“There’s unrest at the northern border,” he answered calmly, trying to soothe her with his low voice.
“I will only be gone a few days. I’ll bring food stock and some bolts of dyed cloth for you on my way back.”
She didn’t look at him as she nodded.
Ever since the “incident,” after they buried the dead soldier in their back garden, she didn’t like to look at him much.
“Be safe,” she bid him quietly.
“Aye.”
Four days later, Wolfe returned to find his world turned upside down.
From the dirt road in front of the hut, through the open window he saw inside as he strode home, one hand raised in a wave to greet his mother.
But she wasn’t alone. She was too preoccupied to see him.
The dead soldier was in the hut with his mother. They were standing in the middle of the small room.
Entwined.
He held her closely. Kissing her. And she held him just as tight. Kissing him back.
A moment later, he broke the kiss and said fervently, urgently, “Come with me, Igraine. Please, come with me. There is so much I want to show you. Tell you. This existence…’tis torture. You are my only reprieve. Come with me.”
She pulled out of his arms, folding her own around her waist, hugging herself.
“I don’t know who you are,” she said with a choked sob. “I don’t understandwhatyou are. I-I cannot accept you. Y-you’re—”
He grasped her upper arms so tightly, his hands looked like claws from where Wolfe stood arrested by the sight of them.
“I am the male who loves you. You are my Mate.”
She backed up a step, shaking her head.
“I am not! You are not who you pretend to be! Is this even your real form? What happened to your eye? What sort of creature are you?”
“My eye was sacrificed so that I can come to you. I made a bargain. I will show you my real form if you come with me. All I need is you, Igraine.”
She kept shaking her head, tears running down her face now.
“Where have you been these past years? Why have you waited so long? How can I ever trust you? You-you’re nothuman!”
“Love—”
“I am not your love! I am not your anything! I want my Gorlois! Where is he? You killed him! I buried him!”
“No—”
He reached for her, desperate. She fought him, equally desperate.
And that was when Wolfe unfroze his limbs and rushed into the hut, getting between them, pushing the stranger back.
The man who wore the face and body of the dead soldier buried in their garden. With a single citrine eye that glowed like a gem and an empty socket beside it.
The man defended himself from Wolfe’s attacks, but didn’t really fight back, though he was much bigger and stronger. However, he refused to leave. He kept shouting at Wolfe’s mother, trying to get to her.
Soon, the soldiers and hunters who’d returned to the village with Wolfe rushed in to assist him. The one-eyed man fought in earnest now, his fury unleashed.