Fated to My Mate's Uncle novel · Chapter 7 of 32

Chapter 7: Severance

Fraser got to me before my head hit the concrete.

He caught me under the arms and pulled me against his chest.

"Carys. Carys, look at me."

I couldn't.

The mark was a coal under my skin, and every pulse of it pulled east, toward the river, toward the big house on the hill.

Come home. Come home. Come home.

"He's calling it," I got out.

"I know. I can smell it burning."

"Let go of me. You said you wouldn't touch me with his mark..."

"Shut up," Fraser said, and held on tighter.

He carried me to Patsy's cabin, because it was closest.

Patsy took one look and filled a basin with river water and ice from the cook shack freezer.

They held a wet towel on my shoulder all night, taking turns.

Gregor called the mark over and over before dawn.

Every time, I bit down on a wooden spoon and didn't cross the river.

Every time, Fraser's arm stayed around me and his voice stayed low in my ear, telling me about fires.

Stupid fires. A grass fire started by a cow. A crewman who'd set his own boots alight.

Anything, as long as I listened to him and not to the pull.

At five in the morning it stopped.

I lay on Patsy's couch, wrung out, sweating through the flannel.

"That's it," I said. "I'm going today."

Fraser didn't argue. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week.

"I'll take you."

"You can't. You're an exile. Any Kinnaird who sees you on pack land can kill you."

"So I'll take you to the water."

At sunrise the gray-bearded wolf and the kid in the yellow shirt strung a rope across the ford, tree to tree.

The river had dropped a foot overnight.

I took off the borrowed boots and tied them around my neck.

I had the sealed bag with the pillowcase zipped inside Patsy's old windbreaker.

Fraser stood at the water's edge with the whole crew behind him.

"If you're not back by noon..." he started.

"You'll do nothing. Promise me."

He didn't promise.

I crossed with both hands on the rope.

The water was waist high and cold enough to stop my heart.

Nobody was waiting on the far bank.

I put my boots back on and walked up through the cottonwoods to the pack hall, the same path I'd run down barefoot.

It was a Sunday.

The elders hold Sunday supper in the hall, and the whole pack comes.

I timed it so I'd arrive as they sat down.

When I walked in the door, every conversation in the room stopped.

Keep reading free with an account. Start Fated to My Mate's Uncle from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.