north, fighting demons, just like we thought. He’s injured, but he’ll live.” Where was he now, she wondered? Probably home, unless he’d stopped by the infirmary to get those wounds tended. She stopped that train of thought firmly in its tracks. Darion was no longer any of her concern.

Reeve exhaled, but his relief was temporary. “And areyouokay?”

“No,” she said, feeling a brittle, unnatural smile stretch her lips. “No, but I will be.”

A sudden, uncharacteristic stillness came over Reeve. “Ah,” he said softly. “You’re going ahead with the ritual, then.”

“Yes. I’ve put it off long enough. I’d hoped that he might…but I was wrong. It’s time to go.” She hesitated, wishing she knew how to offer him some kind of consolation. She wasn’t used to seeing the cocky, witty Alpha looking so downcast. “Reeve, this…I want you to know that this isn’t your fault.”

“I would have to disagree,” he said, sounding utterly exhausted. “It’s not like you stumbled in here and married my brother all on your own.”

“No,” she admitted. “No, but Ichoseto come here, you know? I wasn’t marched here at gunpoint. You offered me the chance to do something absolutely ridiculous, and I took it. True, I might have thought a little longer if I’d known it was going to be asurprisewedding for Darion,” she added, pleased to see him smile a little at that. “But honestly, Reeve, I still would have rolled the dice on this. It was a big, bold, stupid risk, and I don’t regret it.”

“I hope you’re not just saying that to make me feel better,” the wolf said tiredly, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Some would say that opting into this ritual is an indicator that you would, in fact, have decided against coming here if you were given the chance to choose again. Obliterating all memory of your time here is…certainly a strong choice. Not that I’m trying to change your mind,” he added quickly, lifting his hands. “You have my full support—and I’ll ensure that you get back to where you need to be once it’s all done. It’s the least I can do, really, after what I’ve put you both through.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t work,” she said into the meditative silence that followed.

“Me too,” Reeve said softly.

“You’ll look after him, yeah?”

“Of course we will. If he lets us,” Reeve added darkly. “Grumpy old fool. You’d better go before I start trying to talk you out of this, Claire,” he said abruptly, getting to his feet. “I’ve got the letter and I’ve got Suzanne’s new address. You’ll wake up exactly where you need to be.” He exhaled, sticking his hands into his pockets, and Claire could tell he was doing his level best not to cry. “Let me find Lyrie, she’ll want to say—”

“No,” Claire said quickly, shaking her head. “We’ve already said goodbye.”

A sparring match the day before. It had been a thrill to see Lyrie in action—she’d never relished being beaten at something so much. And the way her friend’s eyes had lingered on hers when they’d said goodbye…she knew there was no need to see her again.

“Thank you, Reeve, really. For everything.” She uttered a hoarse little chuckle. “I wish I could say I’d never forget you.”

“So do I,” he said softly. He walked her to the door, gave her a quick, bruising hug…and Claire kept walking. She had to keep moving. If she stopped, she risked letting doubt creep in around the edges. And as much as it might hurt to be leaving this place behind, this community of wolves who had welcomed and cared for her as though she was family, she knew in her bones that it was the only thing she could do. There was no future for her here. She had to go back home, and she couldn’t take her memories with her. As long as she lived, she knew, she wouldn’t be able to leave what she’d had with Darion in the past. She still wasn’t completely sure what wolves meant when they talked about soulmates. Maybe his soulmate was still out there waiting for him.

But she knew that she’d never loved anyone as much as she loved him, and if she was to have any hope of finding her own soulmate one day, she had to forget that she’d ever known him. That was the gift that the lorekeeper had offered her that day, when she’d read her sadness in her eyes and in the cards, even without a common language between them. A strange gift, the gift of forgetting. It would save her life, but in a few short hours, she wouldn’t even know it. She only hoped she could express her gratitude to Anessi before the ritual took effect.

The admin had been the trickiest part, in the end—the logistics of getting herself back home when she wouldn’t have any memory of how she’d gotten here in the first place. Plus there was the finalization of divorce proceedings; a particularly tricky issue, given that the idea was for her to forget the marriage as well. Reeve had assured her he had his best people on it, and her future self wouldn’t run into any trouble as a result of this annulled marriage. She’d also gone through her computer with a fine-toothed comb, deleting every record of her time here—every document, every journal entry, and every email to Suzanne.

She was grateful, at least, that she hadn’t been in contact with anyone but Suzanne. With the help of the wolves of Kurivon, she’d written a very long letter explaining the whole situation to her best friend—a letter which explained most of what had happened, while still refraining from mentioning that the residents of the island were shapeshifters. What she’d make of the situation, Claire didn’t know. But she knew that if there was anyone on Earth she trusted to take care of her, it was Suzanne.

She’d expected it to be hard to delete the half-finished story she’d been writing, given how heavily it had been inspired by her time with Darion. But in the end, that had been easier than any of the rest of it. She’d read back over the story and recoiled at how desperately saccharine it seemed to her now. She’d thought it was so good when she’d been writing it. How could she have let her critical eye be so hampered by her feelings about Darion? Or was it her current feelings that were stopping her from seeing clearly? Was she looking at a perfectly serviceable draft of a novel, but letting the fact that she knew the hero was based on Darion turn her against him? Oddly enough, it was the heroine who she reacted to with the most disgust. So optimistic, so cheerful, so sunny…she wanted to reach back through the pages and grab that past self by the shoulders, give her a fierce shake and tell her not to be such a sucker. It had almost been enough to make her reconsider the memory wipe. After all, with all the experiences of the last month wiped away, she’d likely revert to that same person, ready to be taken advantage of all over again. But there was nothing she could do about that except hope that somehow, the experiences she’d gone through would stick with her, imparting some shadow of their lessons on her. In dreams, maybe. That was a comforting thought.

Claire had felt an eerie, flat calm ever since she’d left Darion in the forest, but now that she was actually heading for the site of the ritual, anxiety began to prickle at her stomach for the first time. She’d left her bag at Reeve’s place, as planned; it would go along with her when she was transported, in a deep and restful sleep, from Kurivon back to the mainland. She felt oddly lonely and vulnerable without it, but what was she going to need from it? Nothing. The only thing Anessi needed to complete the ritual was Claire.

She took a deep breath as she neared the community center. Dark had fallen in earnest, and the streets of Kurivon were completely deserted. Nobody was keen to get caught outside at night with a demon between them and their front door—there had been a handful of sightings in the past week. Nothing quite as severe as the trio she’d found menacing Darion in the woods to the north, of course. Claire grimaced at the pang of worry that accosted her without her consent, but she couldn’t help but wonder how many demons he’d beaten into submission all on his own up there…

“Right,” she told herself sharply. “That’s the last one you get, alright?” No more dwelling on the subject of Darion. She’d done quite enough of that for one lifetime. Buoyed by that fresh conviction, she pushed the doors to the community center open and stepped in, finally ready to meet her fate.

Claire stared around at the transformed space, surprised by how beautiful it was. The lorekeepers had been hard at work; she’d barely given them an hour’s notice, stopping by on her way to Reeve’s place to confirm that she’d decided to go ahead. Anessi had surprised her by throwing her arms around her and holding her in a tight, fierce hug for a few seconds before withdrawing, calm and serene once more, confirming through a translator that they’d perform the ritual at the community center.

And they’d clearly been busy since then. The large space was clear of all furniture—tucked away in the offices and smaller rooms at the back, Claire assumed—but they’d brought in what looked like hundreds of candles, flickering and dancing with every puff of air. She could see Anessi in the middle of the room, kneeling over a large central area that seemed like the only part of the room that hadn’t been decorated with candles. Claire closed the door behind her to protect the little flames from the night breeze, then moved cautiously through the space, which already felt heavy and sacred with a significance that seemed as foreign to her as a totally different country. And she realized, with an odd shiver, that that was exactly what Kurivon was. Strange; somehow, she’d never felt like a foreigner here.

Anessi looked up and murmured a phrase Claire recognized as a friendly greeting. She’d picked up a scant handful of words in the wolves’ language while she’d been here, though her attempts at pronunciation were generally met with hysterical laughter. A pang of sadness struck her at the thought that she’d lose what she’d learned of the language—along with the knowledge of its existence, of course. Odd, the way this prospect felt a little like walking to her death. Who would wake up on the other side? Not the woman she was right now, the woman who’d spent the last month of her life among a community of shapeshifters. She’d wake up as a stranger—the stranger she’d been a month ago. How strange.

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