Thread of Darkness

Ch. 19: what if we shared a room?

Moonlight pierced the clearing. Carrick pushed Lucinda up against the tree, quivering in anticipation. The two shape-shifting wolves snapped their fangs out. They had very sharp fangs, you see. Because they were wolves.

"Don't you see?" Lucinda whispered quietly. "We can never be together, Carrick. You're an alpha, and I'm a nobody. The pack will never accept this."

"I don't care."

Lucinda let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "But I do!" she screamed. "! care about you!"

"You are mine," Carrick growled fearsomely — for he really was very fearsome, when he wasn't helping starving orphans or saving cats from trees — and he touched her face with his large hand. "You belong to me, Lucinda. And nothing can change that."

His dark eyes were like filled with primal lust. And—

"And," Penny muttered, "this whole thing is a crock of shit."

She threw down her quill. Morning sunlight streamed into the carriage, illuminating dust motes that drifted like lazy flies. It was hopeless, Penny thought in exasperation; ever since she lost her memories, she couldn't write a single good line. Not poetry. Not prose.

Not even a stupid shape-shifting wolf novel.

She didn't even like Salvatoria, or the shapeshifters that roamed the kingdom. What on earth was she doing?

Oh, yeah. Losing her mind.

"Writer's block?" Grayson murmured.

He was sitting across from her, a series of ledgers spread out on his lap. An ink pot perched precariously next to him. Penny crumpled her papers, stuffing them into a large, pink feathered hat. Not a nice hat, she thought, but Brigid had insisted that she bring it. So she might as well make use of it.

"How much further to the inn?" she asked.

Grayson turned over a sheaf of parchment. "Half an hour."

"You said that ten minutes ago."

"Well," Grayson said, "I didn't anticipate this sort of terrain."

As if in response, the carriage gave a large thunk, and Penny gripped the sides of the carriage to stop herself from hurtling forward. Grayson put out a hand to steady the ink pot, his eyes still on his parchment. Well, Penny thought, slightly miffed; it was nice to know where his priorities lay.

She settled back in her seat, crossing her legs. The forest had gradually given way to large swaths of frost-bitten grass, and she could catch a glimpse of the sea now, a glimmering pink ribbon in the fading light. Even the air smelled different here: a humid cloud of brine and wildflowers.

"What are you working on?" she asked.

Grayson didn't look up. "Financial accounts. And crop rotations."

"How are they?"

"Bad," Grayson said.

He flipped over another sheaf of parchment. Penny tapped her foot. They were coming dangerously close, she realized, to discussing exactly what had gone wrong between them in the first place. Not that she remembered Grayson trying to extort her for money. But she couldn't imagine she'd been all that pleased about it.

A heavy silence fell.

Penny rummaged in a basket. "Honeyed nut?"

Grayson shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

"Cheese? Loxian smoked salmon?"

"Good gods," Grayson said, setting down his quill. "Were you worried that we'd get lost in the woods and never find our way out again?"