Illness. There could be no better word to describe my current state. In and out of consciousness, like I was on some sort of cruel boat. All the while, I kept remembering the words of my father:

"Everything is the result of the choices made by people. King Shahryar would not have fallen to madness if he had not neglected his wife through hunting. Likewise, if he had not suffered thus and fallen into a pit of hatred and madness, Shahrazad would have had no reason to tell him her tales."

Like a never-ending wheel, the words spun round and round in my head until they took shape forming imagery of long dead human kings who only may have existed with angry wolves. Memorized lines from that famous tale mixed with voices that only could have been real. For a seeming eternity I was bombarded with flashes of golden eyes and bloodshed that intermixed with the execution of woman after woman.

Unable to move or look away or even cry, I kept watching. In this odd delirium, language and understanding had no meaning. There were only indistinguishable voices and fantasy and memory. It should have been enough to drive me insane, but even if I didn't understand what was happening, my mind had never felt clearer. It was so clear that I continued to observe and make logic out of nonsense.

This continued until I could bear it no more and sat up with a soundless scream, my heart pounding a million kilometers a second. At first, there was nothing, but slowly the darkness shifted into blobs of vague colors that slowly took on the form of furniture. My hands felt around where I lay and sunk into something soft: a mattress. This was different than the bedroom I woke up in before, even larger, but with much more furniture and bookshelves, and everything from the couches to the desks to the carpet were all the same horrendously bright gold on green color scheme.

Do the bright colors never hurt their eyes?

At the thought, the feeling of intent eyes became impossible to ignore. Slowly, I turned back towards the desk, trailing up a sort of purple and black uniform that had to be too hot for the District Eleven sun. Eventually, I met a pale face with unreadable gold eyes. The only difference was that unlike in the forest, his hair was pulled up into a tight ponytail. The more I looked at him, the more I was sure my first assumption was correct: he was mistaken about who I was.

After all, werewolves were meant to feel an impossible all consuming love for their mates. Yet there was nothing but coldness behind those eyes. Still his refusal to break eye contact made me ask, "Have I done something to offend my Lord?"

"To offend me?" He echoed moments before the poor pen in his hand was crushed. "Tell me, how did you get out of your room?"

"What? No are you okay?"

"You've been given the best medical care possible. Once you awoke, it'd be physically impossible for there to be anything wrong with your physical well-being." His eyes narrowed. "Given the unique circumstances of our first couple meetings, I am willing to forgive and forget—"

Before I could stop myself, I interrupted, "Why would I want your forgiveness?"

"Has no one ever taught you what happens to human criminals?"

"I know what happens to them." Realizing how low my voice sounded, I switched to a much lighter tone, twirling a curl around my finger as I spoke. "But forgiveness implies that I've committed a crime and I have done nothing wrong."

He—Alaric I believe his name was—stood up and walked around his desk. After, he approached the bed I lay upon. His footsteps weren't quick but even and steady. If not for the molten lava of his eyes, I would have thought that Alaric was merely coming to collect something from the nightstand. As it was though, I could do nothing save wait for his approach as my heart thundered against my chest.

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Still something told me that breaking eye contact and feigning submission like usual would not yield me any benefits. So I held my position, not even daring to blink. To my surprise, Alaric did not stop in front of the bed to use his height as an advantage. Instead he sat on the corner of the bed. Since I was also sitting up, he was still taller than me; just not as much as when he was standing.

For a while we just sat there, neither refusing to break eye contact. We would have continued like that for an eternity if he had not reached out his hand to gently grab my chin. I really was left with no choice but to look downwards, effectively losing this silent battle.

He grinned wickedly, tilting my face towards him. "Did you know that it is a crime to bring harm to a wolf's mate?"

Even with his rough, calloused hands controlling the movement of my head, I was still able to say, "The only one who would have been affected was myself. Although I am grateful for your kindness, the result would have only been the consequences of my own decisions."

His hand tightened and eyes glowed with a nearly blinding light. "Have you perhaps forgotten our last conversation?"

"I am not so senile," I said. "You believe that I am your mate."

Instead of calming him down, he narrowed his eyes. "Do you believe that I am mistaken?"

"I believe that you believe I am your mate."

A low growl erupted and his hand trembled, but he never squeezed enough to crush my jaw. To my surprise, he had the self control to take a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, his hands stopped shaking and the glowing had ceased. In its place was a smile which did not reach his eyes.

"For the past week, I have grown accustomed to your scent. There is no mistake." Each word was spoken slowly and carefully, as if Alaric was speaking to a child. "However, as I said, if you admit your wrongs and apologize I will forgive and forget your crimes."

Perhaps, I should have relented. Being a mate was a coveted position. Yet something told me he wasn't one of those altruistic wolves, willing to move to their mate's land. If I bowed my head that would mean that I did commit whatever imagined crimes was going on through his mind.

My heart was as steady as a drum. It gave me the distinct feeling that if I bowed here, I would spend my entire life with my head down, never having even the comfort of Leyla and the rest of my relatives to deal with my fate. A weaker person might have started hyperventilating at the thought, but all I felt was clarity. As if I was looking into a mirror that held the secrets of my future.

So I said, "I haven't done anything that needs to be forgiven."

He let go of my face and I tried not to think about the absence of his warmth. It was likely an affect of not being in close proximity to a male who didn't share my blood since Faris left. To distract myself, I rubbed the place his hand left, trying to see if there was any bruising or markings, but there was none.

It was only when I stopped, folding my hands in the blankets that Alaric said, "Let me rephrase myself. It is a crime to inflict harm on a mate, even if that person is themselves a mate."

I blinked, not quite understanding his meaning until a single question slipped through my lips. "Are you accusing me of self harm?"

"Humans are weak and foolish creatures incapable of governing themselves." He paused. "Although it is not common there are tales of some of your kind who forsake my Goddess' gift, choosing to cut into their own flesh or worse before the Hunt."

Although it was true that I had walked into the forest of my own volition and contented myself with death, it was not because I was seeking to die. Still, the way he said it didn't sound so bad. Suicide was different than murder. It would be a death of my own choosing, a death worthy of a poem or tale or even song. As a human, there was no way for me to refute a werewolf, especially one who claimed to be my pre-ordained mate. Maybe this would be my out.

Just to be sure, I asked, "And what happens to those people?"

His eyes widened slightly, but in a tone that was probably meant to be grave and severe he said, "Those mortals are personally rehabilitated and re-educated by their mates. It is not an entirely pleasant experience, but if that was truly your aim, I will accomplish my duty until your sanity has returned."

"Duty?" I asked. "Not love?"

"Although there are some among my kind who delude themselves with that human madness, I do not believe in such things." He stood up and looked down at me. "I will however do what is expected of me, giving you the companionship and protection that you need. So tell me, Ranna, do you choose to apologize or do I have to re-evaluate your mental state?"

All that means is when I die, I don't get caught. Out loud, I smiled and bowed head, speaking as if I was performing a play for an audience of one. "How grateful I am to have been granted such a magnanimous mate by the Goddess of the Wolves. Still, I believe what happened was merely a momentary lapse of judgement by stressful events."

"Is that so?" Surprisingly he did not push for a real apology, but returned to his desk, taking out a new pen to write with.