Chapter 1
Six years after fleeing to the Northern Reach, I ran into someone from my past.
He was there buying a blueberry cheesecake for his son.
"Long time no see, Cecilia." His fingers brushed the back of my hand as he took the box.
I looked up at him, my expression as calm as if he were a complete stranger.
"I'm sorry, sir, but you have the wrong person."
He froze.
*****
The door chimes jingled.
His gaze drifted down to my bare arms.
The hideous scars looked exceptionally striking under the warm lights.
His eyes narrowed. "I know a great scar-healing witch."
"No need," I cut him off.
He walked away.
Mia chased him out for an autograph and walked back clutching it, grinning like an idiot.
"Look, Cecilia! It's Ryan Lakewood! He's way hotter in person."
I cranked the electric mixer up a notch.
"Men are the most deceitful creatures on earth," I replied casually.
"But that's Ryan Lakewood! The Wolfkin's top Alpha Prime actor and the youngest Elder on the Council!"
"Hand me the egg separator."
Mia pouted, clearly annoyed by my indifference.
Leaving the rest to her, I walked out of the bakery.
I went over to a vending machine to grab a drink, only to find Ryan standing right in front of me the moment I turned around.
He wore a dark gray coat, looking much thinner than he had six years ago, but his amber eyes remained sharp enough to pierce right through me.
My grip tightened around the can as I forced myself to stay calm. "Stay out of my life."
As I tried to brush past him, Ryan grabbed my wrist. "Cecilia, please. I just want to talk."
Then he pulled me into a tight embrace from behind. "How much longer are you going to run from me?"
Over the past six years, I had learned to bake every dessert imaginable, and I had learned to lock myself in the basement every full moon, drinking calming herbs down sip by sip to the sound of distant howling.
Ryan's warm breath brushed against the back of my neck, and his soft kiss snapped me back to reality.
Yet, I still couldn't stop trembling at his touch.
I broke away from his grip with all my might and bolted back into the shop.
Once inside my room, I closed the door quietly and firmly.
Only I knew that the hand resting on the doorknob was shaking uncontrollably.
A long while passed.
Mia knocked on the door. "Cecilia, are you okay?"
The sound of her knocks blended perfectly with the rolling thunder outside.
I curled up in the corner, clutching myself in sheer terror. When Mia finally burst through the door, the first thing she saw was blood dripping from my wrist.
She rushed in, flicked on the lights, and immediately pressed down on my wrist to stop the bleeding.
Her eyes darted to the photos scattered across the floor, and she picked one up.
Written on the back was: [Ryan's only wife.]
Mia gasped in shock. "You... you're Ryan's ex-mate?"
Everything clicked for her—my coldness toward him, and the hideous scars on my arms.
"Did... did he do that to your arms?"
"No, he didn't."
Leaning my head onto Mia's shoulder, I began to tell her our story.
The emotions I had bottled up for years finally found an escape.
*****
I first met him on a snowy night when I was sixteen.
He wasn't named Lakewood back then; he only changed his name after being adopted by the Lakewood family.
Before that, he was just a nameless orphan on the border of the Northern Reach, living with his elderly grandmother in a cabin at the edge of town.
My mother had sent me over to deliver some venison.
"His grandmother is sick, and that poor boy is handling everything on his own," she had said.
Shoving the jar into my hands, she added, "Come straight back."
I trudged through the ankle-deep snow and knocked on his door.
But it wasn't a human who opened it.
A white wolf stood there, its fur as pristine as snow, with deep, piercing eyes.
"What do you want?" His voice was as cold as ice.
He could speak.
I held up the jar. "My mom told me to bring this over."
He grabbed the jar's string with his teeth and slammed the door shut without a single word.
Needless to say, my first impression of him was terrible.
"Rude!" I snapped at the closed door before turning on my heel.
Only later did I find out that the reason he had answered so quickly was because he had been pressing his ear against the door, tracking my footsteps.
He was terrified that someone was coming to kill him.
By then, he hadn't had a proper meal in three days.
His grandmother didn't survive that winter.
On the day of the funeral, a heavy blizzard hit the Northern Reach. Even after everyone else left, he remained standing motionless before the fresh grave.
I walked over with my umbrella and held it over his head.
Not knowing what to say, I awkwardly muttered, "I'm sorry for your loss."
He didn't look at me, nor did he speak.
His eyes were completely dry, without a single tear.
I later learned that hatred had long stripped him of the ability to cry.
That evening, I sneaked out of the house to bring him a plate of hot meal.
He was inside the empty house, slouched over his grandmother's old photo frame.
There was no fire lit, making the room feel like an icebox.
I set the soup on the table. "You should eat something."
He glanced at me, and a different emotion flickered across his usually detached eyes.
He lowered his head and drank the soup slowly, not spilling a single drop.
My mother felt sorry for him too.
We kept him fed, and I occasionally had him study alongside me.
He easily understood the concepts I struggled with, and he would even solve the problems for me.