Bran didn’t make any sound approaching her room, though like the good werewolf she was, she knew he was there. Of course she knew. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to find a center of normalcy. But she had killed her own son and used his heart to kill a god. She wasn’t sure where normal was in that.

“We need to talk,” her mate said.

And that quickly, she couldn’t breathe. She did not want to have this talk with him. With anyone. Her chest ached as she forced herself to calm.

She might be a stranger to herself, but she knew Bran. Her mate. He had violated his own rules when he had forced her to live through her Change and convinced her to be his mate. For two centuries both of them had ignored that. These last few days had shoved his sins down his throat. Now he would need to fix it. And that terrified her.

“I don’t want to talk now,” she told him truthfully. She looked down at her fingers and regretted painting her nails red. Like blood. It had seemed fitting at the time—but she regretted it now.

“Nevertheless,” he said.

She bowed her head and closed her eyes, but forced herself not to hug her chest, too. He would already know how unhappy and defensive she was, but she didn’t need to shove it in his face.

She inhaled to give herself strength and could have cursed because her breath hitched. Damn it.

She turned around.

He hadn’t come all the way into the room, but leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. He watched her with hooded eyes. Started to say something and clearly reconsidered.

“You have been greatly wronged,” he said finally. “Not just by me, but I did my part. And I don’t want to lose you.”

That first part she had expected, but not the second. She would have to be very stupid not to have understood that he did not particularly like her. He needed her—or someone in her place. Someone to balance his fierce and too-powerful wolf—and also someone to bear some of the burden of his various offices: Marrok, Alpha, guardian of the wildlings. She was useful.

She’d thought that he would take this opportunity to set her aside “for her own sake.” He had wronged her, forced her because she had not been in any condition to give consent, either to being Changed or to mating with him. She deserved better. She should go out in the real world and find better. And then he could find someone he’d be happier with.

Maybe she could convince him that she wanted things to stay as they were because she was ambitious. Any role she held after being the Marrok’s mate would be lowering her position. Both of those things were true.

She did not want to tell him the real reason she wanted things to stay as they were. She had loved, really loved, three people in her adult life. One of them had died before he had a chance to live. One of them had grown up into a monster that Leah had killed. The third was standing in her bedroom, and she was fairly sure he’d spent nearly two centuries hating her because she was not Blue Jay Woman.

“Leah,” he said when she’d been silent too long. “I don’t want to lose you.”

She gave him a sardonic smile. “Why the hell not?”

He tilted his head and she saw the shadow of his wolf pass through his eyes. Then he opened the mating bond—which had always been tightly shut, always—and showed her.

EPILOGUE

Outside, the first snowstorm of the season was whistling through the trees, turning the world white. Inside, Charles had a guitar out and was singing Gordon Lightfoot songs. Anna was knitting an afghan that she intended as a Christmas present for her dad. Flames danced in the fireplace.

Someone knocked fiercely on the door, startling both of them.

Charles put his guitar aside. He didn’t make it to the door before it opened—letting in a blast of arctic cold and a fair amount of snow before his brother, Samuel, shut it. Seeing him home and safe relieved a worry that always lurked in Charles’s heart when those he loved were away.

“Samuel,” Charles said. “Welcome.”

Samuel looked rough. He hadn’t shaved for quite some time, and there was a white scar that ran from his temple down the side of his face and disappeared into his scruffy beard. It took a lot to scar a wolf; Charles was pretty sure that anything connected to Doctors Without Borders wouldn’t manage it. He had no doubt that his brother had worked with the organization, but Charles decided the feeling that they weren’t getting the whole story of where Samuel had been and what he’d been doing was verified in his brother’s face. Samuel’s eyes were tired.

“Would you do something for me?” Samuel asked.

“Yes,” said Anna immediately. “Samuel, what’s wrong?”

“Anything,” Charles agreed. “You know that.”

“Keep her safe,” he said. He unzipped his coat, dropping it to the floor so he could take off the sling he wore across his chest. He handed the baby, still the size of a newborn, to Charles.

She blinked up at Charles with vague baby eyes. Like most babies’ eyes, they were blue. She was warm and dense, as babies were. Her skin was a little flushed from being tucked against Samuel’s body.

Charles lifted his eyes to Samuel’s.

“I told you I might have a solution for you. For your need for a baby,” said Samuel. He tried to smile. Charles saw that it wasn’t just the weather making the whites of his eyes red. “I need you to take care of her. To raise her as your own. No one can know she’s Ariana’s daughter.”

“We’ll protect her with our lives,” Anna said firmly. “You know that. You and Ariana could stay here with her. Our pack will do anything to make you safe. Bran would do anything.”

“She’s a maker,” Samuel said. “The fae have not had a maker since Ariana bound her power into the last artifact she made. One of the fae found out—Ariana will take care of him. But if he knows, if he told anyone . . .” His voice trailed off. “If the fae have the ability to make great artifacts again, that would be a game changer for them. She is safer with you. My daughter, Ariana’s daughter, has to die. Our child would never be safe.”

“Are you hungry?” said Anna. “Can you stay for the night?”

Samuel shook his head. “It’s not safe for her. No one can know I was here.”

“Da?”

Samuel lifted his head, staring in the direction of their da’s house. “Da already knows. He’s on his way, but I can’t stay. Give him my love.” He hesitated and his eyes found his daughter’s face. “I’ll come when I can. Uncle Samuel can visit.”

“Okay,” said Anna. “We will keep her safe for you, Samuel. What’s her name?”

“Call her what you like.” Samuel picked up his coat and put it on. “Her mother gave her a name, but the fae don’t use their true names for a reason.” He gave Charles that heartbreaking almost-smile again. “I don’t have to tell you to love her.”

“No,” Charles agreed.

She is ours, said Brother Wolf. Samuel hugged Anna, resting his head on top of hers for a moment, as if drawing strength. Then he hugged Charles, too. Samuel kissed the top of his baby’s head. He rested his face against hers, inhaling audibly. Then he backed away several steps before he turned on his heel and went back out into the storm.