Chapter 38.
1321 Words
Rhiannon’s breath came in ragged, shallow hitches, each one a desperate battle against the crushing weight of memory. Her fingers dug into the thick leather of his sleeves, her nails seeking purchase as she waited for the inevitabl- for the grip to tighten, for the hands to roam, for the heat to turn into a weapon. The static in her head rose to a deafening roar, a cacophony of past ghosts screaming that she was trapped, that she was small, that she was once again nothing more than a thing to be held.
But the tightening never came.
Fenris remained as immovable as the mountain peaks surrounding them. His arms stayed locked in a protective ring, providing a steady, solid boundary, but his hands did not move an inch from where they had first landed to save her. He didn't shush her with hollow words, nor did he pull away to leave her shivering and exposed on the ice. He simply existed as an anchor. He breathed with a slow, deliberate depth, his chest rising and falling against her back in a rhythmic pulse that acted like a metronome for her own spiraling heart.
Slowly, the blinding white light of her panic began to recede. She realized with a jolt of quiet shock that he was waiting for her. He wasn't demanding she recover; he was merely offering his strength as a cage against the world, rather than a cage for her. As her fingers gradually uncurled from his forearms, the silence of the High-Spire Basin rushed back in, no longer cold and threatening, but peaceful. She stayed there for a long moment, draped against his heat, realizing that for the first time in ten years, a man had held her and asked for nothing in return.
Once his grip loosened, Rhiannon took a few steps away out of his embrace.
Rhiannon stood frozen for a moment on the edge of the turquoise ice, the silence of the High-Spire Basin pressing in around them. The adrenaline from the fall was still a sharp, metallic tang in her mouth, but it was being rapidly overtaken by a new, strange hunger- a need to see the truth of the man standing before her.
"Can I see your wolf?" she asked, her voice small but steady. "Up close?"
A flicker of genuine curiosity danced in her dark green eyes, warring with the habitual tightness of her nerves. She wanted to know the beast. She wanted to see for herself that the power simmering beneath his skin wasn't a weapon aimed at her, but the very foundation of the anchor he claimed to be. In the city, the few wolves she had encountered were hollowed out- broken things that had lost their other half long before they reached the brothel.
Fenris’s expression shifted, his brows drawing together in a silent, internal dialogue with his own spirit. "He is not a pet, Rhia," Fenris warned softly. "Wolves of the North are prideful. They do not generally like being touched, and they do not tolerate being patted like hounds."
"I know," she whispered. "I just want to see."
Fenris nodded slowly. He stepped off the glass lake and onto the solid, snow-dusted earth, moving toward a cluster of ancient pines. "Stay on the bank," he commanded. "Give him space to arrive."
He stepped behind the thick curtain of pine boughs to strip his clothes. For a moment, there was only the sound of the wind. Then, a sudden, heavy silence- a shift in the very pressure of the air. There was a low, bone-deep crack of shifting muscle and a rush of heat that made the nearby snow steam.
When he stepped back out from the treeline, Rhiannon’s breath faltered. Her heart gave a violent, panicked lurch, her fight-or-flight response screaming at her to climb the nearest rock and never come down.
He was massive. A beast of pitch-black fur that seemed to drink the sunlight, standing taller than her, even on four paws. But it was his eyes that held her- pure, molten gold, burning with an intelligence that was both ancient and predatory.
As he stepped just outside her personal space, the wolf paused. He felt her fear; it was a scent in the air, sharp as ozone. He looked deadly- a shadow given teeth and claws. Rhiannon’s legs began to tremble, not just at his size, but at the sheer, lethal gravity he projected.
With a heavy thump that vibrated through the ground, the black wolf lowered himself. He lay down in the snow, tucking his massive paws beneath his chest and resting his chin on the white powder. He looked up at her, his golden eyes blinking slowly, purposefully diminishing his height to meet her gaze.
Rhiannon’s legs stopped trembling just enough for her to take a hesitant step. Then another. Her confidence grew with every inch the wolf didn't move. She began to walk in a slow circle around him. She noticed his ears- alert and pointed, twitching to follow her every footfall. When she passed behind him, his thick, brush-like tail moved swiftly out of her path, curling away to give her room.
When she returned to his head, she dropped to her knees in the snow. She was in awe. Up close, the black fur wasn't just dark; it was a tapestry of obsidian and silver-grey at the roots.
"You wouldn't bite me? Would you?" she asked, her eyes searching those golden suns.
She expected silence, but she felt the answer settle into her bones like a warm hearth: No. It wasn't a voice in her ears, but a certainty in her blood.
"I know he said I shouldn't," she breathed, her hand trembling as it hovered inches from his head. "But I'm going to touch you."
She let her hand land right behind his ear. Her fingers disappeared into the thick, soft fur, finding the hidden heat of his skin. The wolf let out a low, vibrating rumble- a sound that made Rhiannon jump and pull her hand back. She waited for the snap, the growl of warning.
Instead, the wolf leaned his heavy head toward her, his eyes half-closing.
She realized the sound wasn't a threat; it was a purr of sorts, a deep-chested vibration of contentment. A small, genuine laugh escaped her lips- the first real sound of joy she had made in years. She placed her hand back on him, scratching gently behind the ear.
"You like that?" she asked, her eyes bright. "And Fenris said you don't like pats."
Then, a thought echoed through her body, clearer than before. It wasn't Fenris’s voice, but something wilder, more resonant.
I don't. But I like yours.
Rhiannon gasped, her hand stilling. She realized it was the magic in her- the "rhythm" she had been practicing, that was acting as a bridge between her soul and the wolf's. She wasn't just touching a beast; she was speaking to a person.
"What's your name?" she asked, realizing for the first time that the man and the wolf were two distinct souls sharing one heartbeat.
The wolf’s tail wagged once, a heavy thud against the snowy ground that sent a spray of powder into the air. The name rang through her very marrow.
Malphas.
"Malphas," she repeated, the name feeling like music on her tongue.
She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the bridge of his snout. The black fur was soft against her skin, and for that moment, the static was completely, beautifully gone. There was no man to fear, no city to remember. There was only the wolf, the girl, and the turquoise lake, and the beginning of a trust that went deeper than skin and bone.
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