Chapter 7

Ethan's POV

"Freya, wait." The words escaped my mouth before I could stop them. I watched her slim figure pause at the doorway, her honey-blonde hair cascading down her back in soft waves. Something about the way her shoulders tensed made my chest tighten uncomfortably.

Inside me, Rowan stirred restlessly. My wolf had been agitated all evening, pacing and growling within my mind in a way I hadn't experienced since the early days after the curse. That hollow ache that had haunted me since I was eighteen years old—the emptiness that never quite went away—felt sharper tonight, more demanding.

Freya didn't turn around, but she stopped. That was enough.

I inhaled deeply, catching her scent—wildflowers and morning dew, now tinged with something else, something sweeter I couldn't identify. My wolf pushed against my consciousness, trying to take control. I gritted my teeth, forcing him back down.

Control. I need to maintain control.

The curse had been my constant companion for five years now. I still remembered the witch's face contorted with grief and rage as she cast it upon me. Her mother lay dead at my father's feet, and though I hadn't been the one to kill her, I was the one who would pay the price.

"You will never recognize your true mate," she had spat, her eyes glowing with unnatural light. "You will feel the emptiness of their absence even when they stand before you."

Since that day, Rowan had been restless during every full moon, howling for something—someone—we couldn't identify. The emptiness in my chest had become a part of me, a void I'd learned to live with.

Until this morning.

The memory of Freya's sleep-tousled appearance when I'd entered her room flashed in my mind. Her hair had been a wild mess around her face, her cheeks flushed with sleep, her long legs barely covered by her nightshirt. For a brief, disorienting moment, the emptiness in my chest had... shifted. Not filled, not completely, but something had changed.

Rowan had lunged toward her so forcefully that I'd nearly staggered. The urge to bury my face in her neck, to breathe in her scent, had been almost overwhelming.

I'd blamed it on Riley's imminent return. My wolf was simply anticipating our true mate's presence, I told myself. Nothing more.

But now, watching Freya's rigid posture as she waited for me to speak, I wasn't so sure.

"What is it, Ethan?" Her voice was controlled, careful. She still didn't turn around.

I straightened, forcing my thoughts back to what mattered. Riley was back. The woman I'd waited for, the one who would complete our bond and possibly break the curse. That was what I needed to focus on.

"The paperwork," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I want to finalize our separation tonight."

This morning, handing her those documents had been an exercise in self-control. I'd carefully maintained my distance, speaking in the detached tone I'd perfected over our three years together. But all the while, Rowan had been snarling and pacing, fighting my every word.

Her quiet acceptance had been... disappointing. I'd expected argument, perhaps even tears or pleading. Instead, she'd been calm, asking only for time to make arrangements. Her easy capitulation should have been a relief. Instead, it had left me oddly hollow.

After leaving her room, I'd been so agitated that I'd needed a cold shower just to think clearly. Then Riley had called.

"Ethan!" Her voice had been bright with excitement. "Father's planning a welcome ceremony tonight. You'll come, won't you?"

I'd agreed immediately, eager to see her. Surely when I saw Riley, this strange disquiet would vanish. She was my true mate—she had to be. The curse made it impossible for me to recognize my mate on my own, but Riley had known. She'd told me years ago, before leaving for Europe.

The drive to Mist Valley Cottage had done nothing to ease my restlessness. Rowan remained unusually quiet, neither excited nor anxious as we approached. The emptiness in my chest persisted, a familiar companion.

Then I'd arrived, and... nothing. Riley had embraced me, her familiar scent washing over me—citrus and jasmine. Pleasant, but nothing more. I detected no trace of the mating pull she'd described years ago. No urge to claim or protect.

I'd told myself it was a good sign. My control was strong.

But then Freya had walked in.

The moment she appeared in the doorway, Rowan had surged forward with such violence that I'd nearly choked on my drink. That new, sweet note in her scent had intensified, calling to something primitive inside me. My body had responded instantly, embarrassingly, forcing me to adjust my position at the table.

Why now? Why was this happening after three years of living under the same roof with barely a reaction? What had changed?

Freya finally turned to face me, her amber eyes guarded, lips pressed into a thin line. "Tonight? Can't we discuss this when we get home?"

"No." The word came out harsher than I intended. I needed to end this—whatever this was—immediately. The confusion, the inappropriate reactions, all of it. "I want this finished now."

Marcus and Elena were watching us from the dining room doorway, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and satisfaction. Riley had remained seated, her face arranged in a mask of concern.

"You're being ridiculous," Freya said quietly, her voice pitched so only I could hear. "This isn't the time or place."

She was right. I was being irrational, demanding this now, here, in her father's house. The realization hit me like a bucket of cold water. What was I doing?

Rowan suddenly surged forward with such force that I physically swayed. The wolf wanted—no, demanded—that I reach out, pull Freya into my arms, bury my face in her neck and comfort her. The intensity of the urge terrified me.

"I..." My voice faltered as I took a step back, confused by my wolf's reaction. "You're right. This isn't... I need some air."

I turned away, my heart hammering in my chest. Something was very wrong with me. I needed to clear my head.

"I need a minute," I muttered, moving toward the hallway bathroom. "I'll be right back."

Relief and something dangerously close to panic warred within me. Rowan howled in protest, clawing at my insides so violently that I had to clench my fists to maintain control.

I splashed cold water on my face, letting the shock of it clear my mind. The chill against my heated skin helped dampen Rowan's restlessness, if only temporarily. I stared at my reflection—silver eyes slightly dilated, jaw tense—and took several deep breaths until I felt more settled.

When I finally turned off the faucet, a sharp cry followed by a thud echoed from down the hall.

"What happened?" Elena's voice rang out in alarm.

I followed the sounds to the living room, my footsteps quickening. As I rounded the corner, the scene before me made me freeze mid-stride. Riley was on the floor, her blue dress bunched around her legs, a dark stain spreading across the fabric at her knee. Her face was contorted in pain, one hand clutching her injured leg.

Blood—the unmistakable coppery scent hit my nostrils as I knelt beside her. The wound she'd sustained protecting me appeared to have reopened, the bandages beneath her dress soaking through.

And Freya stood in front of her.