Ella
There’s a commotion outside of the cottage. It’s just after noon, from what I can tell, and the little village girl who follows the witch around everywhere has just dropped off a basket full of cold sliced meat, bread, cheese, and an assortment of fruits and vegetables for a quick lunch when the door to the single room cottage bursts open.
I rise from the pile of clothing and gifts we’ve been given from the nearby village, in the process of packing up for our journey home, when Ryatt strides in and shuts the door with a snap. He locks it and stares down at me absently.
“Uh, are you okay?” I straighten as he turns to the single window and pulls the curtains closed. “Ryatt, where’s the baby?”
“She’s with Westfall.”
“He’s here?”
“He just arrived.”
Something in Ryatt’s tone puts me on edge. It’s been several days since the baby’s birth, and he’s finally coming around. Dark circles no longer cloud his eyes and his shoulders have been relaxed, but now?
“Are we under attack?” I ask, rounding the bed.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“The witch,” he says slowly, turning to face me. He tucks his hands in the casual brown pants he’s wearing with a homespun gray sweater that makes his eyes look like the color of steel.
“What about her?”
“What have the two of you talked about?”
I furrow my brow. “The baby, mostly. She’s a talented midwife. Obviously…. What is this about?”
He heaves a sigh, leaning against the wall between the window and the door. “Have you asked her about her past?”
“She doesn’t remember, Ryatt.” All I know is something happened to her twenty to twenty-five years ago, by my estimation. Knowing the history of events in Rifthold, witches were often captured and enslaved by Kane and subjected to all kinds of abuse and sick experiments. But she doesn’t know if she was ever kept in Rifthold. The brief conversation we had regarding our shared Firestone gifts was surface level–forgettable.
She did tell me her memories of her childhood are fuzzy at best. Her young adult life is missing from her memory almost entirely. In our few moments together, while tending to the baby and my own recovery, she told me she remembers stone walls that drip with water and grime, lanterns that glow red, and screaming.
“I believe she was held in Rifthold, possibly a slave,” I tell him, taking a deep breath. “The witches who were in the cave with me were tortured, too. A lot of them were traumatized, even during such a short time there. If the witch was held by Kane in any way and was able to escape, I imagine that trauma would have been… far greater than anything we’ve seen so far. She has amnesia.”
“Amnesia,” he repeats softly. It’s a whisper full of an emotion that borders on vengeful. That’s enough to send a shiver up my spine.
“Ryatt, are we safe?”
“Yes.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
His eyes meet mine for the first time since he stormed in here and wrecked my peace. “Westfall… we were talking. He was holding our baby, and the witch approached us and called down to me to let me know that you wanted me to join your for lunch if I’d named the baby… Kenna–”
“Kenna? Is that her name?” My heart squeezes around the word. “I love it. It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you,” he says briskly, the corners of his mouth twitching, but he doesn’t quite smile. “Anyway.”
“Anyway….” I move a little closer to him, not liking the way he looks down at his boots as his body goes rigid.
“She might be my mother.”
I choke on a laugh. “Ryatt, you can’t be serious. I saw a vision of your mother, remember? She looks nothing like–”
The look on Ryatt’s face cuts me to the core. He’s serious about this. The look in his eyes tells me there’s no doubt in his mind that the witch, who doesn’t even remember her name, is his mom.
“How do you know?” I ask, my voice laced with a tremor I can’t hide.
“Westfall. He looked up at her and said her name, and now he’s…. Kenna might be the only reason he’s still in one piece right now, which is why I left them together. She’s asleep, and he will take care of her.”
“I know that,” I cut in, edging closer to my mate. I lay a hand on his forearm and squeeze. “I know he wouldn’t hurt her, but what happened exactly?”
“He said her name. She… looked down at us for a moment, like she remembered, but….” He tapers off, shaking his head. “She walked away.”
“She just walked away?”
He nods. “Westfall was paler than I’ve ever seen him. He asked me if I saw that, if she’d really been there. I told him that yes, the witch had come to talk to me, but Westfall sat down, turned his back to me, and started murmuring some song or story down to Kenna, and I figured I was better off coming here.”
“You just left him down there?”
“Well, what was I supposed to do?”
“Maybe talk to him about it? Is she really your mother, Ryatt?”
Ryatt pauses, tilting his head in consideration. I step into him, manually wrapping his arms around my waist. I feel a jolt of warmth when his hands settle against the small of my back, and I lean into him, resting my chin on his chest.
I realize with a start that we haven’t touched like this in a long time. There’s always been something between us–the baby, and the curse–but now it’s just us. And our bond…. Wow. The mate bond is really a pull a person can’t ignore. His scent overwhelms my senses.
He must feel it too because he smooths a hand up my back and settles me closer.
“I think this is between her and Westfall,” he says, his voice gravelly and full of smoke. He brings his hands down and cups my ass.
I let out a breathy moan.
I used to tell myself that this feeling inside of me–this roiling, liquid heat whenever he so much as looked in my direction–was just the mate bond talking. But now, it’s so much more than that. His touch sets my soul on fire.
“What were we talking about?” he rasps, leaning down to brush the words over my temple. He inhales deeply, taking in my scent, and groans.
“I can’t remember,” I murmur, tilting my head to the side to give him access to my neck. His lips brush over my skin in a featherlight touch, sending ripples of electricity skittering over me, through me, and a warm heat settles low in my belly.
Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this. I just had a baby! But the witch, who is possibly my mate’s long lost and presumed dead mother, has been feeding me potions and tonics that have definitely sped up my recovery ten-fold.
I feel better than I ever have and more than ready to be laid down in that creaky bed by my mate so that he can ravage me.
But now, Ryatt is thinking the same thing. He pulls away slightly, looking down at me with eyes glassy with desire. “I don’t want to hurt you, Princess.”
“What if I want you to?”
A muscle in his neck ticks, and his jaw tightens. “Don’t do that. I can’t–our bond is back in place, and that’s making it hard to even be around you without wanting to rip off your clothes and do unspeakable things….” He takes a shuddering breath and dips his mouth back to my neck. His teeth graze my skin before he sucks that tender spot between my neck and shoulder.
I draw in my breath, my mind laser focused on the way he’s touching me.
“I don’t think I’d be able to stop, even if you said so,” he says against my skin, biting down.
My eyes flutter closed. I clutch his waist, trying to get closer to him. I need him closer.
“Ryatt,” I breathe, my hands gliding up and under his sweater. His skin is so warm, his muscles flexed beneath my touch.
He nudges my neck, trailing kisses up to the base of my jaw. “You smell so good,” he groans. “Like everything–everything warm, and comfortable. You smell like home.”
He whirls us around so my back is to the wall. I’m wearing a dress that brushes my ankles, the fabric made from what feels like thin cotton. He slowly inches the fabric up my leg, his hand smoothing over my skin.
“Ella,” he says, his lips hovering against mine. “I love you.”
I find it momentarily hard to breathe as his warm, calloused hand slides up my thigh.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, bracing the wall with his free hand.
“I don’t want you to stop,” I whisper back. My tongue darts out to swipe over his lower lip, and then his mouth is on mine–hot, wet, and demanding.
He presses me to the wall, and my whimpering moans echo around us as I wrap my arms around his neck, and he carries me to the bed.
We might only have a few minutes alone. We both know it, too. Someone will come to the door looking for us. Kenna might wake up wanting milk. Granger might stop by to ask if we’re still planning on leaving at nightfall.
So, we waste no time.
He drops me on the bed, making quick work of taking off his pants and sweater. His chest heaves with every breath he takes as I pull the fabric of my dress over my hips and let my legs fall open, his name a prayer on my tongue when he settles between my knees and clutches the back of my neck to guide me into another desperate, all-consuming kiss.
His cock nudges my entrance, and it’s enough to send a spark of heat rushing to my core. “Please,” I beg. I don’t care if it hurts or if I’m not ready. I have no idea when we’ll be alone again, and I can’t take it. I need him. My wolf is in agony, pleading for her mate. And his wolf?
Ryatt’s pupils are so large that only a hint of his silver irises show when he slowly guides his cock inside of me. I know it’s taking all of his strength to hold himself back. I can see the hint of transformation in his eyes, like he’s on the verge of shifting, like this is almost too much for him.
I’ve forgotten how feral things used to be between us. I have a brief flash of memory from that night, during the Rite in Moonrise, when he’d almost fucked me publicly against a tree after we had sex for the first time.
I arch off the bed as he fills me, the stretch of it almost too much, but I take it.
“That’s so good,” he says. “You’re such a good girl.”
My breath catches in my throat as he presses in another inch, then another, each slow thrust done in a testing fashion that tells me he’s doing everything he can not to lose control and hurt me by accident.
“I’m okay,” I say, and it’s an effort to get the words out.
Ryatt nods, his lips parting as he lowers his face to mine.
I reach up and cup his cheeks, deepening the kiss.
He grinds his hips while buried inside me. An involuntary whimper of the deepest kind of pleasure works its way up my throat.
“Please,” I whisper against his lips, arching my hips against his to find more friction. “Please, Ryatt.” I want him unleashed. I want him to know that I’m his, forever, any way he wants me. I need to know that we’re okay after everything we've been through the past few months.
I need this more than he realizes.
He nods, but there’s still hesitation glimmering behind his heavy, hooded eyes.
So I sink my nails into his back and bare my teeth, letting some of my wolf show behind my eyes.
That’s his undoing, and before I can blink, he flips me onto my stomach.