"There you are!"

Donovan lifted his head at the sound of her voice. He turned to find Esme standing at the far end of the corridor, her arms folded. The moment their eyes met, she began walking toward him with quiet urgency, her footsteps light but determined.

"Everyone's been waiting for you," she said softly once she reached him, taking off her glove to place a cool hand against his forehead. "Are you alright?"

He caught the flicker of concern in her expression. It was subtle but unmistakable. Wanting to ease her worry, he gave a faint nod. "I'm fine." He reached for her hand that still rested on his forehead, planting a gentle kiss near her pulse. He retrieved her glove and slipped it back on for her since the air was frustratingly chill today.

"I got caught up with something," he explained in a low voice, his gaze softening as he looked her over. "You look beautiful, by the way."

Before Esme could react, he took hold of her arm and tugged her gently toward him. His other hand found her waist as he pulled her in even closer, and he inhaled her sweet scent, deeply to the point it made her heart quicken. "Your scent has gotten quite stronger too. Is there a reason for that or… is this a positive reaction to your confession last night?"

The teasing in his voice made Esme let out a breath of mock irritation, and he chuckled when she tried to pull away. "Wait, tell me you love me again."

"As if," Esme swatted his chest in protest, but her flushed cheeks betrayed her. His eyes lingered on her with something unspoken- warm, wistful and aching.

She reached up to tug lightly at his cheek in response, a playful gesture to mask her fluster. "Come on," she murmured, freeing herself and taking his arm firmly in hers. "They're all waiting. You can't keep everyone stalling like this. What if the second bell rings before we get there? We can't be late now."

He allowed himself to be led, gently matching her pace, though his thoughts lagged behind. The image of Esme– the real Esme before him– clashed with the vision that had haunted him only moments earlier. That eerie little girl, and those fake terrible sights she forced upon him… why? What exactly was she trying to show him? To warn him about? Could he even call it a warning at this point? It was obviously a death sacrifice.

Still, no matter how unsettling the vision had been, one truth anchored him. He would protect Esme, no matter what it cost him. Without her, this world– his place in it– meant nothing at all. Surprisingly, he could hear his wolf agree with him too.

As the final preparations fell into place, and the carriages began to roll down the snow-covered path, Esme stepped into the lead one, her gloved hand resting lightly on Donovan's as he helped her inside. The leather seat was stiff beneath her, chilled from the morning frost, but she settled in, pressing her palm against the glass.

Outside, the estate receded, swallowed up by the thicket of snow-draped trees, until it became nothing more than a memory behind the swirling white.

"Are you really not going to tell me that you love me?"

Esme's eyes slid toward Donovan who remained seated beside her, his presence quiet yet comforting in its familiarity. He didn't look at her immediately, but his eyes were narrowed slightly, forming a subtle glare that almost made her laugh.

"Weren't you supposed to be drunk last night? How do you even remember me saying that?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest, her eyes interrogating, but Donovan didn't even flinch at the question.

"Don't change the subject."

"Wait wait wait what are you doing?" Esme let out a surprised gasp as he pulled her gently but firmly from her seat, settling her onto his lap with practiced ease. She barely had time to protest– though she never truly did with him. His strength always caught her off guard, no matter how many times he showed it.

"What are you doing?" She demanded again, heat rising in her cheeks.

"The seats cold," he said simply, as if that was supposed to explain everything. Esme huffed in response to his excuses, and her face now was entirely flushed.

"Do you know how many layers of fabric this winter dress has?" she asked. "I'm perfectly fine where I was."

But he didn't budge. "Then tell me you love me," he coaxed, his arms wrapping securely around her waist. "I'm not letting you go until you do.

"You're being as persistent as you were last night," she murmured, narrowing her eyes at him, but there was no real resistance in her voice. He knew it too.

"Should I stop the carriage then?"

"What? No," Esme exhaled sharply, realizing there was no escaping this. "Alright," she relented to his request, her voice softer now, almost shy. "Fine."

Her heart pounded against her ribs like war drums, reckless and raw. Donovan seemed to be enjoying this far more than he let on, and that much she knew. It was obvious– the barely-there curve of his lips, the stillness of his waiting. He was literally savoring her surrender, and shamelessly so.

As he waited, Esme drew in a deep breath and leaned closer until her lips hovered at the shell of his ear. Her whisper was warm and trembling with intimacy. "I love you," she said without hesitation, no mask, just truth. "I love you dearly, from the deepest, darkest pits of my heart."

She pulled back slowly, her smile luminous, as she met his gaze– those bright, violet eyes filled with mischief and something softer, more sacred.

Loving the look in his eyes, Esme continued with the same raw affection and admiration in her reverent voice. "You are my one and only treasured mate. My happiness, basically my everything. I've never needed anyone else since the moment you showed up, and I'm grateful… grateful that you stayed, even when I was lost in all this chaos."

She pressed her forehead lightly against his, their breaths mingling. "Shall I keep going, or—oh…." Her eyes widened in delight. "Are you blushing?"

She leaned back, just enough to see the unmistakable flush dusting his cheeks and ears. He averted his gaze in a flash, his jaw tight with a sudden mix of embarrassment and restraint. That was all it took, and Esme couldn't hold back anymore.

A laugh escaped her, the sound light and melodious, as if joy had suddenly found its place inside her again. "You are so cute. I barely even started and you already can't handle that?"

Donovan looked at her with feigned annoyance, but her laugh had ensnared him completely. He looked as though he had been caught in a trance.

With a quiet tch, he reached up and slid his hand behind her head, his touch firm and possessive. In one fluid motion, he pulled her in and captured her lips in a kiss that was anything but restrained.

Esme stiffened at first, her laugh immediately dying in her throat. She had been startled by the sudden heat of it, but she soon melted into him, into the way he kissed her like he was starved for her. It was more than a good distraction from the journey and from everything that happened last night.

Her hands found his face, cupping his cheeks and grounding herself in his nearness. His lips were cold– strikingly so– but soft, deliciously soft. And when his tongue brushed past her lips, the world blurred without a trace. He kissed, nipped, devoured. Every movement was both a question and a claim.

A gasp slipped from her throat as his hands slid from her waist to the edge of her gown, his fingers restless, searching. He was desperate to touch her, to map her skin all over again and to imprint himself deeper than he already had. Her body trembled against his, a shiver of pure sensation running down her spine.

"How many layers are in this dress, exactly?" Donovan leaned back to look at it, his hands caught in folds of velvet and fur. His eyes narrowed at the chaos of fabric between them.

Esme bit down a laugh at the sheer irritation written across his flushed features. "It's called a winter dress for a reason," she said, shaking her head with a teasing smile. "There's no doing extra with all this on the way. It took three servants to get it on me earlier this morning." She indicated by raising three of her fingers.

"Should I just tear it off?"

"Absolutely not!" Esme shot back, clutching a fistful of the fabric protectively. She was staring at him as though he was silly for even bringing that absurd idea.. "I love this dress. It's warm and fluffy, and really pretty too!"

"I hate this dress."

"You bought it for me."

"I clearly wasn't thinking straight."

"You clearly aren't now," Esme retorted back. She wasn't going to waste a perfectly good dress on this. Her finality did not go unnoticed by Donovan, but then he paused, blinking hard.

"Gods… your scent today is really stronger than usual," he murmured. "It's messing with me."

Before she could reply, he dipped forward and buried his face against the curve of her neck, breathing her in like he was trying to ground himself. Esme froze for a second, her fingers automatically threading through his silver hair.

When he'd mentioned her scent earlier, she'd assumed it was flirtation. But this? She wasn't sure if she should be pleased or concerned or both. But shouldn't that be a normal thing for mates? Donovan's scent was calm and grounding, but whenever she was in the mood, it brought a completely different sensation.

She tilted her head, her voice softer now. "I can't exactly turn it off," she murmured thoughtfully. "But are you alright? Is it… too much?"

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his gaze dark with conflicted desires and restraint. "No," he said lowly. "I love it. By the gods, I do." He paused, his jaw flexing. "But it's the worst kind of distraction right now."

He ran his fingers through his hair. "If I'm not careful at this point, I might actually act on what's in my head which can cause a scandal, and this carriage is not the place for what I'm thinking."

Esme's breath caught for a moment, her pulse leaping at his words. But yet, she smiled.

"Let me show you something then," Esme straightened up a bit.

Donovan simply lifted a brow, watching her closely as she extended her hand forward before him. His curiosity soon shifted to shock when a burst of flame erupted in her palm, dancing just inches from his face. The heat of it made him realize it was actually real.

"What the-"

He flinched instinctively, his back pressing against the carriage seat. Esme's lips twitched with amusement as she flicked her wrist, the flames snuffed out in a heartbeat. Before she could even ask if he was alright, Donovan had reached for her hand, clasping it between both of his as he examined her skin for burns, his eyes darting with palpable concern.

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, are you hurt?" she reversed the question. Considering the fact that she still didn't know how to control the amount of flames summoned, Donovan could have gotten hurt if he hadn't pulled away.

"No, I'm fine as well," he said, but his gaze didn't waver. He stared at her for a long moment, visibly shaken. The gravity of what she had shown him was only starting to settle in his mind after he confirmed she wasn't burned, whilst his eyes darkened and dilated. "How did you do that? No no what the hell was that? Was that some silly magic trick or was it actually real? You have magical powers?"

"It's from the blood wolf, I believe," Esme replied, meeting his questioning gaze "I… met this wolf last night and she's not exactly friendly."

"You met your wolf?" he echoed, still processing.

"She's not my wolf," Esme didn't hesitate to correct him. "She's just a beast who nearly killed me and made me sick for most of my childhood, because she chose to rest inside a child's body during a ritual that so happened to have failed for some reason. I don't accept her as my wolf, and she doesn't claim me either so we're even. She knows she doesn't belong."

"Huh?" Donovan blinked, at a rare loss for words. His brows furrowed, not quite sure he'd heard right. A wolf spirit and its host disowning each other? That had to be unheard of.

In all the blood-stained chronicles of werewolf kind, he couldn't recall anything remotely similar to what she just spewed.

Esme's anger was understood, but wouldn't there be consequences for disowning your wolf?

Sure, his own wolf could be insufferable, impulsive and aggressive, but never once had he considered severing the bond. No matter how chaotic it got in his head, that beast was still a part of him. Yet Esme was telling him that her wolf, her other half, had rejected her. And she'd done the same in return?

Could that be the reason why he has trouble sensing her wolf? Why the bond between his wolf and hers felt fractured, faint– like trying to touch something submerged underwater?

"Okay," he said finally, his voice low with cautious curiosity. "So what are you going to do about it?"

Esme shook her head slowly, uncertain. "It's hard to decide, but there's something she said that's stuck to me."

"What did she say?"

"That her fate had been forced upon her. She was talking about helping me defeat the true bearer. You should have seen her, she had blue flames for fur."