Wolf doesn’t slow his steps to accommodate my speed. Not even slightly.

He keeps to the same quickfire stride, weaving through the crowds faster than anyone can blink. I see now how he blends into the shadows. It's because he sticks to the darkest corners of the wall, and alleyways, taking the less traveled route wherever possible. His feet are also silent, strange for such a large man. His escape is near perfect, or would have been if not for me.

After all, it's hard to be inconspicuous with a small muzungu panting and running after him.

“You know,” I say trying not to expose just how labored my breathing has gotten. “A kinder man would have more consideration for the difference in the lengths of our strides.”

“I hope you never mistook me for such a man," he remarks.

“Of course not,” I grumble as we move further into the clearing leaving the town far behind us. “Are you sure you want me to stay at your home?"

"Do you need a more elaborate invitation?"

"I'm just saying...just in case you want to rethink.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because...” I struggle with the next words. “It’s not decent for a maiden to sleep at a man’s home unaccompanied.”

“Got somewhere better to be?" He glances at me out of the corner of his eyes. “I thought not."

Fair point.

“You’re not one for propriety are you?” I mumble.

“You’re not either.”

The insult strikes clean and annoyance spikes into indignation. And some hurt too, because I didn't expect that from him. From everyone else yes, but not from him.

“Why?” I shoot back. “Because I’m a Muzungu? I assure you we’re taught manners just as well as any Northerner. At least better than some people who behave closer to a beast than man."

Wolf stops right in his tracks and I nearly run into his back. He pivots to observe me with that fathomless gaze. My heart jumps. At first, I think I offended him, and get ready to defend myself against whatever barb he has for me next.

But suddenly, unexpectedly, a half-smile curves his lips upward and he rests a fist on his side.

“We met because you snuck out in the dark of the night into a bar, barely dressed, and sang for depraved men who would much rather have had you grinding in their lap," he says. "They would have gotten their wish had Stone not moved fast enough.” I blush at the memory but then he continues. “Before our second meeting, you charged into the middle of a battleground and challenged a man twice your size to a fight, somehow winning against all odds. And then later, I find you alone in a corner with a betrothed prince.”

Once again, my flush deepens. “That wasn’t– I wasn’t trying to–“

“My judgment of you has nothing to do with what you are. It has everything to do with your behavior.”

I can't meet his eyes. He's right. Although everything I've done so far is for a very good reason, he will never know. Out of context, my actions do paint me in a bad light.

I have no right to judge him or anyone else on propriety. I'm not exactly a beacon of it myself.

“It’s good.”

Startled, I glance up watching him nod as though coming to a conclusion. “It’s good you’re like this. I may not have tolerated you if you weren't."

"What does that mean?" Does he not like proper people? Why?

He doesn't respond, taking off once more. I sigh and run after him,

Eventually, we're so far into the clearing that I don't see the rest of the town anymore. We're hiking up a hill, surrounded by grass, where the dark forest to our right narrows and comes closer and closer to us.

A shiver follows down my spine. This is farther out than I've ever come before. There are no hovels or huts anywhere around us. Only grass and forest.

Wolf doesn't seem to notice. He simply continues walking toward a dot that soon becomes a cottage. It's the lone abode for miles, the isolation infinite.

Stolen story; please report.

This is Wolf’s home.

He opens the door and I walk in, grateful for the reprieve from the exercise.

Wolf shuts the door behind us and I lean against the wall to catch my breath.

The cottage is dark and sparse. There is a wood-burning stove shoved into the corner opposite a table with chairs. One has a crooked leg, as though it were broken and haphazardly reattached. The other is painted a soft pink color that hasn't faded with time.

A singular window lines the right wall, but it's not enough to light the whole room. Wolf clicks on a lantern in the corner, sparking a fire that washes more of the room with light. A mat on the floor. A long wooden seat opposite another small window. Two doors in opposing corners, one with the undeniable sign of being a chamberpot room.

Dust invades my nostrils, and I cough a little but I don't mind. The home doesn't smell bad, only...earthy. It's also far more spacious than the home I shared with my mother so that's good.

I scan the space, noting the little touches of softness in stark decor, the flowers in the vase, and the cream apron swung on the ladle of the oven. They are not his, I know.

They are his mother’s.

Wolf doesn't wait for me to get acclimated to the place before he moves again, throwing open a heavy door to reveal what looks to be a mat on the floor. Partially obscured by the door, I watch him open a closet in the corner and pull out a small clay pot.

He returns with it.

"Sit," he orders, gesturing to the pink chair.

A 'please' would be nice, I think but bite back the words. He's been kind enough to bring me to his home. The least I can do is to not annoy him.

I sit and then he opens the pot, sifting some crushed green dust onto the cover. Herbs. He strides over to the kitchen, wetting the dust with water from a drum. He mixes the dust and water together with his finger until it becomes a paste.

He returns and squats in front of me.

We are very suddenly face to face, inches between us.

I press back into the chair as far as I can go. “What are you doing?”

He doesn't answer. Reaching out with his paste on his fingers, he touches my cheek, where my mother had scratched me.

“You’re bleeding,” he says, simply in that gruff tone of his. But contrary to his harsh tone, his fingers are soft on my cheek. Unlike his normally quick stride, his hand moves slowly and gently, barely skimming the surface as though he's touching a baby bird.

And his golden eyes are focused on the task with an intensity that shocks me.

But at least, his preoccupation with the cut lets me freely study his face, something I can't seem to help doing.

He's so intense. That's the only way I can describe him. He's not classically handsome in the way the Prince is, his features too harsh and discordant. His hooked nose and wide-set upturned eyes can only be charitably described as striking. But the most unnerving thing about him is that something just below the surface, the aura he holds.

That something that sets my heart racing with fear and anticipation whenever he gets too close

I hold myself still telling myself any of the tension I feel is simply because I don't like to be touched. I grew an aversion to touch in my first life when I found it forced upon me again and again. When I betrayed my own self, allowed myself to be used and displayed like a prized falcon at their hungry hands and words.

Even though it was lifetimes ago, the thought still turned my stomach.

But Wolf’s touch doesn't trigger too many of those ugly feelings. Perhaps because of how methodological he is with it. Perhaps because his eyes do not crawl down my breast as he touches me, neither does his hand turn suggestive. He doesn't stroke my cheek like a caress. He does it like it's a job to be done.

Like healing my cheek is the most important thing to him at this moment.

Don’t be ridiculous, I scold myself.

It's exactly these types of thoughts that got me in trouble in my last life - taking Wolf’s kind gestures and obsessing over them, conflating them for deeper feelings.

Letting myself once again fall for someone who could never feel the same for me.

What I felt for Wold was distinctly different from what I felt for Caster. It was darker, rawer and so much more intense.

And once again, it led to devastating results.

Enough of this. He isn’t for you, I tell myself firmly, steering my mind away. I know it as surely as I know that Caster will turn on me and Genya is a vicious cow. Wolf is not mine. I'm only borrowing his strength for the meantime but ultimately he must return to the path and the person that fate truly intends for him.

A person far purer, more beautiful, and stronger than I could ever be.

Oh, this is just pathetic, the voice says.

“You get used to the smell.”

“What?” I respond, surprised by his speaking.

“The smell. I assumed that was why you’ve gone quiet for the first time since I met you.”

“As if you don’t go quiet all the time.” I avoid his eyes as I speak because it’s difficult to have a conversation with him so close, staring him in the eye.

“Silence is my specialty,” he says. "I have a feeling it’s new to you.”

"Is that your way of saying I talk too much?"

He grunts. I narrow my eyes. That's strange because I've always thought that I don't talk much. Then again, apart from the Prince, I've never had many people to talk to, so how would I know?

“I assure you I can keep my lips shut whenever I want to.”

“Are you certain?" he says and his eyes suddenly and clearly flicker to my lips.

Something sparks to life inside me then, something hungry and hot that I fight to keep suppressed.

But it's accompanied by memories of the future, a trauma that douses the flame immediately.

I push away and rise feeling like the room has no air in it.

Wolf still watches me, his eyes even more yellow than before.

“Done,” he says.

“Thank you,” I say rubbing damp palms on my breeches.

He nods.

“Where did you hear that song?” he asks. "The one you sang at the hovel?"

I already have an excuse in my head, a tale that will explain my strange knowledge of things I should not know. But in the last few moments, my mind scrambles. What if he calls my bluff? What if he sniffs out my lie?

For a minute, I'm tempted to just tell him the truth.

He'll never believe you. And even if he does, he won't let you do what you need to do.

"First, you must promise you won't harm me no matter what I say," I hedge.

"I didn't go through the trouble of healing you just to harm you again."

I take a deep breath and then swallow. "The song...I heard it from your mother."