04

Chapter 4 – The Garden of Sighs

A week passed before Annabelle agreed to follow him anywhere beyond the guarded corridors.

Kevin came for her one morning without Gisèle, dressed in a simple linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up over sinewy forearms, and she understood that he was making himself more human for her.

He said nothing, but held out his hand, palm open—a silent offer.

She refused it, but she followed him.

They took a spiral staircase so narrow that their shoulders brushed. At each contact, even through the fabric, a jolt ran through Annabelle, mixing repulsion with an irresistible attraction she silently cursed.

They emerged into a walled garden, hidden at the heart of the fortress, which the morning light dusted with silver mist. Black roses and white lilies intertwined along gravel paths, and a stone fountain sang at its center, a marble she-wolf keeping watch over the basin.

"This place was my mother's," Kevin said, breaking the silence. "She had it planted before our enemies murdered her. Here, no one can hear us. No one can threaten you."

Annabelle sat on the edge of the fountain, her fingers grazing the icy water. He remained standing, at a respectful distance, but his shadow stretched to her feet as if to touch her despite himself.

"Tell me about Anaïs," he asked suddenly. "Your sister. You miss her."

Tears rose to her eyes without warning.

"Every day. Every hour. We were inseparable. She was my heart's twin, my spare breath. When she died, I felt half of myself go dark. And then the illness grew worse. I no longer had anyone to tell me it was worth fighting."

Kevin closed his eyes for a moment, and his fists clenched.

"I understand that void. I lost my parents the same night. I had to take command of the packs at fifteen, my fangs still red with their murderers' blood. Since then, I never sleep without one eye watching. But I have never felt loneliness the way I did when the bond awoke and you were not there. For years, I searched for you, I scented the wind, I consulted the oracles. And when I found you, you wanted to die."

He opened his eyes again, and their grey was a storm-torn sky.

"I am not asking you to love me right away. Not tonight, not tomorrow. But don't leave. Stay alive. For her, perhaps. For yourself. And one day, if you can, for me."

Annabelle stood, moved in spite of herself, and walked toward him without even realizing it. A magnetic force drew her into his sphere, that halo of wild heat that soothed her weary bones. She lifted her eyes to his face, and for the first time, she took in every shadow: the thin scar that crossed his temple, the hard curve of his lips, the abyssal sadness lurking in the depths of his eyes. He was beautiful with a terrifying beauty, an aesthetic of cliff and storm. She felt her heart quicken, and the heat in her chest became searing.

The gravel crunched under her foot. She stumbled, arms forward. Kevin caught her before she fell, one hand closing around her waist, the other grasping her wrist. Time hung suspended. His chest was against hers, a wall of solid flesh where a heart beat too slow, too deep. She felt the muscles of his stomach beneath the shirt, the pressure of his fingers on her hip, and a wave of raw desire tore through her, dazzling, forbidden. The scent of musk and leather intoxicated her. Her lips parted of their own accord, and she saw his eyes ignite with a golden, animal glow. He was breathing fast, too.

The tension between them became a thread of silk on the verge of snapping.

He lowered his head, his burning breath brushed her cheek, her temple, the corner of her lips. Annabelle closed her eyes, ready to surrender, to lose everything in that kiss that did not come.

It did not come.

Kevin released his hold with heartbreaking gentleness and stepped back.

"I will not touch you," he murmured in a hoarse voice. "Not like that. Not until you have accepted the bond of your own free will. My wolf howls for it, but the man in me refuses to steal that choice from you."

She opened her eyes, trembling, frustrated, relieved. Her body burned with a fire she no longer controlled, but her mind was still a knot of fears and rebellions.

"And if I never accept?" she asked in a shattered voice.

"Then I will watch you die," he answered, his jaw clenched so tightly she thought it might break. "And I will follow you into the shadows soon after. The bond does not survive the death of a soulmate. It is the way."

He turned on his heel and walked away down the path of black roses, a wounded figure who carried with him half the garden's warmth. Annabelle collapsed onto the edge of the fountain, breathless, and pressed her fingers to her mouth as if to trap the ghost of a kiss that had not taken place.

The bond, now, beat in her chest like a second heart, painful and sweet, and she understood with terrifying clarity that she no longer had a choice.