Page 39 of The Ashpaw: Part One

Resuming her sweeping, Fern moved to another area of the room and hoped to survive the night without any more run-ins, when a guard approached her.

“You are to report to the Council Chamber now.”

Her lips quivered, her eyes blurring and dropping to the floor. She gave a shaky nod, and followed him out of the dining hall, feeling every eye on her as she passed, wondering what she could have done to deserve this.

It was Harland who had sought her out, not the other way around. She’d followed the rules by not responding to him. She’d kept her head down, and hadn’t drawn attention to herself.

It just… it wasn’t fair. None of it was fair, and she couldn’t even defend herself because Darion would find some other way to punish her for voicing it.

No, he wanted her to live with the failure until she was so broken, there’d be nothing left for anyone to find beautiful or desirable.

The guard opened the door for her, and she found the room empty, the fire so small it was outshone by the waning moon.

“Wait here,” he ordered, locking her in.

She let out a shuddering breath, releasing enough tears to relieve the pressure building behind her eyes, and then stepped up to the wall, almost laughing as she realized she’d brought the broom with her.

Fern set it on the ground, then clasped her hands behind her back and waited.

A familiar ache crept up her arms and across her shoulders, but she held still, choosing not to ignore it because it was better than feeling nothing.

A key turned in the lock. Her heart jumped, but she didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Didn’t breathe.

“What are you doing?” a voice snapped.

It wasn’t Darion.

Could… could she turn around? Or would that reset the punishment?

Or perhaps Eidan had his own preferred methods…

“Fern?”

His hands grabbed her wrists gently, prying them apart. The relief was tinged with pain, and his touch moved up to her shoulders, massaging them. “Who told you to do this?”

She bit her lip to keep from replying. This had to be a trap. They wanted her to slip because of the scene she’d caused in the dining hall. She’d disrupted Darion’s ceremony…

“Speak!”

The command ripped the answer out of her. “I thought Alpha Darion was coming!” she cried, instantly feeling like she might throw up.

His grip on her tightened. “He makes you stand here like this?” he asked, his voice fraying.

When she didn’t respond, he sighed deeply, taking a few moments to calm himself. “You are not the Ashpaw with me, Fern,” Eidan said, much softer. “I give you my word that you can speak and act freely when we are alone without repercussions.”

She didn’t want to trust him, her mind still holding fast that this must be some sort of trick, but her need to believe in something, anything, won out, and a sob burst out of her chest, ugly and loud.

Eidan moved quickly, picking her up and carrying her to the very chair where Darion had sat only a week or so ago, reading his book while she learned her lesson about keeping her thoughts, even unspoken, to herself.

A deep sound rumbled to life in his chest as he held her, stroking her hair. “My father’s mate used to make me stand like that. I think my record is seventeen hours.”

That brought a surprised gasp, enough to distract her for a moment as she looked up at him. “How did you survive it?”

He smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Alphas are a little sturdier than Solvekh she-wolves, I assure you.”

“Still,” she replied, shivering at the thought of it.