Sabine (6 page)

The second, smaller set had arrived alongside him—but they'd left already.

Gripped by a need beyond explanation, Ciar followed them.

When he reached the main road, the tracks veered to the south. The road stretched out to the north, leading toward the palace. Home, where he needed to be. His mother would try to press upon him the sweet, well-bred noblewoman she'd chosen, and he'd wonder how to put into words the feeling that plagued him.

Something was missing.

Responsibility lay to the north. Duty and honor and the life he'd fought so many years to secure, a life that seemed fractured now. Full of questions.

The path to the south might hold answers.

No question, then. Closing his eyes, Ciar reached inside and let the wolf fill him.

Magic rose, and with it a screaming pain. He hit the ground on four paws with a howl of loss shredding his throat as memories tumbled over him in a wave.

Too much, at first. Blonde hair. A smile. A woman, laughing.

Sabine laughing.

Sabine.

Pieces locked into place, like a child's wooden puzzle. The scent on the sheets, the two sets of footsteps. The shock of remembering almost drove him to the ground, but even that vanished under the shock of having forgotten her to begin with.

Every memory brought two more. Sabine, smiling at him when he teased her, frowning when he pushed too far. Finding her in the cabin, finding her
cursed…

He'd promised not to forget her.

He'd lied.

No wonder she'd slipped away in the night. He'd pushed and prodded, at her home and at the inn. Every step of the way, he'd held out hope with a reckless arrogance that shamed him in the face of his abject failure.

More memories. Sabine across a table from him, so terribly fragile as he swore he could do anything. Sabine, under him, crying out his name, gasping and moaning as magic wrapped them tighter and tighter.

A mating, a spell that was no spell at all, but the power of two wolves longing for one another so desperately that they became one. Wolves had ever been unique, tied to one great love when a lion might bind himself to many women.

Perhaps that uniqueness had saved him after all. A witch could tear Sabine from his human mind, but never from where she dwelled as a part of his spirit. If death could not undo such a connection, neither could a curse.

But did
she
know that? Surely not, if she'd left. How her heart must have bled, yesterday, when he'd walked beside her as a stranger.

So she had run, but he could follow. As a wolf, if he had to, on four paws, hunting her as he had before. He'd stay a wolf, if that was what it required. Better to lose himself to the beast within than to lose her.

With a goal—with hope—he gathered the strength inside him and ran.

The minutes blurred together as Ciar followed the pull of the mating bond. The forest blurred too, flying past him as he pushed himself to his limit. Years at war had given him a stamina she couldn't hope to match.

He'd find her. Catch her, before desperation broke what was left of her heart.

With every step, the warm place inside him burned a little brighter, until he swore he could feel the echo of her thoughts mingling with his own.

“Sabine.”
If their mating hadn't been tangled up with a curse, surely she would have heard him. Surely she would have replied.

The unerring tug brought him to a small village with an even smaller tavern. Barely more than a house, and probably boasting no more than two or three rooms that weren't occupied by the owner himself.

Resuming human form might mean he would forget her again, stand stupidly outside the inn and wonder how he'd gotten there. He might turn and leave, never realizing that the answer to the nagging ache in his heart lay just beyond the door.

But remaining a wolf presented its own problems. When scratching at the door did nothing, he crashed against the door until it rattled, howling his displeasure loudly enough to bring villagers running.

“Is it a mad wolf?” one man whispered, only to be quickly quieted by another.

The door swung open before Ciar could crash into it again, and a woman with riotous red curls cursed. “What in blazes—”

He howled again. Not anger or rage—an imperious summons with an arrogance no wolf could miss, no matter their form.

And then there she was. Sabine appeared at the end of the hall, her face pale. “Ciar.”

Sabine.
The redhead was wise enough to step out of the way a moment before his control snapped. His paws skittered across the scratched floor as he lunged, sliding to a stop close enough to slam his head into Sabine's hip.

She fell back, landing hard on the bottom of the staircase, but she barely seemed to notice. “Why are you here?” she asked as her fingers slid into his fur. “How?”

He nipped at her fingertips as frustration threatened to drive him mad. The bond lay plain between them, he could feel it. She should be able to hear him, even in human form. Lifting his muzzle, he bumped at the side of her temple, silently begging her to
try
.

Sabine closed her eyes as his nose brushed her cheek. A moment later, she drew in a sharp breath, almost a gasp.
“Ciar.”

“You're my mate. I remember you.”

Her eyes glistened with tears.
“Only now? Like this?”

For the first time, he hated this form. He wanted arms to wrap around her and fingers to wipe away her tears.
“I don't dare change back. Not until the spell is broken. I will not lose you again.”

She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth.
“Did you make it back to the palace?”

“I made it five steps out of the cabin. As soon as I changed forms, I remembered.”

She laughed, though the sound held no amusement. “
An impossible situation. You cannot live the rest of your days as a wolf.”

No, he couldn't. No one could, not if he hoped to retain the sense of a man. Wolves who went feral lost all reason, and the High Lord could not risk such a thing, not with peace so new and his kingdom suffering from his absence.

But a few days… He could give her that. He owed her that.
“Then we'll find the witch, and I'll impress upon her the importance of not disappointing me.”

Sabine stared at him for a long moment and glanced around, as if just noticing the crowd they'd drawn.
“No one at the palace remembers me.”

He'd already considered it.
“Farran. Do you remember him?”

“He's a warlord, the First. And your friend.”

“He'll remember you, as I did. Not forever, but long enough. And no man, woman or witch will dare to stand against him.”
Not when the men of Farran's family were legendary for their power in battle—and for their vicious tempers.

She sat straighter and caught his head between her hands.
“Do you think it will work?”

“It will work.”
He couldn't allow himself to believe otherwise.

The first hint of a smile curved her lips. “Doesn't matter if it doesn't,” she whispered. “I'll be there every day, if you want. Even if you forget me, I belong to you.”

Ciar bumped his nose against her hand, then quickly licked the inside of her wrist. She belonged to him, and now she understood. If he had to stay a wolf for a month, he'd find a way to reclaim her.

Nothing would make him forget her again.

 

 

Running alongside Ciar as a wolf helped dispel some of Sabine's anxiety. This was natural,
right
. The way they were meant to be, a wolf and his mate.

Reassuming her human form as they approached the palace brought her fear rushing back. If no one else concentrated hard enough to hear Ciar's inner voice, she might be seized. And if they touched her…

Ciar would attack and blood would be shed.

He yipped and bumped his nose against her hand.
“I've summoned Farran. He will meet us at the gate.”

The tightness in her chest eased. “He can hear you?”

“A spell the lions developed. All of my warlords can hear me, whether we're human or wolf.”

It was magic the likes of which she'd never seen. Then again, wouldn't the lions be shocked to hear that a person's existence could be utterly erased through a trick of magic?

Of all the silly things to think about at a time like this.
Sabine shook herself and lifted her voice in a shout, just in case. “Farran!”

One side of the huge wooden gates swung open, revealing a tall, dangerous-looking man with a scruffy beard and wild eyes. Farran, as changed by the years as Ciar had been, and even more untamed than she remembered.

His gaze fell on Ciar for a moment before shifting to Sabine. “I didn't believe it was true, not until I demanded that Ciar's mother tell me what she'd done to you. She truly has no recollection at all.”

“No one does, not—” Her voice failed. “Not even my own mother.”

Farran reached out a hand. Ciar lunged, snapping at his friend's fingers with teeth vicious enough to shred skin.

Sabine stepped back, her heart in her throat. “The witch. Does the same one still serve here?”

“Yes.” Farran's gaze strayed to the wolf again. “Settle yourself, Ciar. I have no intention of touching your mate.”

Ciar backed up until his side was pressed firmly against Sabine's leg, protective anger in every line of his strong form, and only one thing would soothe him.

Sabine spoke quickly. “You're the only person who remembers me, Farran. I don't have the authority to make demands here at the palace, and if Ciar shifts back…”

“I understand.” His jaw tightened a little, anger or unease in his eyes. “The witch sits in his mother's suite most days, along with the other ladies of the court. The quickest way to have done with it is to go there now.”

Sabine took a deep breath, and Ciar nudged her impatiently through the heavy gate. He'd been a wolf for two days now, longer than most people remained in their other forms, and the strain was beginning to show.

No matter the outcome, it had to end today.

Chapter Six

Ciar's mother, Maris, was just as imperious as Sabine remembered, though she smiled politely when they entered. No doubt she assumed Sabine had accompanied Farran, not the anxious wolf who followed them into the High Lady's chamber.

The witch smiled too, though she seemed troubled. Confused. Her eyes narrowed, carving deep creases between her eyebrows as she stared at Sabine, as if she was a puzzle that needed solving.

It made Ciar snarl again. He angled his body in front of Sabine, and Farran spoke into the tense silence. “My Lady, your son and his mate are here.”

Gasps and whispers rippled through the room. Ciar's mother's vague smile faltered. “Impossible, Farran. My son has yet to choose a mate.”

Farran didn't move, but something slithered through the room. Magic, or power—something so feral, so threatening that the whispers hushed. Even the High Lady herself paled and glanced at Ciar. “Surely you can stand on two feet and speak to me yourself.”

Ciar growled.

Farran shifted his weight, as if preparing for a fight, and looked to Sabine.

For a moment, fear and memories held her rooted to the spot. This was where it had happened, where the High Lady had invited her up to talk. Sabine had been excited, so moved by the gesture that she hadn't stopped to consider that the woman might be plotting against her.

And this, this was where Maris and her witch had looked on her with no recollection of her. Where she'd been banished from the castle for her shrieking nonsense, not once but dozens of times. Day after day, until her throat had grown raw from the screaming.

For a moment, she couldn't speak. And then Ciar brushed against her, butting his head under her hand.
“You're my mate now. No one can throw you from this palace.”

The words gave Sabine the strength to step forward. “I would speak to you alone, Lady. You and your sorceress.”

As the women behind her began to rise, Maris flung out one hand, pointing at a petite brunette with flawless skin and the bearing of a gentlewoman. “Iloria must stay as well. As my son's
true
intended mate, this concerns her greatly.”

The woman flinched and looked as though she wanted to leave, but she only bowed her head. “As you wish, my lady.”

Farran bared his teeth in what seemed to be a warning, but he didn't disagree. “She stays. The rest of you leave.
Now.
”

As the room emptied, Sabine once again met the witch's gaze, and she caught another jolt of recognition. “You see it, don't you? You did before. You don't remember me, but you always saw the magic.”

“My magic.” The woman's frown deepened. “Some of my power is tied to your own, but obscured, as well. The purpose is unclear.”

“You cast a spell on me.” Sabine clenched her hands into fists. “A curse, meant to make Ciar forget me while he was away.”

Shocked stares turned to the High Lady and her witch. Both women blanched, then Maris's face flushed a deep red as her back stiffened. “I would never—” Everyone heard the lie, even in only a few words. “I do not recall doing any such thing.”

“I think that's the crux of the matter, Maris.” Farran bit Ciar's mother's name off with the edge of a snarl, one her son echoed. “Have your witch reverse her magic. Now.”

The witch made a noise of protest. “If I don't know the spell—”

“You can do it.” Sabine clenched her hand in Ciar's fur. “There never was a spell which could not be undone.”

Farran's rumble of agreement filled the room. “The High Lord bids you do your best, if you want to remain in his territory.”

The witch paled. “All I can do is strip her of magic. It will dissolve most anything. Spells to attune items, glamours—”