Page 76 of Primal

She tried to argue. Of course she did.

But I reminded her that Rennick chose his duty. Chose his omegas. And I, of all people, can respect that kind of choice.

That’s when she snapped, jumping up from her chair.

“You’re almost as bad as he is,” she seethed. The fury in her voice didn’t quite match the heartbreak leaking from her eyes. “You’re a stubborn twat, Noa Alderwood, and it’s going to get you killed.”

Then she left to pick up Ivey from Edie, leaving me to carry my crumbling body and my many emotional wounds up two flights of stairs to my attic bedroom.

I decided I was done for the day.

I thought sleep might give me something. A break. Maybe my mother would send another dream, another clue she’d embedded in the tangled mess of my mind. But sleep is a petty little shit and refused to come. I lay there for hours, sifting through every thought, every revelation, until I couldn’t take it anymore.

Now it’s hours away till sunrise. I’m curled up on the chaise lounge in the garden that is basically a glorified outdoor bed, wrapped in two blankets, thick sweats, and not one but two hoodies. One of them being Rennick’s green one. At this point, I’ve basically turned into a child dragging around her emotional support blankie. And yeah, I know how pathetic that sounds. I just don’t have it in me to care.

This spot, on the back edge of our fairly large backyard, was one of my mother’s favorite places. She’d lie out here during the warm months, sun on her face, plants blooming all around her. She looked so peaceful.

But now that I know about her weavings, about her lies, about the drastic steps she took to take me away from Pack Fallamhain and Rennick, I have to wonder if she ever knew what peace was.

Did she spend our years here waiting for all her intricately placed threads to unravel?

She knew it would all fall apart one day, though, that’s why she left the fail-safe in her spell by making Rennick the key.

That thought has been eating at me for hours.

If reuniting with my mate was always part of her plan, if she knew I’d find him again and complete the bond, then who was she really trying to keep me from? Because if it wasn’thim…what the hell was she so afraid of?

I lean my head back and stare up at the sky. The clouds are still heavy and gray, churning like they’re thinking about snowing but haven’t made up their mind yet. The cold in the airsays it’s quickly becoming a stronger possibility, that if it were to drop a few more degrees, the flurries would begin.

My fingers, hidden deep in the oversized pocket of Rennick’s hoodie, are slowly going numb, joints locking up in the cold. My nose is already a lost cause, numb and burning all at once. But I let the chill in. Welcome it, even.

It suits me.

My insides have been frozen since the second that bond tore itself from my chest. The rest of me is just catching up. Cold, aching, empty. It’s a kind of pain I’ve gotten used to. And that’s probably the saddest part of all this, how quickly I’ve adapted to hurting.

I breathe in through my nose, hoping to catch the scent of the oncoming snow, but the air is blank. My senses are dulled. Even the familiar trace of him on this hoodie is almost gone now.

Some part of me mourns it, quietly heartbroken, but it’s like it expected the loss. Knew it’d be like everything else that’s been fading lately.

My eyes close, lashes brushing against wind-chilled skin. I don’t think. I just lie here. Just breathe. Just exist.

And then I hear it.

Crunch.

A step. Subtle, but distinct. A crunch against the dry grass somewhere near the trees that sit around the fence line.

The sound snaps me upright. My body stiffens, aching muscles dragging into motion on instinct.The rational part of my brain reminds me there’s no real reason to panic. If anything had made it past Ashvale’s borders, the coven or Lowri’s pack would’ve dealt with it, or at the very least, someone would have warned me.

At this, my icy fingers slip into my sweatpants pocket and curl around my phone. I leave them there, knowing it’ll vibrate if anyone tries to reach me, because there’s another part of methat’s been quietly preparing and anticipating the day one of our Nightingale’s—old and new—might lead the past or darkness they’re running from right to our doorstep.

My body, numb just moments ago, jerks with a wave of shivers. Heat moves across my skin, sudden and unfamiliar, pushing back the cold I’ve gotten used to. For one breath, I let myself feel it, the absence of that constant, aching emptiness.

That’s when I see him, standing about fifteen feet away, just beyond the edge of the garden, half hidden by the shadows cast by the trees.

A wolf. Massive. Still. Attention locked on me.

His fur is black and silver, but from here I can’t make out many distinctive patterns. Only that his legs, muzzle, and spine seem to be where a lot of the darker fur is concentrated. It’s his eyes I’m focused on anyway. The silver-blue seems to glow in this lighting, even though I know it’s not possible. It’s a ghostly shade I recognize.

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