Page 119 of Fawn

Has our absence even been noted?

I can only presume that Marigold used her familiarity among the staff to gain access to the gardens, knowing that we run there every afternoon.

We were complacent. Foolish.

Look where that has led us.

I wish I had died back then. I wish Seven and Nox had never come upon me and saved me that day.

I would suffer a lifetime of abuse—an eternity in hell, anything. For if they had never met me, Fawn would never have been brought into this.

Wolf

I have faced danger before, gone into battle, knowing that the odds were poor. I’ve seen people I know die, some of whom I cared for like a brother.

The world is full of dangers. They are constants within a wolf pack, holding your land against adversaries, but also inner conflicts that threaten to tear the delicate balance and order apart.

But I never had a mate before.

It is like pressure, so great I wonder how I can bear it—a constant churning in my gut as I push down rage and bleakness to focus on the facts of the task, for there is no room here for weakness while Fawn is gone.

It is not only about Fawn but a young stag shifter, too.

I want to blame Eiden.

I want to blame Seven and Nox.

I want to blame her mother for writing that damn letter. If Fawn was in the wolf pack, I could have kept her safe.

But if there is no time for weakness, there is no space for allocating blame. What ifs? They only lead to darkness and inaction. If the Goddess is benevolent at times, she is also cruel. She places tests before us, seeking to gain a measure of our mettle.

If this is a test, I am determined to pass.

Two lives hang in the balance, and three others will be left broken if those two are lost.

The city is on lockdown, with the roads leading in and out barred. No point in pretending their absence has not beennoticed. Many hours have passed. The actions we take will have been expected and anticipated. These enemies will have a plan for it, either to lie low somewhere or make an escape.

The plot does not appear to move further than revenge, and that is something, at least. The gardeners have been questioned, and witnesses have been brought forward. All the while, the streets are being combed, the hovels where the criminals hide—those known to have fraternized with these people we seek, and even those that are not—have their lairs turned over and are put to question.

Time is of the essence. Every moment they are held is a moment too long, a moment during which their hearts, minds, and possibly even their bodies are being wounded.

I cannot think about that.

I have to be strong in ways that I never comprehended before.

The urge to run out blindly and comb the streets myself is unbearably strong, even as stupid as that would be.

“We have a lead,” Nox says, striding into the constable’s office where Seven and I are talking to a soldier reporting back from the streets.

“Where?” Seven says.

“Wormwood District.”

Seven blanches. “We locked the entries down.”

“Not fast enough,” Nox says grimly. “A woman and man matching their description were seen being taken into a warehouse by one of our contacts.”

Their tense expressions fill me with fresh dread. I soon noted that the city had secrets, that a darkness lurked beneath the pretty facade. Everywhere has secrets. I did not delude myself into thinking the stag city would be different.

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