The click of the latch was a final, damning verdict. The moment he was gone, my stomach revolted. A violent, gut-wrenching nausea seized me. I doubled over, clutching my midsection, my body beginning to shake.
“Andie?” Danae rushed to my side, frantic with concern. “What is it? Are you sure Stormwright—?”
“He’s gone now,” I managed to mutter between dry, retching heaves. “I just need to get out of here.”
I threw back the sheets. The need to escape this room, this bed, was a frantic, clawing thing. I stumbled up, grabbing the ruined halves of my dress and trying to hold them together. The room swayed, the merciless sun blinding me.
“You’re in no condition to walk,” Danae insisted, trying to steady me. “Let me find you something.”
“No,” I pleaded. “Not another second.”
I pushed past her, stumbling into the blessedly empty corridor. I leaned against the cool wall, a temporary anchor in a dizzying world. Taking a deep breath, I started toward the main staircase. I took two steps before my vision swam, the plush carpet tilting beneath my feet. I stumbled, my legs giving way.
A strong, steady hand gripped my arm, preventing my fall. “Careful now, Miss Cross.” A calm, smooth baritone cut through the haze. “The sea legs can be tricky after a long night.”
I looked up straight into the clear, intelligent eyes of Orion Maris. He was immaculately dressed in crisp linen. His expression was one of polite concern, but his gaze held an unnerving intensity that made my skin crawl. He took in mydisheveled state without a flicker of judgment, and that was somehow worse than open condemnation.
“Lord Maris,” I stammered, pulling the torn silk tighter. “I… I was just leaving. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said, his tone deep and soothing. “I trust you found the accommodations satisfactory?”
I couldn’t meet his eyes. “Yes. Perfectly.”
“Good,” he said. “I do hope we’ll have the chance to speak again, under less… intoxicating circumstances.”
Danae appeared at my side, grim-faced. She held a cashmere throw blanket and immediately wrapped it around my shoulders. She used the motion to physically pull me away from Orion’s hand. “She needs to go. Now.”
Orion simply gestured down the corridor. “Of course. My tender is waiting to take all my guests ashore.”
“Fine,” I bit out, the single word brittle and cold.
I turned without another word, pulling the blanket tighter. The walk down the corridor was a blur of polished wood and gleaming brass. I kept my eyes fixed on the gangplank. The nausea in my gut had nothing to do with wine or magic. It was shame, pure and undiluted, a poison of my own making.
Last night, I was a fool. A drunk, pathetic fool who let an Alpha see her break. It will not happen again. Not with him. Not with anyone. Never.
4
The Shattered Sanctuary
Andie
Months later
When I was sixteen, barely three months out of my mother’s house, Elias taught me that you can’t outrun a spooked horse. I’d barely known him at the time. He’d been only my father’s Beta husband, a mere stranger.
We’d gone to the rescue stables in Vermont and were standing in the mud, waiting. A gelding named Whiskey tore circles around the paddock, his eyes rolling white with panic. The other horses had scattered to the far fence, nostrils flaring as they caught the stench of his fear. The autumn air had been crisp and clean,carrying the smell of hay and manure and the distant promise of snow.
I had wanted to run to the fence, to scramble over it and put timber between me and the thousand pounds of terror. I’d been ready to bolt, my heart hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat. But Elias had clamped a hand on my shoulder. His grip was iron, the only steady thing in a spinning world.
“It’s all right if you run, Andromeda,”he had told me, his voice calm and matter-of-fact. He tapped his prosthetic leg against the dirt. Once, twice, a deliberate rhythm.“As long as you’re not running away from yourself. Sometimes, waiting is just better.”
I hadn’t run that day. I’d planted my feet in the mud, my sneakers sinking into the soft earth. I had focused on my breathing—in through the nose, out through the mouth. I’d made myself small and still and harmless. And I’d waited.
It took twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of standing absolutely motionless while Whiskey ran himself into exhaustion, while my legs cramped and my shoulders ached from the effort of not fleeing. But eventually, the gelding’s circles had grown smaller, tighter. His breathing had slowed. And finally, trembling and spent, he had approached us. He had pressed his sweaty nose into Elias’s outstretched palm, seeking the comfort of that immovable presence.
“See?”Elias had said softly, stroking the horse’s neck.“You were the calm in his storm. You were his anchor.”
Elias and my father had been my anchors for years. But tonight, standing on the front porch of the only home that had felt real, I knew I’d failed their lessons completely. I’d been failing for months.