Chapter 8 - Ryker Discovers the Cost
608 Words
The engagement dinner was being held in the great hall.
Ryker stood in the antechamber, hearing the muffled cheers through closed doors. His pack celebrated him, the alliance, and the future. It felt like scaffolding around something not yet built.
He should go in.
He was twenty minutes late already.
He stood there for another five minutes.
The bonding scar under his sternum had been there for two weeks. He'd investigated it on his own, as he did with everything he wanted to keep from his advisors. He spent late nights in the library archive, studying the old bond texts. They documented the scar. Common to forced rejections, less common to mutual ones. According to the texts, the authors meant these rejections to make the marks fade.
It had not faded.
It burned when he slept. It burned when he was with Selene. It had a particular quality that he had not found in any of the texts: it felt cold. Not pain exactly. Cold. The absence of the warmth he'd felt for one second in the ceremony clearing.
He had not felt warm since.
The door opened, and Dace slipped through.
Ryker looked at him. Dace wore the expression he used when he had information he shouldn't have.
"I found her," Dace said.
Ryker didn't ask who. They both knew who.
"She's at an inn in Ashfen. Border village, two days' walk from pack territory." Dace paused. "She's working in a kitchen, Ryker. Washing dishes and setting tables. She left with one bag."
Ryker remembered the closed door of the great hall they had visited last month. A noblewoman's laugh had echoed inside, bright, lively, and genuine. She had excelled at events because her upbringing had prepared her for them. That memory stood in stark contrast to Dace’s description of a woman working in a kitchen.
"She's alive," he said. "She's safe."
"She's in a border village alone with no pack affiliation and no wolf." Dace's voice was careful. "Anyone who knows what she is, or what she might be, could."
"What do you mean, what she might be?"
Dace was quiet for a half-second too long.
"There's some talk," he said. "Among the border merchants. About her scent."
"Her scent." Ryker's voice was very even. "Specify."
"I didn't hear it at all." "But the merchant in the village said," Dace stopped. Started again. "Lycan-touched. That's the phrase he used. I don't know what it means. I don't know if it means anything. But she's unprotected in a border village, and if someone with bad intentions."
"Don't tell anyone else," Ryker said.
His voice came out quieter than he intended. He heard it but didn’t look up. He didn’t want to face the reason for his unease when he learned she was alone and unique.
He was at the antechamber window. He didn't remember crossing the room.
Outside, the mountain night was dark and clear.
Two days ago, she had been in a kitchen a long walk from here.
Selene's laugh came through the door again.
He stayed at the window for a long moment.
Then he turned around, entered the great hall, and completed his tasks as expected.
He sat next to Selene, eating, chatting, and smiling at the right moments. When she placed her hand over his on the table, he let it rest there.
He did not feel warm.
He did not feel cold, which was almost worse. He felt sealed off. The version of himself that had shone for a second in the ceremony seemed to vanish. Now, he couldn't find a way back.
He drank his wine.
He smiled.
The scar burned.
- Writer
