Chapter 42

Raven

The tavern was dimly lit and packed, the air smelling thickly of alcohol and smoke. It seemed the entire village was there tonight, celebrating the warriors returning safely.

We made our way to a table in the corner, our cloaks up to shield our faces despite the crowded atmosphere. The guards, chattering loudly about the battle, made their way to the bar to pick up enough pints for all of us as Neil and I took our seats.

It was now or never. Leaning in, I dropped my voice. “There’s something I need to tell you. It’s about last night. While you were gone.”

Neil’s brow furrowed, but he nodded for me to continue.

“Hannah came to see me,” I said. “Or rather, she ambushed me—with a knife to my throat.”

A flash of surprise crossed his face, but Neil didn’t interrupt, simply letting me continue.

“She, uh… wasn’t expecting me to be armed,” I added. “She backed off when she realized I had a blade of my own. But I think she might have killed me given the chance.”

Neil’s eyes darkened as I told him the story of what happened. When I finished, he was silent. I couldn’t quite tell if he was amused, like Ember had been, or if he was furious.

All he said after a moment of consideration was, “You handled it well, then.”

“Maybe, but… I’m not sure it’ll be the last time she tries something,” I admitted, glancing down at my hands. “It worries me, honestly.”

Neil’s jaw tightened. “I could bring this up to her father,” he said. “As seneschal, he is responsible for keeping order amongst the castle’s staff and nobility. He would not take this lightly.”

I hesitated, thinking it over. “But… wouldn’t that just make things worse?” I asked. “If I complain to her father, it’s going to look like I can’t handle myself. She’d only see it as a weakness, and it would give her even more of a reason to try and hurt me again.”

A hint of reluctance flickered in his gaze, but he nodded. “You are not wrong. Here, going to others about such conflicts can just place a target on your back. Lycans… prefer to resolve matters in their own ways. But if you are that concerned…”

“I want to intensify my training,” I blurted out. Neil leaned back a little, clearly surprised. I added, “I just want to be able to defend myself in every way I can.”

Neil considered my demand for a moment before he nodded. “Of course, if that is what you want,” he said. “But there is only so much you can learn in a matter of a couple of months. You won’t be here forever.”

He paused, eyeing me for a moment, before he said, “Unless, of course, you are thinking of staying?”

I knew he wasn’t really asking sincerely. There was no way I could stay longer than I needed to; it was dangerous for a Werewolf like me to be here, and this wasn’t my home.

But at the same time…

Going home would mean facing Dani and Nathan’s smug, happy faces, with everyone whispering behind my back. A life of endless stares and pity. Returning to the modeling world, with all of its gossip and backstabbing and fake smiles.

At least here, Lycans were straightforward with their intentions. It was… simpler in some ways. More complicated in many other ways, but simpler at the same time.

But obviously, I couldn’t stay. Not that I even wanted to.

“I just want to be prepared,” I said, shifting in my seat. “If something goes wrong, if something happens to you or the guards, or if people find out I’m not Lycan—I want to be able to defend myself.”

Neil regarded me closely, and for a moment, his expression softened. “You are beginning to sound more and more like a Lycan every day,” he said, the faintest hint of a smirk touching his lips. “Very well. I’ll increase your training, but I will not go easy on you. You will be exhausted. It’s not a game.”

“I can handle it,” I said, although I wasn’t so sure if I could.

He gave a short nod, apparently satisfied. A few moments later, the guards returned with drinks. Castor and Eric were in the midst of recounting the battle, ale sloshing out of mugs as they gestured wildly.

“And then Neil dove right into the heart of the fight,” Castor was saying. “One rogue after another. They fell like they were made of paper.”

“Two dozen, at least,” Eric chimed in as he handed Neil his drink. “It was relentless. Most of us were barely catching our breath, and he just… kept going.”

Castor chuckled, raising his mug in a mock toast. “Three dozen, if I counted right.”

Neil furrowed his brow and shook his head. “Counting, during battle?”

Castor shrugged, unbothered. “Someone had to. And it is not a number you’re likely to forget.”

I was transfixed, taking in every word. Hearing about Neil’s strength, his endurance, made me look at him in a new light. It was one thing to know he was powerful, but to hear others recount the details—it was strangely thrilling.

Eric caught my expression, his lips curving into a knowing smirk. “Ah, so it’s true. You are starting to get that fire in your eyes—the way Lycan women look when they hear stories of blood and battle.”

I blushed, glancing away. “It’s… just morbid curiosity. Like when you read a horror story for the thrill of it. It’s not—”

“Death is not a thrill, Raven,” Neil interrupted, his voice cutting through the laughter. “It’s real. It’s not some tale to be enjoyed. It costs lives.” He turned to Castor and Eric, his eyes narrowing. “And you both should know better than to count deaths on the battlefield when you should be focusing.”

A silence fell over the table, and I felt my heart sink, guilt twisting in my chest. Castor and Eric bowed their heads, sufficiently scolded.

Without another word, Neil stood, pushing back from the table and disappearing out the back door with his drink in hand. Castor and Eric exchanged a look, their expressions sobering.

“Don’t take it personally,” Castor murmured after a moment. “He’s not angry with you.”

I glanced over at him, surprised. “Then what is it?”

“He was hoping,” Eric said quietly, “to find some trace of Serena. If she were still alive, she might be with the rogues… but there was nothing. No sign of her at all.”

The weight in my chest grew heavier at that. I’d seen glimpses of Neil’s grief before, but he was so good at hiding it that I hadn’t realized just how deeply it ran. I’d been too caught up in my own survival to fully understand what he was carrying.

His betrothed, missing and possibly dead…

That wasn’t an easy thing for anyone. Even for Neil, the cold Lycan Prince.

Without thinking, I rose from my seat and grabbed my ale. The others didn’t stop me, just returned to their conversation as I slipped out the back door.

I found Neil at the far end of the alley behind the tavern, leaning against the wall and sipping his drink.

Slowly, I walked up to him, reaching out to place a tentative hand on his arm. “Neil…”

He started at my touch, his gaze intense beneath the dim torchlight spilling into the alley. For a moment, neither of us spoke, and I felt an odd, unspoken understanding pass between us—a shared pain, maybe, even if it was for different reasons.

We’d both lost something these past few weeks. Something big and life-changing. Something that we might not be able to get back.

Then, without warning, he reached out, his hand closing around my wrist. His grip was firm and sudden, startling me enough to drop my ale and send it splashing across the ground.

And before I could even process what was happening, he pulled me closer and whirled us around so he was caging me against the wall. His breath was heady with alcohol, but his eyes were clear and intense and focused on one thing: my mouth.

“Neil—”

I could hardly even get his name out before his lips were on mine.