Untamable

Chapter 23 Mate

Elizabeth’s POV

Ever since Margaret handed me the letter she penned for her son, my nerves have been tighter than a drum, as if an invisible rope is wound around my heart. The night before setting off, sleep eludes me, and every imagined scenario of meeting Edward leaves me tied in knots.

I ask myself what’s the root of this anxiety? Is it fearing I'll botch the mission and face Margaret's squad's disdain? Or maybe it's the dread that failure here could mean risking my neck? I can't even pin it down.

Don’t be fooled by my carefree façade around the others, acting like having only a year to live doesn't bother me. The truth is, I do want to make it out alive.

As I head towards the Lycans’ military camp, the little vial of Margaret’s hair hangs around my neck. Along the way, I nervously fiddle with it to push myself onwards. When I reach the border, Taylor, the day's patrol soldier, waves me over. "They’re to the northeast. Good luck," she says with a knowing nod about my mission.

I return her nod and make for the Lycan camp. Not exactly hard to find—just crest the hill and there’s their encampment. By dusk, I’m at the camp gates. Seeing the soldiers there, I hesitate briefly before stepping forward to make my request.

“Excuse me,” I start, keeping my tone as neutral as possible.

“Hector Francis is at your service. Is there something I can assist you with, miss?” A burly soldier asks, his eyes scrutinizing every move of mine.

“Thanks Hector. I am Elizabeth and I need to see His Highness,” I explain. “I’ve got a letter for him.”

He raises an eyebrow, teasing, “A love letter, is it?”

“No,” I reply. “It’s a serious matter.”

“What sort of important matter?” he asks. “Which pack are you from?”

I hesitate for a moment before saying, “I’m sent by Maggie from the Healer Squad to deliver this letter.”

The smile disappears from his face instantly. His expression hardens. “You’re a rogue,” he says.

“Yes,” I respond, “can you—”

Before I can finish, he cuts me off, dripping disdain, “A rogue’s lackey thinks she can just speak to me?

His words are sharp and provoke a slight anger in me. But I know keeping cool is crucial right now. I attempt to use a calm tone to request him, “It's just a letter, could you help pass it on?”

But he isn’t finished, determined to needle me further.

“Why should I? You’re a rogue,” he sneers, “Consider yourself lucky I'm not turning you into a pincushion. Beat it before I get a better idea, lady.”

“I’m not leaving without this letter being delivered,” I state firmly, meeting his gaze.

“Oh, intriguing. You won’t get past me without stepping over my dead body,” he taunts, “So, fancy a duel?”

“I don’t enjoy violence,” I frown, more to myself than to him.

He bursts out laughing, “Afraid of meeting your maker, are you, little rogue?”

“My name is Elizabeth and I am not afraid of you!” I reply, calm in my certainty.

“Really?” he eyes me mockingly, “With a scrawniness like yours, I doubt you can hold a dagger right.”

Annoyance flares, but I get it—fight him and I risk everything. Then he gestures grandly, “Here’s the deal. Defeat me, and you walk through.”

“You’re serious?” I ask, eyeing him warily.

“Dead serious,” he confirms, “But don’t go blaming me if you meet an unfortunate end during the fight.”

“Fair enough,” I accept, a plan forming in my head.

“A plucky rogue—I might just admire you, Elizabeth. Pity you’re my foe,” he says, half in jest, still keeping one hand cockily behind his back. “I’ll go easy on you.”

“You’ll regret this,” I smirk, lunging with my dagger.

When I was with The Wood Pack, Alpha Hugh taught me some close-combat techniques. Back then, I had exceptional flexibility but lacked endurance. Since joining Maggie's squad, I have never slacked in training, which made up for that.

The solider clearly underestimates my skills, initially keeping one hand behind his back, but soon enough, he realizes that he can’t parry my attacks like this. Hector’s eyes widen as he quickly reassesses, and both hands come into play.

“Not going easy on me anymore?” I mock him.

“A spirited she-wolf indeed.” Hector quips, attempting a chin-kick, but I dodge, swinging back. His fist aims for my midriff, I backpedal, luring him in just so I can sidestep and swipe his legs. Unprepared for my sudden assault, he tumbles to the ground. I hop forward, pinning him to the ground, dagger at his throat.

“I win,” I declare, staring him down. “The gates, please.”

He looks up at me, clearly annoyed and a bit humiliated, but eventually nods. Just as I begin to sheath my weapon, thinking we've reached the end of this little drama, he suddenly goes for his sword to stab himself. His move catches me off guard. I quickly move to seize his weapon.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I say, quickly trying to wrestle the blade from him.

“I said you’d have to walk over my dead body!” he exclaims, his grip firm despite the ludicrousness of the situation. “I keep my promises, unlike some people. You won, so go ahead—but my life’s no sweat off your back—”

“If getting through means you offing yourself, I’ll find another way in!” I retort, managing to wrench the weapon from him.

He stops, staring at me with befuddlement. His gaze drifts to my hand. “You’re bleeding,” he notes.

It’s only then I notice the blood trickling from a cut. I grimace, muttering, “All because of you, dimwit.”

“Not my fault. You got in the way,” he grumbles, though a tinge of shame colors his words.

“Life’s too precious to throw away,” I say, offering him a small and slightly sarcastic smile. “Trust me, I’ve done the math.”

“It’s not your f*****g business,” he mutters, though his bravado is faltering.

“Hector! What’s going on over here?” A young maid approaches, glancing between us cautiously. “Need any help?” she whispers conspiratorially.

“Everything is fine, Anna,” says Hector. “Just a bit of sparring with this lady. I’ll grab some bandages for her cut. Keep an eye on her while I’m gone.” He instructs the maid.

He glosses over the earlier part where I had him pinned, talking as though he’s the victor. I arch a brow at him, and he looks away hastily before leaving. I can’t help but chuckle and shake my head.

“So, who might you be?” Anna asks, curious but calm.

“Just the messenger,” I say. “Maggie sent me to deliver a letter to Prince Edward.”

She’s much calmer than Hector, showing no significant reaction to hearing I represent rogues.

“Sorry, I don’t have the authority to let you directly into the tent,” says Anna, “But I can pass on your message when the time is right.”

“I appreciate it,” I reply.

“However, now’s not really ideal. You might need to wait a bit,” Anna explains.

“Why?” I ask, intrigued.

“His Highness is in a meeting with General George and Lady Augusta.”

“Who’s Lady Augusta?” I ask, trying to keep my curiosity in check.

“She’s the daughter of General George.”

The mention of her name makes my heart skip a beat. If it's purely military talk, why does the general's daughter need to be involved? Could it be they’re working out wedding arrangements?

If Edward scores a military coup, he might snub his nose at negotiating with rogues. I need to crash this matrimonial party, or at least stop him from gaining military support from the General.

As I plot my next move, a loud argument erupts inside. Though Anna and I can’t discern their discussion, her worried expression tells me she’s uneasy about whatever’s happening inside.

Seizing this opportunity, I say to Anna, “If they keep this up, talks might fall apart. Let me in. Maybe I can cool things down and keep it from going sideways.”

She hesitates a moment before agreeing.

I anxiously nibble my fingernails while waiting outside for a few minutes. Finally, I see Anna signaling me to follow her inside.

Upon entering the room, I scan the attendees inside the tent, my gaze resting at last on Edward who sits at the head.

Our eyes meet, and I can sense his surprise and embarrassment.

I glance at General George’s daughter, who is every bit as fierce and lovely as the rumors. Her father stands beside her, shooting me a look as icy as a winter morning. With a glare like that, it’s clear if their marriage goes through, Edward likely won’t sit at the bargaining table with the rogues.

I've got to find a way to shake things up.

I rally my thoughts, questioning my next step. Come on, Elizabeth. You’ve got this.

Then, like a bolt of lightning, a cunning plan zaps into place.

Putting on a frosty expression, I stride forward, and before anyone can stop me, I slap Edward right across the face.

Sorry. I murmur a silent apology to him.

He snaps his head up, holding his cheek in utter shock.

“You disappeared after taking my first night,” I accuse, letting anger color my voice, “Asshole!”

I’m certain this juicy scandal I made up is enough to make Lady Augusta think twice about marrying Edward.

For a brief moment, I’m quite proud of my quick thinking.

But that pride doesn’t hold up, for a strange, tingly sensation starts coursing through my body almost at once.

I stare at my palm, utterly baffled.

And then it hits me—the tingle started right after I slapped Edward.

I touched him, and then the spark..…

Fuck.

This could very well be the most ironically hilarious way a wolfless individual discovers her fated mate.