Page 26

The shutters stayed drawn. Blaidd did not step outside, did not answer the knocks or the packlink, did not acknowledge the passing of time, except by marking the way his skin burnt like acid with every hour.

Wolves were very tactile creatures. For lifemates, skin contact at least once in a moon-cycle was not indulgence, it was a necessity, like water was essential for life. It was an acknowledgement that both halves still lived.

Blaidd had gone much longer than a lunar cycle.

As the day wore on, the unravelling accelerated.

His thoughts no longer moved in lines but spirals. He paced until the floorboards creaked in protest, then dropped to his knees, only to surge upright moments later, his breath sawing in and out, wild and shallow. Sweat soaked through his tunic despite the unlit fireplace. His hands trembled violently, muscles spasming beneath his skin as though something else were trying to break free from the inside. But his anxiety only steeped as he worried that Fae was suffering worse.

His wolf prowled just beneath the surface now, at odds with him, not able to understand why they were not trying to chase their lifemate down.

A constant pressure behind his eyes made his vision blur. A grinding ache took up residence in his bones. Hunger lurked, not for food, but for her. Clenched in his hand was her smock, now crumpled, and he desperately tried to trap her disappearing scent. The scrap was all that was keeping the madness at bay without him even realising it. His eyes in the mirror were completely red now.

Humans experienced withdrawal from drugs, and what Blaidd was experiencing was like it in its extreme form. It felt like his blood had been denied something essential and now screamed for it. Hot flushes ran through his body, followed by chills so deep, they had him curled up on the floor while his teeth chattered. His heart raced, then seemed to skip a beat. His stomach cramped violently, nausea rising in sharp, dizzying waves. He couldn't remember the last time he ate or drank something.

He clawed at his arms, nails digging half-moons into skin that healed too fast to mark.

Control yourself, he ordered himself, despite knowing this was a losing battle.

Just hold on a little longer.

"Dad?" a hesitant voice came through the door. “Are you there?"

Bowen.

His voice sounded young, careful, a thread of fear running through it.

Blaidd's head snapped up. "Go," he snarled gnashing his teeth, the sound ripping out of him raw and feral. "Go away."

He sensed him hovering outside, as if confused about what to do.

But he could still sense them—Bowen standing rigid, Eira close behind him. The acrid smell of fear bled from his daughter, her earlier bravado gone.

Finally, they retreated.

Later came another scent.

This one was familiar and smelt safe, Blaidd thought as he struggled through the labyrinth of haze shrouding his mind. His mam.

She knocked once, then, when no one answered, she knocked again.

"Open the door," she said softly.

He did not move.

Her scent was tinged of salt and grief.

"You know," she said, voice trembling despite herself, "when Isolde passed, I knew you were going to die. I knew and I could do nothing but wait for the inevitable."

Blaidd vaguely registered what she was saying while he laid on his side, holding his cramping stomach.

"So I went to the sacred garden," she whispered, words tumbling out in a rush. "I asked the goddess for a boon. I asked for your life—or rather, that you find a reason to stay alive." Her voice wobbled. "And she gave us Fae."

A bitter laugh escaped her, half-sobbing while she continued, "Maybe I should have asked for something else. Another child…one with a little more sense to replace you. Or a new brain for your stupid head. Goddess knows there were better choices."

She stepped back, anger mingling with grief. "Fae deserved better. I don't want to see your face until you make it right with her. Try not to shame us further."

Her scent retreated with angry steps, leaving emptiness behind.