Page 22 of Bullied Wolf Mate

My brow furrowed again. “You don’t?”

She shrugged. “Never have, really.” She glanced over at me, snorting at my bewildered expression. “Really, Mark, when did I have the chance to make friends? You know how I grew up. Growing up, I went to school, but most people avoided me, so it wasn’t like I was going to invite any of them to come play. I lived in that cottage my entire life. The only people I talked to were the ones who came to buy potions and when I went to get my groceries. Besides that, I was alone.”

I didn’t respond as the words sank in. God, what a lonely existence.

“Well, I’m sure the girls would love to hang out with you here,” I said.

She hesitated. “I don’t know,” she muttered.

“Are you saying you don’t want friends at all?” I asked. “That seems like a pretty lonely existence, to be completely honest.”

“Being on my own is easier. I don’t have to worry about anyone else. I don’t have to worry about accidentally hurting someone—physically or emotionally—and I don’t have to worry about them doing the same to me.”

I didn’t know what to think about it. I also wasn’t sure I wanted to. Because how much had I contributed to her being so solitary in the first place?

“Do you wish it had been different?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t think it matters what I wished,” she mused. “It’s what happened, for better or worse. I never knew anything different, so it wasn’t like I thought I was missing out on anything.” She paused, head tilted as she considered something, then giggled. “Honestly, I think it’s a wonder I’m as well-adjusted as I am, considering all the isolation.”

“Do you want to meet them, then?”

“Why not?” She sighed, glancing around the room with undisguised frustration. Her eyes lingered on the door wistfully. “It’s not like there’s anything else for me to do.”

I tried to pull her into me, but she stiffened. “It won’t be forever,” I said reassuringly.

After a moment, she relaxed, leaning into me more. “You know, I think that’s the first time I’ve really admitted any of that,” she said.

“Probably good to get off your chest.”

My wolf growled in satisfaction at having her this close to me. I inhaled her scent, and that need, that want to always have her near me flared up again. Even as I thought this, her words stuck in my head, the fact that she couldn’t see that I had changed all that much. Unless I made some sort of change, when all of this was over and we had finally taken care of Inara, Lorelei would go back to her cottage and out of my life forever. The only way to keep her here was to show her who I was now.

I couldn’t let her go, not with Inara still out there. But maybe I could make her life a little easier.

“Wait here,” I said.

She opened her mouth, and I expected some sort of smart retort. Instead, she clamped her mouth shut again and shrugged.

I hurried upstairs to find my pack. It took only a quick rummage to find what I was looking for. I pulled out the hammer Jameson had used in Inara’s den and hurried back downstairs.

Lorelei looked up when I returned. Her eyes locked on the hammer, and she straightened.

“If I take those off, do you promise not to use magic to try and run away?” I asked.

She chewed on her lip as if genuinely considering the trade-off and whether it was worth it. Finally, she nodded, holding out her wrists.

With a gentle strike from the hammer, the iron bands fell to the ground. Lorelei sighed, rubbing her wrists.

“God, it feels like taking off a too-tight shirt, or a breath of fresh air after being inside for a month,” she said. She shook out her hands, looking down at them. She muttered something under her breath, and a small, flickering flame appeared in her palm. She gave a wide grin. “Never thought being able to cast a simple spell would feel this good. I may not be great at magic, but finally being able to use it after so long…”

She bounced the flame from hand to hand, its light glittering in her eyes as she watched. After a moment, she closed her fingers around the flame, and it vanished into nothingness.

“That seems like you’re pretty good at magic,” I remarked.

She shrugged. “I have no idea how good I am, to be honest,” she said. “Learning from books isn’t the same as havinganother witch train you. Sort of like trying to teach yourself to read on your own with no instruction or way of knowing if you’re right. Maybe if my parents hadn’t died and they’d gotten the chance to teach me, I would be conjuring up complex illusions as easy as taking a breath.”

“How did they die?” I asked.

The slight smile flickered away. “Bad luck,” she said. “They’d been working on a new potion recipe and weren’t careful enough. I found them when I got home from school.” She paused, then shot me a look. “It was the same day you and your buddies tried to dump all the contents of a trashcan over me, remember?”

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