She threw herself into our father's arms the moment he stepped through the gate, still wearing his Pack Council robes. The faint scent of old parchment and dried lavender clung to him, familiar and steadying.
The complaints poured out of her in a torrent: everything that happened at the territory gate with Fenris, every snide remark from every fair-weather visitor who'd turned tail and left.
I clutched the edge of my sleeve, unable to meet my father's eyes.
Not until I heard him ask, "Why don't you want to be mated to him?"
His tone was gentle. He didn't seem angry.
Only then did I dare speak. "I don't have feelings for him anymore."
It was the most straightforward reason I could think of.
I could hardly tell my father that I had been mated to Fenris Vargr twice before.
That the first time, I fell from a cliff and died. That the second time, I lost my head on the executioner's block.
And that I had dragged the entire Blackthorn pack down with me, every last one put to the sword.
He wouldn't believe me even if I told him. Better to say nothing.
My father studied me, brow furrowed. "Seraphina, you have never been reckless."
"There must be another reason."
"Since you won't say, I won't press."