9781911751212

BY S ABLE S ORENSEN

the wolves of ruin

Dire Bound

Fury Bound

THE WOLVES OF RUIN

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First published in Great Britain in 2025 by Wayward TxF an imprint of Transworld Publishers

Originally published as an ebook February 2025 by Sable Sorensen 001

Copyright © 2025 by Sable Sorensen

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For everyone who’s turned their pain

i nto power

CONTENT WARNING

This book contains mature and explicit subject matter that might be difficult for some readers, including explicit on-page violence and adult situations. For a full list of content flags and tropes, please visit the author’s website: sablesorensen.com

GUIDES AND ADDITIONAL MATERIALS

For a breakdown of the four Bonded packs of Nocturna, a glossary of terms used, a character list with pronunciations, and a playlist, please see the additional materials at the back of the book. Note that there may be light spoilers!

B1lood drips into my right eye. Once. Twice. It’s blinding and searing at the same time.

I wince, letting out a pained whimper. It fucking burns, blood in the eye.

The pain is real.

The whimper is not.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my twenty-three years alive, it’s this: Women in pain give men confidence. It stirs up something instinctive, deep inside them, that makes them believe they have the upper hand, even if every logical piece of evidence screams at them they do not.

Confidence makes men sloppy.

And sloppy men are easy targets.

We’re in some old emberwine warehouse in the Southern uarter tonight, the air reeking of rotting fruit. Torches burn around the edges of the ring, illuminating our fight and casting everything else in twisting, dancing shadows. The crowd is hushed in anticipation, but even so, the room seems full.

Good. A bigger crowd means a bigger pot of winnings.

D IRE B OUND

b

There’s a loud thump, thump, thump as my opponent slowly approaches me, his steps heavy. He’s a large, meaty man with a good six inches on me, which he undoubtedly thinks makes him powerful. He’s not the kind of person who understands how lethal grace can be.

“I’ll make you regret ever being born, little girl. You’ll need a closed casket.”

Goddess, this guy is a bore. But our audience is eating it up, if the frenzied roar is any indication.

More blood drips into my eye. He got me good with a right hook to the forehead, I’ll give him that.

I turn my head to the side, feigning weakness, my cheek pressed into the packed dirt floor of the fighting ring. There’s a flash of movement in the leering crowd as someone pushes their way toward the edge of the ring.

Lee. He must’ve just gotten off work.

He folds his muscular arms against his broad chest, his spotless messenger’s tunic making him stick out in this seedy place. Then he raises an eyebrow at me in amusement.

I can almost hear his deep voice saying: Stop toying with him, Meryn, and just end this so we can get on with our night.

He’s right, of course. I’d much rather be in his lap right now than face down in this stinking pit.

Right, then. Time to finish the show.

My opponent grows closer and I moan again, waiting for him to reach the exact right spot. He doesn’t even see the trap I’ve set for him, even though it’s so obvious. Even though I play this move almost every fight.

He doesn’t want to see it, because I’ve made him confident. Certain that he will be the man to bring down Meryn Cooper, the infamous Alley Cat of the Eastern uarter.

Idiot.

Finally, he reaches my side, preparing to grab me, or sit on me, or choke me out— something predictable. Another roar kicks up in the crowd, the room full of frothing, drunken gamblers all praying that he’ll get me good, that their bet against the woman will pay off.

S ABLE S ORENSEN

b

He leans down toward me, his foul breath hitting my face, and that’s when I do it.

I loop my leg around his and drive my heel into the fleshy back of his knee with all the force I can muster. Then I roll to the side, out of his way, and spring up onto my feet.

“Fuck!” He crashes to the ground, hitting it hard, making it shudder beneath me. The air rushes from his lungs in an audible whoosh.

The man pushes up onto his palms, but before he can get any farther, I strike. I kick him in the nose, savoring the sweet crack it makes as it breaks. Ruby-red blood gushes down his face, dripping onto the floor. It knocks him backward onto his ass.

Before he can try to recover again, I jump on him, kneeing him in the groin to keep him down. Then I pin him, peppering his face with more strikes. I’m not going for a kill; I fight dirty, but not like that. But I’ll be sure he stays down.

My knuckles burst open under their scars and calluses, and blood drips between my curled fingers. For a moment, I let myself relish the adrenaline rush of the pain and the clearheaded focus it gives me.

Then I press a forearm to the man’s windpipe until he chokes. “Yield!”

I slap him openhanded. Just for the fun of it, just for the drama of his head snapping to the side. “Louder. With meaning. Let them hear you all the way in the castle.”

“I yield!”

The crowd erupts into angry mutters as I let go of the man, standing to wipe my blood from my forehead. The host of tonight’s fights, a portly man with a thick mustache, steps into the ring, hoists my wrist into the air, and declares: “Alley Cat wins! Next fight starts in twenty.”

Coins change hands, with the bounty going to the few who were wise enough to put silvers on me.

It always surprises me a little, the sheer number of people who bet for the other man. Even with the history to show them they shouldn’t.

A towel hits me in the face and I pull it off to see my trainer and neighbor,

D IRE B OUND

Igor, assessing me, his brown, weathered face unreadable. I duck under the sides of the ring and step over to him, holding out my palm.

“Always straight to the coin with you, huh?” Igor grumbles.

“Me?” I bat my eyelashes, my voice high and sweet. “A refined lady like me would never think of something so crude as silvers. All I care about is tea and dresses and gossip.”

“Careful, you’re going to make that forehead wound bleed again.” Igor presses my winnings into my hand. “Good one, kiddo. Went on a little long for my taste, though. You should join a theater guild with those pained cries of yours.”

I shrug, counting the coins and doing quick math. Eight silvers today, which will cover Mother’s medicine from the apothecary for the next two weeks. “You know the crowd needs to have hope, Igor. It makes it more fun for all of us if they think they actually have a chance.”

“Whatever gets you the win, kid.” He hands me a water flask and I gulp it down. “Davey is setting up a fight in two weeks for Colbridge. Remember that slippery motherfucker from last year? Fancy another go?”

I crack my neck, scanning the packed room for Lee. Even at my unusual height, it’s hard to see over the heads milling about the crowded floor.

“Sure, as long as you make certain the odds are against me. The apothecary has hiked up their prices. Apparently, some ingredients they need grow close to the front and have gotten hard to acquire. I’d like to see double this amount next time.”

Igor’s perpetual frown deepens. He’s an unhappy-looking person, always has been for as long as I’ve known him, which has been my entire life.

He’s probably going to offer me help with Mother’s medicine costs, something I’ve declined for years. Everyone is struggling.

I’m not about to take food off Igor’s plate. We’ll get by; we always do.

Just then, a warm arm slings around my shoulders and I’m hit by the clean smell of pine soap, a familiar scent that instantly puts me at ease. I lean against Lee’s hard body and look up into his face—the sharp lines of his jaw covered in a light scruff, his dazzling sea-blue eyes.

b

He never fails to make my fights, and it never fails to please me, having someone by my side who is unfailingly and reliably supportive for once in my life.

Lee shoots me a wicked grin that makes my thighs tighten and raises up a small clinking bag.

“Nice fight, kitten. Buy your sister something nice from me for her nameday.” He slides the bag into my pocket as I lean up, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling his face down toward mine, desperate for his touch.

Before I can kiss him, a throat clears and I glance up, my lustful brain gone hazy.

“I’m going to go see Davey about the next fight,” Igor says, shifting awkwardly. “Leave you two at it. Find me before you head out, Meryn.”

He turns and walks away quickly, and I can’t help the laughter that spills out of me. “Poor Igor. I think we’ve scandalized him.”

Lee grins lazily down at me, his hands gripping my hips and tightening in a way that holds dark promise. He puts his mouth to my ear. “Glad he can’t read my thoughts,” he whispers, the heat of it sending my pulse into overdrive. “He’d never be able to look at me again.”

I move closer, but suddenly, a commotion kicks up. A disheveled man is pushing his way through the crowd.

His yellowed, unfocused eyes glare toward me.

“You cunt!” The man’s words slur as he staggers forward. “You fixed the bets, you stupid little bitch. I know you did!”

I laugh. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Lee watches the scene coolly, amusement briefly turning up the edges of his mouth.

The man pulls a knife from his pocket, its dull blade glinting in the dim light. There’s always one guy who can’t handle me winning, who lets it push him over the edge.

“You lost me my last silvers! You’re gonna pay for that.”

He brandishes his knife toward me, but before he takes another step, I’m

D IRE B OUND

b

in motion. A sharp kick to his wrist and the knife slips from his grip. I catch it before he can blink, pressing the edge just under his Adam’s apple in one swift motion.

“What was the plan here, then? You were going to, what . . . confront the person who just won a brutal, well- attended fight with this pathetic little dinner knife? Shake me down with this extremely dangerous weapon you’re so skilled at wielding?”

I press the knife harder into his throat, and a thin red line of blood seeps out from under the blade. The man winces. The stench of urine hits me, and I realize he’s soiled himself. Pathetic.

“That’s what you get for betting against a woman. Get the fuck out of here. If I see your face at one of my fights again, I’ll finish the job.”

The man shoots me one last wild- eyed look and then turns and scurries back through the crowd. No one bothers giving him a second look. They’re too busy getting ready for the next fight in here.

“Fucking idiot,” Lee mutters under his breath. Then he grabs my hand in his large one and turns into the crowd, pulling me behind him toward a cluster of tables and chairs at the far end of the warehouse. We settle in and he quickly opens the rucksack he’s brought with him, pulling out an antiseptic cream and some bandages.

He pulls me toward him on my chair and then wraps his long fingers firmly around my chin while he dabs the stinging cream onto my forehead, gentler than any other man has ever touched me.

“Hold still, kitten,” he says, his stern voice brooking no argument. “This one’s kind of nasty.”

This has been our after-fight ritual ever since he started coming to these a year ago. I get hurt; he fixes me. I like it more than I’d ever admit, having someone to take care of me.

We met in the market in the Northern uarter. I was coming to pick Saela up from school when a spooked horse broke loose from its merchant. It was heading right for my little sister, and I was too far away to do anything about

it. At that moment, I was sure I was going to watch her die in front of my eyes, helpless.

And then Lee jumped in front of it, his hands held up in a calming motion, and the horse just . . . stopped. He calmed the animal down and saved my sister’s life.

I went to thank him, and the moment our eyes met, I knew I would be his. It takes a special man to tame a wild thing.

“Did that worry you? The guy who just attacked me?” I ask. He’s been unusually quiet.

Lee’s gaze connects with mine, deep and unreadable. “I knew the Alley Cat would hold her own. But I wish you’d end your fights faster. Injuries like this aren’t necessary. Someday, Meryn . . . someday, you might come up against someone who has outmaneuvered you. You might not even see it coming.”

He strokes a finger down my cheek, and I crawl into his lap, pulling him closer and closer. “Thank you,” I whisper against his lips. “For fixing me. For caring if I get hurt.”

Lee winds one of his hands into my dark hair, holding me in place as he crashes his lips down on mine. His other hand wraps around my back and he pulls me deeper into his lap, where I sense him hardening underneath me. I groan into his mouth at the feeling, and he pulls back, laying me bare with his look.

“Come back to my place tonight,” he says— a demand, not a question.

Lee has a small flat to himself in a building in the Northern uarter, though as a castle messenger, he lives there only part time, often grabbing a few hours of sleep in the castle dormitories between his duties. I’m there as frequently as I can be, but my mother’s condition and Saela’s care mean I don’t see him nearly as often as either of us would like.

I’m about to assent when a grave voice calls, “Meryn.”

Igor cuts quickly through the crowd, his expression tight. “Word’s spreading. Another child’s gone missing from Eastern.”

My stomach bottoms out as I quickly extract myself from Lee and stand. “Description?”

“A girl. Ten or so. They said . . . they said she has dark hair and hazel eyes.”

No.

I shoot Lee a quick look, already thinking about the fastest route home.

“Go,” Lee says quickly, standing as well. “You have to.” I nod in agreement.

“Meryn,” Igor says, “it could be a hundred girls.”

But I don’t acknowledge him. I’m already shoving my way through the rowdy crowd, my heart pounding a frantic staccato beat. Wood bites into my palms as I shove open the exit to the warehouse, and then the always frigid night air hits me like a punch. I left so quickly that I forgot to gather my things or put on my threadbare coat, but Igor will grab it, I’m sure.

Who needs a coat, anyway, when panic is setting your blood on fire?

The streets of Southern, the farthest neighborhood from the castle, are eerily dark and as foggy as always. The residents around here don’t bother spending their few coins to keep the street torches lit. They can’t drive out the darkness of this neighborhood, anyway; this quarter has darkness set deep into its bones. Southern is where you go when you want to do something illegal, illicit, or otherwise morally bankrupt. A couple of torches wouldn’t stop it.

I do a rapid calculation. A normal route from Southern to Eastern takes at least forty-five minutes if you follow the main path back through the Central uarter. But I’m fast, a benefit of my long, muscular legs. And I know my way around neighborhoods that no well-bred person should ever know.

I can make it in twenty, maybe fifteen, if I take alleys.

So I take a deep, fortifying breath and then sprint, heading past the many decrepit warehouses. My legs carry me through the dirty market square in Southern, and then I push into the tenement alleys, the neighborhood that borders both the Central uarter and Eastern.

The air smells like poverty here, and I try to breathe in through my mouth to avoid the scent of unwashed bodies. Though Southern is the poorest quarter, it’s not much better in Eastern; nowhere in the royal city of Sturmfrost is truly well off.

We do hear rumors about how lavishly the Bonded live. At the very least,

b

I’m sure they don’t have to worry about their children getting kidnapped from their beds in the middle of the night. Saela.

The thought fuels me, and I pick up my speed, my lungs and legs burning in tandem. As I near the border of Central and Eastern, King Cyril’s castle looms over everything, the solid gray stone lurching over the city, and its well-lit walls make the streets brighter.

I duck under clotheslines and hop over broken cobblestones, faster and faster and faster, racing through the edges of Eastern and finally into our quarter’s market square. It’s cleaner than the one in the Southern uarter, actually put to use by the people in our neighborhood.

The sound of a mother’s wailing carries through the night air. Please, goddess, no.

A crowd huddles together in the fog. I push forward, shoving through the other citizens gathered around until I reach the center.

Not my mother, not my mother.

The woman on the ground looks up at me, her eyes wet. It’s Mrs. Sawyer, a seamstress who lives several streets away from us. Her husband and older sons surround her. She wails again.

“Leesa,” she moans. “Leesa!”

The knot in my chest loosens but doesn’t go away.

Leesa Sawyer is one of Saela’s good friends from primary school. She always begs me to show her how to throw a punch, but I know her straitlaced parents wouldn’t like that. Leesa’s bright- eyed and funny and clever. Or she was.

Now, Leesa is just the latest in an ever- growing list of kids who have disappeared.

And the Nabbers never return what they take.

Backing away from the crowd, I try to calm my breathing, still erratic from my run. Then I make my way toward my home. All the dwellings around here are half timbered and stone, and our home is no exception, although it sits shorter than its neighbors. My father always said he was going to add a second story.

D IRE B OUND

b

Of course, he never returned from the war to build it.

I head down our darkened street, my steps echoing off the stone buildings. The shingles on our roof look worn, I notice. Another task for another day.

The interior is dark, except for a single candle burning on our bare wooden mantelpiece in the living area.

Mother paces back and forth, her dark hair unbrushed and wild. She’s muttering to herself, yanking at her moth-bitten nightgown, which is inside out. When she spots me, her eyes alight with an awful, vacant recognition, and I wonder which stranger I’m about to get.

My heart sinks. She doesn’t know me when she’s like this. She doesn’t know anyone, lost to a world of her mind’s own creation. Sometimes, she’s sweet in her madness, cooing and loving. And sometimes, she’s violent, breaking the few possessions we have and raising her hand to us.

When she gets like this and I’m not here, Saela knows to lock herself in our room from the inside. Only I have the key.

“Lumina!” Mother exclaims now, her voice pained. She races up to me, clutching my arm tightly, almost painfully. “Oh, Lumina. They’ve been terrors today, the twins. They’re trying to find you, but they never listen to me, never, never, never—”

“Mother, hush.” I run a hand down her hair, gently, calming. Lumina and the twins, whoever they may be, are some of her common delusions. “Come to your bed. I’ll make the twins go away for you.”

I lead her to her room and help her onto the lumpy mattress, then reach for the medicine bottle at her bedside, the one we get from the apothecary. Both he and the medic say it helps with her episodes, and some days it does, but often it’s like nothing will bring her back at all. I feed her a thick, pungent spoonful of the sludgy medicine and pull her scratchy, too-thin blanket over her.

Mother takes the dose without protest, her eyes drifting shut almost as soon as her head hits the pillow. My stomach churns while I watch over her. The pain of this, of having to drug my own parent into complacency, never dulls. Finally, her breathing evens out, and I go check on Saela.

S ABLE S ORENSEN

b

As I assumed, Saela’s locked the door to our room, so I pull out the key and let myself in.

My sister is cozied into her small bed, sleeping soundly, her dark hair spread across her thin pillow. Ten, almost eleven—the same age as Leesa Sawyer.

In her sleep, Saela looks so much like our father, the father she’s never known. She has the same stubborn chin, the same aquiline nose. My own memories of him grow fogged as the years pass, but she brings him alive for me.

I sit down next to her on her bed, running the back of my finger down one of her soft cheeks. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” I whisper, a fierce, protective instinct burning in my chest. “I promise.”

This nauseous, terrified churning in my stomach—I’m absolutely fucking sick of it. Of living a life where I just accept that I have no control, that our children can just disappear and no one will do a single thing about it.

Tonight was too close of a call.

And if no one’s going to stop this . . . well, then I will.

D2o it again,” Igor calls during training the next afternoon, unmoved by my heavy breathing or the patch of sweat soaking through my tunic.

I meet his eyes and groan. He raises his graying eyebrows at me, mouth quirking.

“Again,” he repeats. “Without foreshadowing your next move this time— remember what I showed you.”

I straighten up, willing my breath to still. My thighs are screaming already, worn out from the morning’s work of endlessly lifting huge buckets of water at the laundry where I work, a job that I inherited from my mother when she stopped showing up eleven years ago.

It doesn’t matter that I’m tired. Everyone’s tired, and Igor doesn’t accept any excuses. Not in the fighting ring, and certainly not here in his yard as he trains me.

He’s right. I can’t afford to show any weakness.

Not if I want to keep winning. And we need those extra coins.

My foot slams into the practice dummy, and Igor grunts his approval, the closest to a compliment I get during these sessions. I repeat the movement

S ABLE S ORENSEN

again, two, three more times for good measure, before dancing back on the balls of my feet, grabbing a rag to wipe the sweat off my face.

Igor’s side yard is a mess of lopsided practice dummies, rough-hewn weights to build muscle, and a jumble of half-broken furniture that I know his wife, Prina, wishes he’d spend time fixing rather than sinking more time into training me.

“You okay, Alley Cat?” he asks, taking the rag back from me. “Seem a little off today.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. Igor is irritatingly perceptive, but then again, he’s more of a parent to me than my actual living one.

“I can’t stop thinking about Leesa Sawyer,” I tell him, the spark of last night’s fury still burning inside me, waiting to catch fire. I’ve been mulling it over all day, coming closer and closer to a way to take action.

Igor nods as he motions to the practice dummy, instructing me to keep going as we talk. “That’s a tough one, the Sawyer girl. Good family. Nice people. Heard her parents were up all night searching for her,” he says as I unleash a fast combination of kicks and punches. “But I’ve yet to hear of a missing kid who’s been found.”

“Does it seem like it’s happening more? The Nabbers, I mean,” I say between punches.

They have a silly, childish name, given to them by the very kids who fear them. It’s almost hard to take them seriously when you hear it, which is part of the appeal. If you can laugh at it, it doesn’t seem true—like the Nabbers are nothing more than a childhood legend.

Unfortunately, their menace is all too real.

Kids have been getting kidnapped for as long as I’ve been alive, maybe as long as this entire war has been going on. And we all know who the Nabbers actually are.

Siphons, our ancient, monstrous enemy from the neighboring country of Astreona. They steal our kids out of their beds and take them back across the border, turning them into living blood bags, feeding off them, sucking out their powerful child life force, and eventually draining and killing them.

It makes me sick, thinking how those depraved, immortal vampires are going to win this war by slaughtering our innocents.

D IRE B OUND

Igor hums. “Maybe so. Get higher with that kick.”

I follow his instructions, my legs continuing to ache. “Isn’t it bad enough that our sons and daughters and fathers are being killed by the Siphons at the front? We should be safe in our own homes, shouldn’t we? What’s the king doing about all this?”

“Don’t think the king gives two shits about it, to be honest. Too focused on the war hundreds of leagues away to pay any attention to what’s happening in his own city right underneath his nose.”

I grunt and throw a punch. “Isn’t that what the Councilor of Sturmfrost is for? I thought he was supposed to lead the city so the king doesn’t have to think about us.”

Igor scoffs. “I don’t know what to tell you, kid. Every time this happens, the families go to him. The man is full of empty promises. Nothing changes.”

Catching my breath, I glare over at Igor. “I can’t stand for that. And I’m going to do something about it.”

Igor doesn’t question this grand statement or tell me I’m foolish to think I can make a change. He knows as well as I do that if you want stuff done here in Sturmfrost, you have to do it yourself.

Instead, he calmly walks over to one of his debris-strewn tables and opens a cloth roll. Inside lie a dozen sharply honed, glittering weapons. “You seem angry. Knives?”

A laugh escapes me. “Yes, and yes. Thought you’d never ask.”

We don’t use knives during the hand-to-hand combat we do in the pits, but Igor’s been training me to throw them anyway. He said you never know when you might need to make someone shit their pants by tossing a dagger at their head.

“What’d you have in mind?” he asks as I head over to the table and select a small and particularly pointy-looking one.

“You taught me to defend myself,” I say, turning toward the target he’s set up on the far side of the yard. “No Nabbers would’ve gotten me, not without a fight, once you got me started. Maybe we can teach the kids, too. I could train them to protect themselves.”

S ABLE S ORENSEN

b

I throw the knife and it sails through the air, hitting the outer edge of the target. Not good enough.

Igor scoffs, sitting down in his creaky chair and staring up at the cloud cover that threatens snow. “You had the fight in you already. Not too many kids are gonna throw themselves at danger the way you did.”

“The way I still do, you mean,” I joke, bravado covering up the painful rush of memory.

When my father was killed, I was left alone at twelve years old with a pregnant, mentally ill mother. Overnight, everything changed. Saela was born, and she was so perfect and tiny and good. And I was the child put in charge of her.

I was furious at the world, spoiling for a fight.

I used to go into the alleys and goad older boys twice my size into an altercation just so I could have someone to hit. Just so I could feel something other than the unending, cavernous pain inside my chest.

Eventually, Igor got tired of watching the little neighbor girl get her ass handed to her. He stomped out into the alley behind our houses, grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, and dragged me hissing and spitting into his kitchen.

He threw me down into a rickety chair and said, “Are you trying to get yourself killed, girl?”

When I didn’t deny it, he let out a long-suffering sigh. “Well, if you’re going to prowl around acting like an alley cat, then you need to learn to fight like one. Come with me.”

Igor led me to this yard and started to train me—that day and every one that followed. He helped me hone my anger from something feral into something vicious, polished.

Dangerous.

And when the boys in the neighborhood began to look at me in fear, Igor helped me find a healthy new outlet for my rage. I’m still goading men twice my size into fighting me. But now I get paid.

Grabbing my knife from the target, I turn back toward him. “You’re right. I’m different. But not everyone needs to be a professional. If these kids just knew a few simple tricks, enough to give them time to make some noise, get some help . . .”

b

“Don’t think this will get you out of your own training time,” Igor warns, and I know he’s sold on the idea.

“No, I’d never deny you the pleasure of ordering me around,” I tease, and he tosses a knife at me that I dodge easily, laughing.

After I leave Igor’s in the late afternoon, I head west to the wealthier Central uarter to pick up Saela from school, weaving through the crowded streets. The sinking sun breaks through the clouds now and again, sending reddish reflections glimmering in the windows as I pass homes and shops.

Saela used to attend primary school in our neighborhood, but she was always top of her class, and last year her teacher recommended her for a more advanced secondary school in Central.

It’s not convenient, and it costs coin—not much, but anything is too much for us these days. The sacrifice is worth it for my sister, though. She will not drop out and work herself to the bone just to stay alive, like so many other kids.

In a world full of dead ends, I’m going to make sure she has options.

Saela’s different from me. Bookish, studious. An optimist. An innocent. She’s got a smart mouth on her, which I take credit for, but the rest of it? Must’ve been from Father, because she just came out that way.

She’s standing alone outside the school building when I arrive, dark hair plaited down her back and eyes narrowed in annoyance.

“Late again,” Saela says, looking pointedly at me.

“Sorry, kiddo,” I say, swinging my arm around her shoulders. “Guess you’re just going to have to accept that your big sister is bad with time. How was school today?”

“It was fine,” she says in a clipped tone, clearly mulling over something.

“Fine?” I tease. “Well, if we’re paying all this coin for fine, we can probably switch you back to school in Eastern and—”

“Meryn,” she whines in annoyance.

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I raise my hands. “Sorry! But really, what’s going on?”

Saela sighs as we make our way down the cobblestones, heading toward the busier streets that lead into the Central Market. “We were talking about the war with Astreona in history class today.”

“Ah,” I say. “Siphon stuff ?”

She nods, lips pressed together in a tight line. Saela went through a period when she was little where she was having awful nightmares about Siphons. Even though she never met our father, the knowledge of his death has loomed over her childhood, shaped every part of her existence.

“Some kids were talking about how the Siphons feed on regular humans, like suck our blood to stay alive, and it seemed like they thought it was, I don’t know, cool or something.” Her face flushes with anger. “I don’t think it’s cool,” she adds quietly.

I tighten my arm around her shoulders. “You know, I’m sure you’re not the only person in your class who has lost a parent or loved one in the war. There were probably other kids who felt the same way.”

She nods. “Half of us have. But the teacher made it seem like . . .” Saela stops in her tracks and looks up at me, hazel eyes wide with worry. “Are we losing?”

“I don’t really know,” I tell her honestly.

The war has been going on for five hundred years, but between our country’s Bonded and their direwolves and Astreona’s Siphon strength, it’s rare for either side to take much ground. And we all know what would happen if Astreona won—the Siphons would hunt down every last human and drain us.

“But here in Sturmfrost, we’re as far away from the front as you can get in the entire kingdom of Nocturna. If you’re safe anywhere, it’s here.”

The words are like dust in my mouth. She and I both know it’s a lie; one of her friends was kidnapped last night

“Come on,” I say, slipping my arm off her shoulders and grabbing her hand to tug her toward the market. “I know just the thing to cheer you up.”

While every quarter has its own market square, Central’s is the biggest shopping area in the entire city, filled with everything from fishmongers and

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bakeries to specialty perfume stores. There even used to be a jewelry store here, but that was decades ago, before everyone was encouraged to give extra funds to the war effort in the name of patriotism.

Saela and I like to window-shop on our way home, our daily ritual. We daydream about what sweets we would buy if we could.

We head straight to our favorite window display at Diersing’s Bakery. Saela sighs, staring into the bakery display and pointing to a glistening pastry topped with deep purple fruit.

“I think I’d take one of those plum cakes.”

“Noted,” I tell her, thinking again about her approaching nameday. This would be a pleasant surprise, and I have the extra silvers that Lee gave me after the fight last night. My skin flushes at the thought of him, and how our night got cut short. Thankfully, he’s due back from the castle in a couple of days, and I can see him again.

Before I can offer my own fantasy bakery order, there’s a commotion behind us. Saela and I turn. A crowd has amassed around the square.

“What’s going on?” I ask a man nearby.

“Bonded,” he says. “Riding through.”

What? Why would the Bonded come through here?

The Bonded are the king’s most elite forces, soldiers who have mental bonds with massive, fearsome direwolves. They ride the wolves into battle and, rumor has it, the riders can even tap into the magic that the direwolves wield.

It’s rare that they ever set foot in the commoner side of Sturmfrost, other than coming and going from the front—but even then, they usually skirt around the edges. Their part of the city is on the other side of the castle, bordering the mountain range from which their fearsome direwolves hail.

Saela looks up at me, eyes sparking with excitement. “Can we go watch?”

She’s obsessed with the idea of the Bonded. I can’t totally blame her— superhot warriors riding mystical beasts and wielding mysterious magic? It’s intriguing, if you can set aside the extreme and punishing classism.

I sigh and then grab her hand. I would do literally anything to see this kid

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smile. “Fine, but stay by my side.” Then I tug her behind me through the crowd, elbowing my way to a spot at the front of the square.

The crowd hushes as the Bonded emerge from one of the lanes leading into the square. The streets are narrow here, not quite big enough for the direwolves they ride, which only serves to make them look larger.

People idolize the Bonded as much as they revile them. Technically, anyone can become Bonded, and during Bonding Trials, when the direwolves have enough young to bond en masse, all of Nocturna’s army recruits are required to participate.

But everyone knows that the direwolves almost exclusively choose people who come from Bonded families. Privilege begets more privilege, a neverending cycle.

There’s nothing magical about the riders themselves, but because of generations of natural selection, they just look different from the rest of us.

Tall. Beautiful. Honed fighting machines.

Today, there are four of them, all wearing black riding leathers. A sternfaced woman with dark skin on a silver direwolf leads the way, followed by a pale man with a shock of blond hair on a tawny wolf, an older woman with olive skin on a gray wolf.

My eyes barely register the fourth direwolf and his rider—I’m too busy gawking at what they’re dragging behind them.

Or . . . who.

Gasps go up in the crowd as people visibly take a step back in horror.

It’s a commoner man, hog-tied and bumping against the cobblestones. Blood and bruises cover his face, yet he doesn’t fight his shackles. He looks resigned. He’s given up.

Rage ignites in my blood. How dare they?

The direwolves and their riders edge toward the middle of the square just as the breath leaves my body.

I know that man. He was the dumbass who threatened me at the fight last night.

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My gaze skirts back to the direwolf dragging him around. Massive is an understatement—the direwolf is easily taller than the most battle-ready horses the commoners ride in the army. His fur is midnight black, and he has a feral, bloodthirsty look in his gaze. He bares his teeth, each sharper than a dagger.

The direwolf’s rider matches him in ferocity. He’s in his late twenties, I’d wager, with light-brown skin and dark, messy hair that has a bloodred streak in it. Like every Bonded I’ve ever seen, he’s undeniably beautiful, with deep brown eyes and scruff framing his chiseled jawline. But . . .

My pulse speeds up as I clock the tattoos completely covering his neck, his hands. Not much makes me afraid, but this? Run, a self-preserving, animalistic part of me cries. Danger.

Even us commoners know what those are. Kill tattoos.

For someone to be so thoroughly cloaked in them . . .

He’s killed hundreds, easily. Maybe more.

Monster. This guy’s a fucking psycho killing machine.

My gaze slides up to his face, and my stomach flips as I make eye contact with him. The Bonded man practically glowers at me from a distance. His lip rises in a sneer. Maybe my fear of him is written all over my face. I avert my eyes.

Power radiates off him in waves. Whoever he is, he’s someone important in the king’s forces. It would be impressive for someone as young as him . . . if he weren’t absolutely terrifying.

The Bonded man hops off his vicious direwolf with practiced grace. For the man’s gigantic size, he moves like water. In two fast steps, he’s reached the commoner tied to the back of his wolf.

He grabs the man off the ground with one hand, displaying an inhuman level of strength. Using his direwolf’s magic, maybe.

“This man,” the rider calls out, his rumbling, deep voice echoing over the silenced crowd, “is a deserter from the front. The king takes deep offense to anyone who would dare abandon their comrades in arms. Do you deny the charge?” he asks the man.

“No,” the man mumbles between his split lips.

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The rider continues, “We have brought him here today to make sure all the citizens of Sturmfrost are aware of what happens to cowards.”

He lifts the man higher and I suddenly know what’s about to happen. I have no love lost for deserters, and especially not this piece of shit. But my sister cannot bear witness to this.

“Cover your ears,” I whisper quickly to Saela, who complies. My hands slide over her eyes, holding her warm, small body tight to mine.

The rider grabs a dagger with his free hand and guts the man from navel to neck. I wince as his anguished screams echo, bouncing off the buildings around the square. Then, as the crowd watches in horror, the Bonded man sticks his hand into the deserter’s belly and yanks out his entrails. Somehow the man is not dead yet, gurgling in pain, blood bubbling out of his mouth and dripping down his chin.

The Bonded man tosses the deserter forward to his wolf, who snaps him out of midair with his powerful jaws. His direwolf spits the deserter onto the ground and then snaps at him again by his neck, shaking him once, twice. The man—the body—has stopped moving.

The direwolf feasts on him, blood coating his muzzle.

I make myself watch for as long as I can, determined to sear the image into my brain, to remember this for the rest of my life.

To remember how absolutely fucking cold-blooded the Bonded are and how unfairly the cards are stacked against the rest of us.

Eventually, the sight turns my stomach and I look away, only to make eye contact with the brutal, maniacal Bonded again. He’s looking at me, assessing. I wonder if he gets off on making people cower in fear and pain. If this is fun for him.

I lift my chin higher. I’m not afraid of you, asshole, I tell him in my mind even as my hands tremor, even as his bold-faced, unblinking violence shakes me to my core.

There’s no emotion in his dark eyes, none at all.

The Siphons might be our enemy, but I’m certain this man is the true face of evil.

I3gor and I were able to round up a dozen of Saela’s friends and our neighbors for training, which is a start. Within a few days, we have them on a schedule, meeting after school as soon as I bring Saela home.

Now, I wince with sympathy as I watch a kid a few years younger than Saela fall face-first into the dirt. Falls like that hurt, but of course, it’s nothing to his youthful body. He springs up like a hare, grinning, eager to go again.

And it’s not just hard knocks from training they’re springing back from, not after last night.

“Which one was it?” Igor asks me, coming up beside me so he can keep his voice low.

“There—Timun, that gangly one.” I gesture. Timun is twelve and has just started another big growth spurt. He looks like he’s not sure where his body starts or ends.

Last night, a Nabber tried to get him, but Timun fought him off. He used a small carving knife he’s been keeping next to his mattress, along with some tricks to get away that we’ve taught him.

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His mother rushed him over to my house this morning so he could tell me in person. I’m not sure I’ve ever been more elated than I was when looking at the sheer gratitude written on Mrs. Sulvan’s face. Knowing that I helped save her kid.

“You should be proud of yourself,” Igor murmurs, and I flush.

“He didn’t get a look at the asshole’s face, though,” I say regretfully. “Apparently, it was dark, and their face was covered . . .”

“Hmm,” Igor says, and we both fall into silence, watching Timun. He’s rolling happily in the dirt with two other boys, practicing their escapes, the trauma of last night seemingly forgotten.

“You’re pretty good at this, kid,” Igor grunts finally. I struggle for a retort, momentarily thrown off by the rare compliment. “You could think about charging for this, you know.”

“What, these kids? Their parents barely have the coin to pay for new clothes when the old ones are pinching.”

Igor laughs. “No, I was thinking more like in the Northern uarter, where the parents have a few coins to rub together.” He pauses, thoughtful. “Even in those nicer parts of town, things have been getting rougher. I bet the parents would be interested in helping their kids learn some self- defense skills.”

He pushes off from the fence and stretches. I can hear the cracks in his back and neck as he moves them.

“Anyway. Something to think about. It’d maybe get you out of the heat and steam of the laundry.”

It’s an idea. I nod and then turn away, calling in the kids.

“Okay, good job, everyone,” I say when they’ve gathered around me in a circle. Their little faces look up at me attentively. “I can see you’ve been practicing what we learned last time.”

I pause, looking over the dozen children gathered in the school’s sorry excuse for an exercise yard. Most of them are a little too thin, like they could use an extra meal or three. Signs of their parents’ care are abundant, though: little touches sewn into their clothing, like the heart-shaped patch that sixyear- old Sami sports on the left knee of her trousers.

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Waving Saela up to the front, I announce to everyone, “We’re going to show you a demonstration for some new moves you can use if an attacker grabs you from behind.”

Saela steps proudly forward, her shoulders back. I grin at her confidence. “Ready to show what we practiced?” I murmur, voice pitched low so only she can hear.

“I was born ready,” Saela scoffs, rolling her eyes at me.

“Everyone, watch this closely,” I say.

Saela and I take a few steps farther back to make sure everyone can see us. I move behind her and then dart forward quickly, grabbing her and wrapping my long arms around her slim torso. Her arms are effectively pinned to her side. She hesitates for just a moment, but then she’s running through the moves we’ve practiced at home over the last few days.

She goes slack in my hands, becoming deadweight against my chest. Saela slips downward and I have to adjust my grip to keep her trapped, which gives her valuable seconds to maneuver.

Then she slams the heel of her boot into my toes— a little harder than she really needs to for the demonstration. My yowl of pain is very convincing.

As soon as she can tell that I’m distracted by the pain, she shoves her arms away from her sides, loosening my grip once more, and slips out and under the circle of my arms, pretending to run away from me as the kids cheer.

“That was great, Sae,” I say, and duck down to rub my toes through my boot. “Maybe even a little more impressive than it needed to be?”

Saela giggles.

“So, right. Did everyone see how she used her size against me?” Heads nod, most seeming to grasp the basic principles at play here. “Sometimes it can be helpful to be small. Your attacker might expect you to be weak, to not fight back. Or you can fake at being weak, too.”

“Like you do in the ring!” one of the younger teenage boys shouts eagerly. I give him a mock-stern look. “Not that you’d know anything about that, right?”

More giggles start up among the children. The fighting rings aren’t any

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place for kids, but that doesn’t stop some of the rougher dads from bringing their sons along from what is, in my opinion, too early an age.

“Your turn!” I count them into groups of three, making sure they’re paired with different kids from last time around. I have them practice until the sun dips toward the horizon. If I hold them here much later, they’ll miss dinner at home, and none of them can afford to do that.

Afterward, I sling an arm around Saela’s shoulders as we walk toward home together. She’s chattering about her day, something about a mouse that got into her math class. I have trouble focusing on her words, though, Igor’s idea still bouncing around in my head.

Could he be right? Could my fighting skills lead to more than just a nasty nighttime habit that leaves me bruised and bloody—might they be my ticket out of this run- down quarter?

Later that week, I race home from training to get the house ready for Lee’s visit. He started coming over every two weeks a few months back, when it seemed like Mother’s health was taking a turn and I was no longer comfortable leaving Saela alone overnight.

Now, our biweekly dinner dates—with my family in attendance— are some of the few times we see each other outside of my fights.

Before I can make it back to the house, though, I spot Lee turning the corner of our row of houses, and I get a moment to just . . . stare at him.

He’s a few years older than me and taller, which I appreciate as a tall woman, and muscular in a lean way. Tonight, he’s out of his messenger’s uniform and wearing a blue tunic under his coat that brings out the depth of his blue eyes. His face catches the torchlight from the sconce on the corner and I shamelessly admire the sharp cut of his jawline and cheekbones.

Lee spots me watching him and smirks, the twist of his full mouth setting my insides ablaze. He’s so handsome.

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“I brought that bread your mother liked last time,” he says by way of greeting, passing me the packet when he nears. It’s still warm.

“Thank you,” I say, touched by the small but thoughtful gesture. “I wanted to say, about my mother . . .”

Her visit to the medic this week was the roughest one yet. My description of how she’s been acting lately clearly troubled the medic; plus, my mother was pretty out of it for the entire visit, rambling and vacant. But there was nothing he could do—he said we’re already giving her the maximum dosage of her medicine.

And that I need to prepare myself for a future where she’s always like this. Lee is looking at me patiently, waiting for me to go on.

“She’s just been pretty bad lately,” I finish feebly, not wanting to get into all the details about her latest delusions.

“I’m so sorry, Meryn.” Lee’s voice is soft. “I know how hard it is to see her that way.”

I wrap my arms around him, closing my eyes and resting my forehead on his shoulder, taking comfort from his solid warmth. He’s never judged my family situation; it’s one of the reasons I love him. He brings a hand up to brush my hair aside, his breath hot on my neck.

His teeth nip my skin lightly and I shudder and push closer, heat coiling in my belly.

“If you do that much longer, we will not make it to dinner,” I say, my voice rough.

He sighs theatrically and pulls away, his hand coming up to tuck my hair behind an ear. “Have it your way.” He gestures toward my door. “After you.”

When we push the door open, I startle for a moment, unused to the sight before me: My mother is cooking. Something she hasn’t done in . . . I’m not sure how long.

I raise my eyebrows at Saela, who sits at our kitchen table, working on a row of figures on her chalkboard—prepping for a test tomorrow, I remember.

Saela smiles and shrugs.

“Mother!” I lean in and give her a kiss on the cheek, and she smiles at me.

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“What was that for, honey?”

“Nothing.” I swallow. “Just . . . dinner smells good, Mother.”

The realization slams into me: It’s so rare to see her lucid these days that it’s almost weird, wrong. My chest tightens and I turn to Lee, distracting myself. “Hand me that loaf,” I say gruffly. “Let’s get it sliced up. It’ll go perfectly with . . .”

I turn back to Mother, inquiring with my eyes.

“Your father’s favorite—that fish stew he always asked for.” Mother continues stirring the fragrant pot calmly, seeming not to notice the silence that descends on the room for a moment as Saela and I savor the rare mention of our father.

Lee looks between the two of us, then moves toward the counter, grabbing a knife from the block and taking the fresh loaf from its bag. “Meryn, go sit.”

I collapse into the chair next to Saela, my feet throbbing. I’ve barely been off them all day. Closing my eyes, I savor the smells of cooking, the warmth from the cookstove and the fireplace at the far end of the room.

Saela bonks me on the forehead with her piece of chalk. “Wake up, sis.” I laugh and turn to her, grabbing her chalkboard to see what she’s working on. We chat about her school day, but I’m only half listening, my other ear trained on Mother and Lee, who are working side by side.

My heart warms and then stutters. It’s too normal.

I try to ignore the thought that it can’t last and just enjoy the comfort.

As we take our seats at the table, Saela’s asking Lee questions about the Bonded City—the neighborhood on the far side of the castle that only Bonded and their families inhabit. Saela’s been interested ever since we glimpsed the Bonded marching through the streets this week.

She’s spreading butter across the bread Lee brought, but her eyes are glued on him. “So you’ve seen it? The Bonded City?”

“Yes, from afar, but you can see a lot of it from the upper floors in the castle.” He smiles at her wondering expression.

“What’s it like?” She sets her chin on her hands, rapt.

Lee hums. “Well, it’s obvious that it’s made for the Bonded and their wolves,

for one. All the streets are broader so that it’s easier for the direwolves to pass one another without getting their fur ruffled.” He reaches over and ruffles Saela’s hair to illustrate.

“Can you see the wolves from the castle?” she asks breathlessly, too enthralled to get annoyed at how he’s babying her.

“Sometimes.” Lee nods. “And one time I actually saw a direwolf pup, if you can believe it. Even their little ones are huge! They usually keep them out of the main city because they’re playful at that age and don’t realize the damage they can do. Think of a baby animal nearly the size of a horse.”

Saela gasps. “I bet the pups are so cute!”

Lee rolls his eyes at me, and I laugh. “I think she’s missing the point about the dangerous wolf monsters with fangs as long as this spoon,” he stage-whispers, holding up his cutlery to demonstrate.

Mother is setting down the bowls of stew in front of each of us when the change starts to come over her. Something shifts in her eyes— she gets that glazed expression that I hate so much. The bowl still in her hands wobbles, splashing broth and chunks of vegetable onto the floor. To my horror, she’s staring at Lee when she begins to babble.

I grab the bowl out of her hands before more spills, setting it down on the table as my pulse begins to race.

“Nocturn is trapped,” she hisses, and the venom in her voice makes my skin prickle. “He’s trapped, and when he escapes, he’s going to tear the world apart.” Mother lunges at Lee, yanking on his tunic. He’s seen her delusional before but never aimed at him. A violent shadow passes over her face.

Everything was perfect, so of course it couldn’t last. These moments shouldn’t surprise me anymore, but still—I’d let myself hope. Heat burns behind my eyes.

“Mother,” I say, trying to draw her attention back to me, to calm her down. Goddess, what must Lee be thinking? It only sets her off more.

“And you,” she says, turning on me, wild- eyed. “You are not where you are meant to be.”

She raises her hand and attempts to strike me, but I catch her wrist in midair,

holding it tightly. The silver engagement bracelet my father gave her, the one she’s never taken off, slips up her thin arm. Mother squirms against my grip as I move to restrain her entirely.

“Sorry,” I mumble to Lee, my cheeks burning. I can’t look at him. I can’t bear to see the horror that I’m sure is written across his face. “I’ll be back soon.”

Then I half lead, half carry my mother out of the room.

“Curses upon you! You hear me?” My mother is still ranting as I pull her away.

Behind me, I hear Saela rise to grab a rag for the floor. I’m scared to turn and look at Lee’s expression. He’s always been kind about my mother’s health, but he’s never seen her at this level before.

I guide my mother through the short hallway to her bed, and thankfully she gets into bed without a fight, slipping between the sheets, her face expressionless.

“Mother,” I start, but then I don’t know what to say next that might make a difference. “Here, let’s get you your medicine,” I say finally, grabbing the vial from the stool next to her bed that serves as a bedside table.

The viscous syrup smells vile, bitter, and sharp. I can’t imagine what it must taste like, but my mother takes the spoon from me obediently, rolling to face the wall once she’s swallowed it down, still murmuring names and curses under her breath.

I sit softly on the mattress next to her, wincing at the lumps—we should have replaced the mattress a long time ago, but we haven’t had the silvers for it.

Carefully, I lift my hand, smoothing it down my mother’s arm, repeating the action until her tension eases, her breathing stabilizes.

As I do, I try to calm my own breathing, repeating to myself over and over that she cannot help it; she did not choose to be this way. Some days, I need the reminder— and now is most definitely one of those moments.

More than anything, there’s a sting in my chest—the painful knowledge that I was foolish, hoping for a “normal” evening.

This is our normal now.

I douse the lantern and tiptoe out, not wanting to rouse her, hoping she’ll

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stay asleep and leave us in peace for the rest of the evening. I hate myself in that moment, for wishing my mother away, but I shove the feeling aside.

Hesitantly poking my head back into our house’s main room, I see that Saela and Lee have left their stew abandoned on the table, half eaten. They’ve pulled two chairs together and Lee is reading to her from a legend about lovelorn gods. She’s snuggled underneath his comforting arm, engrossed in the story.

I stand there watching for a few moments, leaning into the doorframe. Lee’s eyes flick up to mine, and his steady gaze says everything—he’s not running away from us, not even after that display.

The tension in my chest eases, and I walk across the room to take a seat on the floor at their feet.

“Meryn does the best voice for the goddess,” Saela says proudly. “Meryn, you read this next part!”

“All right, but just one more chapter and then you need to finish your studying and go to bed,” I say, laughing at Saela’s groan.

“The goddess was locked in the tower, and nobody knew she was there,” I begin, the words of Saela’s favorite story familiar in my mouth. “She knew that if she was going to escape, she’d have to find a way to do it herself . . .”

After Saela’s in bed, I lead Lee outside to say good night and he turns to me, his face serious. Snowflakes drop on his creased brow. “Meryn, how often does that happen?”

I sigh, leaning my head against his chest. His hands trail up and down my arms. “The delusions? Every day.”

Lee’s hands tighten around my biceps, and I look up into his eyes. “I’m not talking about the delusions and you know it.”

Swallowing hard, I avert my gaze. The woman in there—the one who tried to hit me—wasn’t my mother. I’ve been transparent with Lee about her struggles and he’s seen them firsthand many times, but I’ve never told him about

how she gets violent. Putting it into words has felt like a betrayal of the mother I knew.

Maybe it’s time to accept that the mother I knew is gone.

And then there’s the other thing I’ve been hiding from him, the part that tortures me in my dreams. How my grandmother had this madness, too, and her mother before that. How the madness runs in my blood, lurking in the shadows, waiting to drag me down into its depths.

“I have it under control, as you saw,” I mumble.

“I’m not worried about you. Obviously, you can hold your own. But what about Saela? It’s not safe for her here. What if something happens and you’re not around?”

Frustration sparks in my veins. I look back up at him, trying very hard to fight down the tears pricking at the back of my eyes. I know he’s right, but . . .

“What am I meant to do, Lee? Leave my mother to fend for herself ? Take Saela to live elsewhere? How can I pay for two places at once? And who will watch after my mother if I’m not here?”

“Come live with me,” he says. “I’ll take care of you two. Your mother can stay here and we’ll check in on her regularly.”

I huff out a surprised laugh. “How could we even manage that? Your flat is tiny. There’s no room for the three of us there.”

“Then we’ll move, find a bigger place. Or we’ll put your mother there and you, Saela, and I will live here. We’ll figure it out, kitten. But I’m going to protect you, and I’m going to protect your sister. Let me.”

The tears are falling now, hot streaks down my cheeks in the cold winter air. My chest tightens and suddenly it’s as if I can’t breathe. How long has it been since someone genuinely wanted to help us? Since someone saw my situation and offered me a way out?

No, it’s more than that— offered and then insisted I accept. Where did this man come from, who has the power to melt my heart so thoroughly? I’d trade sun and sky and light itself to know I’d never have to lose him.

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I wrap my arms around Lee’s neck and pull him toward me, desperate for his mouth on mine. He moves me backward, around the corner, into the alley that runs perpendicular to our street. There are no street lanterns here, so we can fade into the shadows. The closest we get to a private spot.

I stumble breathlessly back into the wall behind me, pulling Lee with me until he’s flush against my body, his heat and hard muscle pressing me back into the hard stone.

When our lips connect again, it isn’t soft this time, but demanding. I lose myself in the needy tangle of our kiss, circling my hands around his waist, dipping a few fingers into his waistband until my chilly fingers meet his hot skin.

Lee growls into my mouth, pressing me roughly into the wall, and his arousal is hard and insistent against me. I move my hips into him, relishing the sounds he makes. He yanks the edge of my tunic from where it’s tucked into my pants, anchoring one hand to my hip as the other slides up over smooth skin to cup my breast, only thin layers of cloth between his hand and my nipple.

Heat surges through me, and I break our kiss to look at him. Both of us look like we’re daring the other to take things further.

“We’re not done talking about that,” he says.

“No,” I agree. “Later.”

His mouth slams back onto mine, drawing my bottom lip into his mouth, sucking on it until I moan.

My wandering fingers find what they were looking for, Lee’s arousal heavy and thick in my hand through his pants. I stroke him, and our mouths part, Lee’s forehead resting against mine as he breathes heavily.

“Come back to mine?” His tone is half question, half order, and goddess, I wish I could. I’ve taken my monthly contraceptive draught that I pick up alongside Mother’s medicines at the apothecary. But . . .

I haven’t wanted to leave Saela alone overnight, not since Leesa was kidnapped just a few short blocks from here.

Even the thought now is dousing the flames inside of me.

His face is still flushed from our kissing, hair mussed, and a stab of regret

S ABLE S ORENSEN

b

goes through me, but I know I won’t be able to think of anything else until I check on Saela, reassure myself that all is well.

“Another night. Look, you should head out, but I’ll start thinking about your proposal and . . . we’ll figure out a way to make it work.”

“Good,” he says, giving me a last parting kiss.

I let myself back into my house, latching the lock firmly behind me, and move swiftly toward Saela’s and my room. Opening the door to our room, I shiver in the cool breeze.

That’s strange—there shouldn’t be a breeze.

My eyes dart to the window, which is shoved open, letting in the icy air. Heart pounding, I run over to Saela’s bed.

There’s nobody in it.

Saela is gone.

T4his can’t be happening.

I stare blankly at the empty bed, mind turning in circles as my body floods with ice.

Saela. Saela.

I squeeze my eyes shut, counting to ten, and then open them again, but the empty bed remains, along with the cold draft coming from the open window.

There must be an explanation. How could they have come in here with me just outside on the street? How could I have missed someone entering?

And Saela. She would have defended herself, just as I taught her. She wouldn’t have gone quietly.

Not my sister. My Saela

Maybe she’s with my mother. My frozen muscles jerk to life, and I race out of our room, down the short hallway to my mother’s. Yanking open the door, I scan the dark space frantically, but there’s no sign of her.

My mother sits up sleepily, blinking at me, but I can’t speak the words, can’t explain.

I search the bathroom.

S ABLE S ORENSEN

The living space and kitchen.

She’s not here. Her coat and boots are, though, neatly tucked next to the front door. I stare at them numbly, then turn back toward our bedroom.

My breath comes in little gasps as I stick my head out the window. Tiny swirls of snow have started, and my breath puffs white in the frigid air. I look back and forth, scanning every inch of the view, willing my eyes to find a clue out in the cold darkness, but there’s no sign of what happened, nothing moving in the alleyway beside our house.

Something else catches my eye that I didn’t see before, though, as I pull myself back inside the room. In the corner of the window frame, snagged on a long, jagged splinter of wood: a tiny piece of white cloth.

A perfect match for Saela’s nightgown.

Sinking down to the floor, I hear a keening sound, and register after a few moments that it’s coming from my lips. I shudder and knock my head back against the wall, relishing the jarring pain.

Either Saela sneaked out into the snow in her nightgown in the middle of the night . . . or someone took her.

While I was out in the snow, making plans for a better future with Lee, my sister was stolen in the night.

Even as my mind rejects the words, my body is reacting. I slam the window shut, then tug on boots and throw on a coat as I race out into the darkness.

Lee has to be nearby still; he just departed. I turn left toward his path to the Northern uarter and run. Within a few minutes, I spot his large frame walking purposefully down the quiet street.

“Lee!” I scream. He turns, his face alighting with a smile at the sight of me, which quickly drops at my obvious panic.

He jogs toward me, worry creasing his brow, and grabs me by the arm. “Meryn, what’s—”

“Saela,” I pant, my breathing ragged from the run. It hurts to say her name. “She was missing when I went back inside.” My mind spirals again. No, no, no, no . . .

Lee’s hand tightens on my forearm, grounding me, bringing me back into

the present. “We’ll search for her,” he tells me, radiating calm and authority. I sag against him. “Let’s get back to your neighborhood and start there. We’ll wake your neighbors. We’ll find her, Mer. She can’t have gone far.”

He doesn’t put a voice to my fears. To the only logical conclusion: She’s been kidnapped.

Time seems to yawn and jump, skipping ahead in starts.

I snap back to focus in front of Igor’s door and pound my fist against it. “Igor!” my voice comes out halfway as a sob. I shout his name again and again, slamming my hands into the wood. Lee’s hand on my shoulder quells me.

Doors crack to either side of us, cautious faces looking out to see what’s causing the commotion. One of my sister’s former teachers recognizes me, comes out the door wearing nothing but her nightclothes, a thick shawl, and boots. “Meryn? Is that you?”

Igor’s door swings open and he and his wife, Prina, stand in the doorway, worry etched on their faces. A pit opens up in my belly, and my insides churn, as if caught in a storm.

“It’s Saela,” I manage. “She’s—they took her.”

“We need to look for her,” Lee interjects. “Can you come help us? If you take the northern end of the neighborhood, we can head west, then check Central Market.”

Igor’s taken two big steps forward, and I start when he wraps his big arms around me. “Meryn,” he says, and there’s a whole paragraph in those two short syllables. “Of course we’ll help you.” But I hear in his voice the words he doesn’t say.

I break away. “No! No. She’s not gone. We can’t give up on her—”

Igor’s already grabbed his coat, pulled on his boots. Saela’s teacher joins us, having hastily pulled on some trousers over her nightclothes. “We aren’t giving up, Meryn. We’re here with you.”

The back of my throat burns, and I gaze around me wildly, my mind blank. “We should . . .”

“Meryn and I will take the blocks west of here,” Lee repeats when I drift off. “Can you two start checking north?” He takes me by the arm, tugs.

The icy kiss of snowflakes against my cheeks brings me back into focus. It’s coming down harder now, I think absently.

Lee and I are jogging, then running, peeling down each street and alley, shouting Saela’s name. The streets are deserted at this hour, apart from a few ragged-looking rats and one miserable street hound that watches us pass from his modest shelter under a stoop. Broken glass and icy drifts crunch under my boots, the sound muffled by the falling of the surrounding snow. The drifts of white make the streets appear ghostly and barren.

We stop to catch our breath after maybe an hour of searching.

“Maybe we should—”

“Split up?” Lee says. He steps closer, hands coming up to frame my face. “We’d cover more ground that way. But Meryn . . . are you . . .”

The concern in his eyes makes me wild, and I spin away out of reach. “I’m fine. Just go. You should head toward Central. She might have gone there . . . Meet me back at my house in the morning to tell me if you’ve found anything?” I don’t look back to see if he follows my instructions before taking off again down the next alley.

I push faster and faster, zigzagging down each street, eyes darting to every corner, every shadow, every place that she could be. Inside, I block out the voice telling me that the children are never found. That there’s nothing anyone can do.

I refuse to do nothing. I refuse.

Hours later, day breaks cold and wet, the snowflakes turning to slush, gray under my boots. The sooty mix drips from gutters and puddles in street-side ditches. Early-morning workers emerge from their homes, giving me a wide berth, averting their eyes.

The world is a blur, my mind numb with exhaustion. I don’t know what hour it is when I finally admit defeat, turning toward home.

Igor and Lee are there already, sitting outside my front door. I can tell without either of them saying a word that there’s not been any sign of her.

Lee tries to stop me as I go into the house. I just pull away, out of his grip.

b

He’s saying something, but all the sounds of the world around me have been replaced by a dull buzzing. I retreat to my room, shut the door in his face.

This is all my fault.

Time drifts.

I lie mindless in Saela’s bed, wrapped in the sheets and blanket that still smell faintly of her.

Mother has checked on me a few times, lucid enough to know what’s wrong, to realize what’s happened. At the sight of her hunched shoulders and watery expression—pure misery—I turn my face to the wall.

Women from the neighborhood drop by in shifts—workers from the laundry, mothers of Saela’s school friends, old friends of my mother’s whom I haven’t seen in years. They bring food, bread, cautiously pushing into my room and leaving plates on the floor when I refuse to speak.

Afterward, I hear them chatting in hushed tones with my mother, if she’s awake. More times than not, they leave silently, receiving no welcome from either of us.

I can’t bring myself to care. The plates of food sit on the floor, untouched.

“She hasn’t eaten a bite,” comes my mother’s voice, hours or days later. I don’t know how long it’s been.

Mother sounds lucid, sane. As if losing her daughter has shored up what reserves her mind has left.

“It’s just like what happened with her father, after his first year at the front. He didn’t speak for five days after he got back. Wasted half his leave that way.” Mother’s voice cracks, and guilt blooms inside me, hot and red.

Father. He was supposed to protect us. And then he left us, left and never came back.

I was supposed to protect Saela. I promised her.

My fingers twitch toward the dagger I keep near my bed. When my father died, that worked, sometimes— giving myself pain to focus on, something to

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b

feel other than this. The sharp slice would chase away the darkness from my brain, removing all sensation other than the dagger meeting my arm or thigh.

But I can’t find the energy to stir, not even for this. I stare at the ceiling, watching the shadows move strangely across the room as the day comes and goes.

The room is dark again when Igor appears in the doorway, stooping to step through the low frame. “Enough, Meryn.” His voice cuts through the room like a knife.

Unlike the others, there’s no pity in his tone, no sympathy.

“This isn’t you. Get up.”

My body is like stone in the bed. I wait, shame and anger roiling in me, squeezing my eyes shut, refusing to look at him. He stands in the doorway for what seems like hours, but eventually, he leaves.

Some time later, Lee quietly lets himself in. I don’t turn to look, but I know it’s him right away. I can tell by the smell of pine, by the confident tread of his step.

He says nothing, just climbs into the bed with me, fitting his chest against my back, his knees into the crooks of mine. At the press of warmth, my eyes prickle, and then I’m sobbing, crying for the first time since Saela was taken.

I cry endlessly, and Lee holds me. When I finally stop, neither of us says anything. Lee just clasps my hand in his, his thumb sweeping across the back of my hand, back and forth, back and forth.

I must fall asleep, because when I open my eyes again, it’s bright in the room, the light from the window falling harshly across my face.

Lee has left, but my arms are wrapped tightly around something—Saela’s pillow. As my vision comes into focus, I notice a small strand of her hair still on the fabric, the color brown a shade deeper than my own. The single strand shimmers in the square of sunlight.

I sit up.

Something has broken and resettled in my chest. I promised her. Promised Saela that nothing would hurt her.

I fucking keep my promises.

The army recruitment center in the Eastern uarter is next to a butcher’s shop. Appropriate, I think grimly as I wait for the recruiter to find my family name on his sheet.

Every quarter has one of these centers, and you can tell the castle cares a bit more about them than anything else—the fire in the hearth is stacked with wood that burns merrily, giving off a dry, seasoned smell unlike the damp, peaty aroma of our stove at home. The walls are lined in paper, an indulgence you don’t see anywhere else in Eastern. And the furniture is scuffed and worn, but still obviously a higher quality than most.

My eyes skate across the recruiter’s uniform, the piles of paper on his desk, jumbles of forms and rosters. An oil lamp flickers, making shadows dance across his hands as he shuffles through the papers. It’s like they’re reaching for me.

“Ah, here,” he says finally. “Cooper. But—” He squints up at me doubtfully. “You weren’t summoned to serve. It says you have a caretaker exception.”

Everyone gets summoned at some point, unless they’re caring for an underage or elderly family member or have a health issue. I’ve had an exception next to my name since before I was even old enough to serve.

I swallow the lump in my throat. Father would hate it if he knew I was following in his footsteps, heading to the brutal war front that haunted his dreams.

Father isn’t here.

“I know,” I say, steel in my voice. “I don’t care. I’m volunteering.”

It’s the only way. If the Nabbers are taking the kids across the borders to the Siphons, this is my only opportunity to get to Saela. I have no coin to travel to the front on my own. If the army sends me there, I can cross the border and search for her.

I know it’s a foolish, half-baked plan, but it’s something. It’s action.

b

The recruiter and I stare at each other, and he grunts his assent, scribbling something on the sheet in front of him. “Well, in that case—”

“How quickly can you deploy me?”

The recruiter cocks his head to the side, considering. “We ask new recruits to report for training every six months, which typically gives them enough time to get their affairs in order. We have a boot camp starting up tomorrow, but I would recommend waiting until—”

“I’ll be there,” I tell him swiftly. “Give me my orders.”

The man stares at me for a beat, trying to gauge how serious I am. Something in my face must convince him, because he just shakes his head, then stamps something on the paper.

“Done. Welcome to the King’s Royal Forces, Recruit Cooper.”

5After I leave the recruitment center, I head straight to find Lee, my breath puffing into the frosty air. I pull my threadbare coat tighter against myself, wishing I had a scarf—but I stormed out of the house with such certainty this morning that I didn’t even think of it.

Lee’s at his small flat only a handful of days each week and otherwise stays up at the castle’s servant dormitories, but I know his schedule, and he should be home today. My mind is circling, and I set my jaw and study the scenery of Northern as I walk, determinedly putting tomorrow from my mind.

There will be time to panic later. But right now, I need to explain myself to Lee.

The Northern uarter, the neighborhood closest to the imposing castle, isn’t as alien as the Bonded’s streets, but it’s still very different from Eastern.

The buildings are taller. The roads are more spacious. No stray dogs scrounge for scraps. Most obviously, there’s no smell. The air isn’t clean, but it doesn’t reek like too many people crammed into too little space.

The fresher air does nothing to calm my nerves, though. I’ve been spiraling out ever since I signed the recruitment forms.

I want him to understand. Need him to, really. Lee is my anchor, keeping me in place when the wild tides of my own emotions threaten to pull me into deeper water. If he looks at me like I’m insane when I give him the news, it’s going to be difficult not to second- guess myself.

And there’s no room for second- guessing now.

Lee’s building is half timbered like mine, but wide and four stories tall, all divided up into small units and mostly inhabited by other royal servants. He lives here alone, in his own tidy space, though he grew up in Northern as well.

Like Lee, his father works in the palace, but their relationship is strained and difficult. His father sounds like, well, an asshole. And his mother passed away when Lee was a child. When he got his messenger job as a teenager, he immediately moved out of his father’s place and into his own space.

Reaching his stoop, I push through the front entry and up the stairs to find him, my stomach twisting and turning. The idea of disappointing him makes me want to shed my own skin.

I knock on his door. There’s a thud from one of the neighboring flats. I can hear shouting from the floor above me. My heart is pounding in my chest. My fingers are still cold from the wintry air, so I breathe on them to give myself something to do.

There’s a click before the door swings open. And . . .

I don’t know. Seeing him, suddenly everything is all right. I can’t remember why I was anxious. That’s how it is with Lee. I take one look at his tall figure silhouetted in the doorway—his broad shoulders, his untucked shirt, his slightly messy dark blond hair, like he just woke from a nap— and I feel safe.

His hand lingers on the door, grip tightening when he realizes it’s me. Lee’s eyes are such a beautiful crystalline blue, like the sky on a surprisingly cold winter’s day, even in this darkened hall.

“Kitten,” he rasps, warmth lacing his voice. “You’re back.”

I know instantly what he means—I’m back. I’ve banished that part of me capable of falling apart entirely, the part who wept while he held her. She’s still here, deep inside, but I refuse to let her control me for another moment.

“I’m back,” I agree. And wait until you hear what I’ve done . . .

D IRE B OUND

He pulls me into the heat of the flat, wrapping a strong arm around my waist and shutting the door behind me. I press my forehead against his chest, breathing in his smell. It wraps around me, welcomes me home.

“I need to tell you something,” I say, tilting my head up toward him.

Lee nods and leads me into his kitchen, his only seating area other than his bed. He pulls out a wooden chair for me and gestures to it.

“Talk to me,” he says as he sits in the chair beside mine. His gaze is steady, his posture relaxed.

Like pulling a splinter, I tell myself. “I enlisted so that I can go to the front and find Saela.”

For a moment, he doesn’t react at all. He’s completely unmoving, still staring at me steadily. I start to wonder if this is worse than if he’d immediately pointed out my recklessness. The not knowing is punishing.

And then he shuts his eyes and sighs deeply. His hand lifts to pinch the bridge of his nose, and despair radiates from him in waves. And no, this is definitely worse than the silence.

“Oh, kitten. What have you done?” He opens his eyes again and levels me with a look filled with both love and heartbreak.

My vulnerability turns me into an asshole. I bristle instantly. “I had to, Lee.” My voice is as sharp as a knife. “No one is doing anything. No one in power seems to care and—” My voice breaks. “I need to look for her, Lee. Before it’s too late. I need to at least try.” My hand clenches into a fist. I hate this. “It’s Saela. How can you not understand that?”

The question sounds like an accusation, but Lee doesn’t lower himself to my level. The injured fondness in his eyes doesn’t waver, even as I try to bite his head off.

“I do understand,” he tells me. And just like that, I’m not angry any longer. Because the way he said it, I know he meant it.

Lee takes another deep breath and leans back, letting his arm rest on the table beside us. His long fingers scratch absently at the wood grain. Then his face pinches slightly. It looks like pain. Or guilt, maybe. Frustration. Some mix of foul feelings.

“If I could, I would go in your place to find her,” he says finally. uietly.

The royals hire their servants from the children of servants, generation after generation. They make better salaries than most, but once they enter the king’s service, they’re expected to serve for life, no exceptions.

“I would do anything for you, Meryn. But this . . .”

I wince. “You think I’m crazy?”

His expression tightens. “I don’t,” he growls like a threat against anyone who’d dare question me. “The timing is just . . . fucking awful.”

“The timing?”

He reaches up and pushes his fingers through his thick hair, then lets his hand drop to his knee. “There are about to be Bonding Trials.”

His words are like a punch to the gut.

Bonding Trials . . . a chance to become one of the king’s precious Bonded forces and to form an unbreakable connection with a massive, vicious direwolf.

If that’s true, it means I might never even make it to the front. The Bonding Trials are just as dangerous as the war, from what I’ve heard.

A ragged rush of air chokes up my lungs. “How do you . . . know that?”

Bonding Trials happen sporadically and are kept a closely guarded secret so as not to deter soldiers from enlisting. When one is about to happen, every newly enlisted recruit is required to attempt to bond, without exception.

“I overheard whispers in the castle. They’ve already sent out missives for the instructors,” Lee says. His brow is tight. He isn’t looking at me. And I know why.

I’ve just told him that I’m going to throw myself into the most dangerous place possible, and he knows me too well to try to talk me out of it. There’s nothing he can do, and Lee hates that. He’s always hated not being able to act, maybe as much as I do.

“I’m still going,” I tell him. “I have to.”

“I know,” he says. “Look, they’re going to make you do the first Trial. From what I’ve heard, it’s a perilous mountain climb, and the direwolves are at the top. But you don’t need to try to bond with one. All you need to do is survive. As long as you do that and avoid bonding, you’ll be sent along to the front with the rest of the commoner soldiers immediately afterward.”

I take a deep, shaky breath. That doesn’t sound terrifying at all. “Okay.”

His eyes find mine again, and they burn with an intensity that makes me feel powerful. “If anyone can survive it, it will be you,” he tells me firmly. Courage catches like a bonfire in my chest. “Fight, Meryn. Win. Find Saela and come back to me.”

“I will. I—I love you, Lee.”

“I love you, too,” he says, reaching out to cup my cheek gently.

We’ve said the words to each other before, but today they sound different.

Today, I love you sounds an awful lot like goodbye.

I lean in to kiss him and it tastes salty. Tears, I realize—my own. I’ve been so focused on my sister that I didn’t think about this. Him. The very real possibility that I may not make it back from this search and that these moments right now may, in fact, be our last ones together.

My heart breaks anew.

His eyes have gone glassy, too, as he strokes my cheek with his thumb, then scratches his nails lightly down my neck and across my shoulder. Need blooms inside me— a desperation to have him on top of me, inside me, to memorize every last touch. To have him write our story all over my body so I never forget that I’m fighting for him, too.

Find Saela, return to Lee.

I reach for Lee and yank him to me by his shirt.

He is over me instantly, on his feet and kissing me with a scorching heat as one of his hands closes around the back of my chair and the other around my neck. And just like that, I’m no longer in control.

Neither of us utters a word as our eyes meet again, the intensity in his look making me gasp. His hands slide down my back, and then in one quick move, he’s lifted me up and laid me out right there against the kitchen floor, bending me back, following to claim me in a kiss.

I fall backward, arms dropping from his neck to brace myself. The icy cool of the kitchen floor presses into my arms, my rear, my lower back, even as Lee’s heat warms me, making me shiver in pleasure.

Lee’s mouth licks a trail of fire from my earlobe down to the hollow of my

neck, where he suckles, teasing his teeth over my sensitive skin. My head falls back, knocking against the floor.

His mouth disappears, and I prop myself up on an elbow, only for my arm to go weak as he yanks my trousers down past my hips, tearing through my underwear in a single motion. I stare at him, my breathing heavy. His lips curve in a possessive smile, and my body floods with heat.

Slowly, he rises up to his knees and undoes the laces at the front of his own trousers, and I moan as I watch his cock spring free, already achingly hard. He rubs the heel of his hand over the head, once, twice, as I squirm in front of him.

Every part of me wants to grab him and wrap my legs around him, take him inside me immediately, but I know from experience that right now, he’s in charge, not me.

Lee leans forward and drags my tunic up to my neck, pulling off the breast bindings I wear in two short tugs, exposing my breasts. My already hard nipples tingle in the cool air, and I almost leap off the floor when his fingers tweak my left nipple, hard.

He palms my other breast, then alternates between stroking and pinching my breasts until I’m a mess of moans. Finally, finally, he drags a hand down my belly, arousal curling through me as he presses me into the floor, then bends down and pushes his hands against my inner thighs, spreading me wide.

I’m already dripping with need, my sensitive flesh clenching at the hot air of his breath against me. Every part of me feels empty, waiting for him to fill me, make me whole.

The first brush of his tongue is so sinful that I almost come on the spot.

Lee pulls away instantly, as if he knows how close I am already. I raise my head to catch his sharp look. He doesn’t need to speak for me to understand: We both know this could be our last chance to be together like this for . . . for a long while.

He’s not going to let it be over so quickly.

Slowly, achingly slowly, his mouth returns, tongue dipping inside me and then coming up to circle my clit, working me up before disappearing as soon as I approach the edge. I’m talking now, pleading with him, saying words but not knowing what or which.

b

My thighs are drenched when he pulls away, kneeling and looking over me, eyes dark.

“Reach your hands over your head,” he orders, “and grab hold of that table leg behind you.”

Shaking, I do as he says, his eyes never once leaving mine.

“Hold on,” he says, gaze sparking. “Don’t let go, no matter how badly you want to touch yourself.”

Gone is the soft, gentle touching from before. When he finally pushes inside me, I hear myself shout his name, half-nonsensical. I wrap my legs around him, urging him deeper, and he doesn’t resist, pushing himself deep before pulling out and slamming back in.

I grip the rough-hewn table leg the entire time, so hard that it digs into my palms. My fingers ache fiercely; the sensation of him pounding between my legs coupled with the helplessness of not being able to seek out my own pleasure has me crying out, begging, grabbing onto the wood as if I’ll fall off the edge of the world without it.

He fucks me exactly how I wanted him to, with deep, punishingly fast thrusts that send pulses of pleasure roaring through my body. I can’t stop myself from trying to push back into him, pull him deep with my legs, open myself up even wider to give him all of me.

He never takes his eyes off me—those perfect, crystal- clear blue eyes.

And when the merciless rhythm of his hips starts to stutter, I beg. “Please. Please. F-fuck. Please. Lee!” I scream.

He smiles at me as he fucks me, as if he likes watching me come undone as much as I like shattering under his touch, pulled apart by the pleasure. He groans and finally moves a hand from my hip to circle his thumb over my clit, and I explode instantly, having been riding the edge far too long to resist that touch.

Blinding pleasure whites out my vision, and I shudder as my muscles clench around him. Ripples of pleasure work their way through me as he continues to thrust, fast and hard as my orgasm goes on and on, my body working him until he also lets go, coming with a shout and a final violent thrust inside me.

Eventually, my breath starts to even out. I crack my eyes open, vision swimming slightly.

The sound of Lee’s satisfied chuckle as he withdraws has me clenching again around nothing, whimpering as he strokes over my hypersensitive nerves once more, tweaking my clit with his thumb.

He stands up gracefully, extending a hand to me and pulling me up beside him. “All right, kitten?”

I take stock of my body. There’s an ache in my skull. I think I probably threw my head back against the floor when I came. And I’m a little raw and exhausted, in the best way possible. Devoured, really.

“More than all right,” I breathe. I shut my eyes briefly before attempting to walk.

He loops my arms around his neck and I allow him to half carry me toward the bedroom. He walks me backward until we hit his washroom, and he puts me down with a laugh, turning back toward his bed while I wash up with trembling hands.

After I’m clean, I collapse on the bed beside him, molding my body to his side. His arm comes down to wrap around my shoulder, his other hand pressing my hips back against him until every part of us is touching.

Lee playfully bites my neck a few times and then whispers to me. “You don’t have to go, you know. You could stay. Here. Like this.”

My entire chest aches. I refuse to cry, so I ignore the sting in my eyes. “I can’t do nothing, Lee.”

“I know,” he says, then sits up and offers me his hand. “Come on. We should go.”

I take his hand and let him pull me to my feet. He collects my clothes from where they’re strewn around the kitchen, handing them to me. “Get dressed.”

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Shopping. If you’re going to survive the first Bonding Trial they put all the soldiers through, you need better equipment.”

My shoulders slump. “You know I don’t have the silvers for that. It’ll be fine.”

b

He tucks my hair gently behind my ear. “I do, though. I’ve been saving some coin. For . . . a bracelet. Won’t do me any good if my intended gets herself killed scaling a mountain because she doesn’t have the right gear.”

Oh. Oh. He’s been saving for an engagement bracelet.

Emotionally, I can’t even touch that right now, even though the words make something hopeful and fragile take root in my chest. A future I’ve barely let myself dream about is within grasp . . . but only if I make it back.

“Right, then,” I say, swallowing past my pride and the lump in my throat. “Where to?”

Lee takes me to a leather shop he knows, right off the main market square in Central. The shop is full of beautiful things, nicer than anywhere I’ve ever shopped before.

Together, Lee and the shopkeeper select a whole host of items I’ll need, ignoring me every time I protest that something isn’t necessary.

A new rucksack, with pockets and dividers and straps to secure everything.

A new waterskin, lightweight yet large and durable.

A new pair of boots, specially soaked and stretched and oiled so that the leather is supple enough not to give me blisters from a hard day’s walk.

A new jacket, padded and lined with leather, longer and thicker than the one I’ve had for years now, with pockets lined in fur to keep my hands warm.

A sleek pair of gloves, tight yet flexible enough to allow me a full range of motion while wearing them.

I hate that I’m using up all the coin that Lee has so carefully saved while we’ve been together, especially if it was supposed to go toward our future. But he’s right. If I die, we won’t have any future at all.

So I agree to spend his precious savings, and he agrees we’ll build it back up together when I return.

It doesn’t end at the first shop. The Trial will be icy, Lee explains. I have to be ready for inclement weather. He takes me down a side street I never noticed