Red silk rustles as I bring my carriage to a halt before the borderland general's den. My heart pounds like a war drum, fingers tightening over the handkerchief in my lap.
Back in my other life, I'd only heard tales of Jason—cold, hard, lone wolf who shunned she-wolves and perished on the battlefield. Now, I'm to be his mate.
The curtain opens, and a calloused hand extends. "We're here," in a deep, gravelly voice.
I hesitate, and then insert my hand into his. His coarse grain palm, the scarring scored by years of the hold of a blade, sends me shivering.
As I step out, there is a gust of sandy wind, catching at the corners of my veil. I cover my eyes, but before it hits, he steps, thrusting his broad back into its path.
"The borderland blows. Be careful," he tells me.
I look up to fin
