Where The Ice Gives Way Chapter 130

**Charlotte**

Blake keeps my hand in his as we move back toward the hall. The cold follows us in, slipping through the open doors with the noise from outside. My cheeks are warm from laughing, my arms full of prizes, and my chest still feels light from the games. Blake looks far too pleased with himself. “You’re looking very smug,” I tell him.

“Of course I am. Look at how well I provide for you.” He winks, poking my wolf plushy.

“You won one prize. I won some of these.”

“With excellent emotional support.”

I laugh and shake my head as he leads me through the crowd. I follow his gaze to a small curtained booth tucked near the back corner of the hall. Purple fabric hangs from a frame, with little gold stars stitched along the edges. A sign sits on the table out front. FORTUNES READ HERE.

I look up at him. “Absolutely not.”

His grin appears instantly. “Absolutely yes.”

“Do you really believe in this sort of thing?” 

He turns toward me, still smiling, but a softness moves through his face. “I believe in fate.” He lifts our joined hands and brushes his thumb over my knuckles. “Come on,” he says. “For fun.”

“For fun,” I echo him.

The woman inside the booth is older, with silver hair braided over one shoulder and rings on nearly every finger. A candle burns on the small table between two chairs, the flame steady despite the draft. “Well,” she says, looking straight at Blake first. “Alpha’s son.”

Blake dips his head. “Mrs Mally.”

Her eyes move to me, and they stay there long enough to make me squirm. The smile on her face does not leave, but it changes. Blake’s hand tightens around mine before he says, “This is Charlotte,” he says.

“I know,” she answers.

My stomach dips and flips... Blake’s shoulder shifts closer to mine. “We’re just here for a reading.”

Mrs Mally gestures to the chair. “Then sit, children.” Mrs Mally gestures to the two chairs.

Blake wiggles his eyebrows at me and sits. I follow, my hand still in his under the table. Mrs Mally shuffles the cards slowly, eyes flicking between us like she’s seeing something I can’t. “Two threads,” she murmurs. “Already tied.” Blake’s thumb brushes over my knuckles. She lays the first card down between us. A white wolf stands in the centre, head lifted, pale light spreading from its body in thin painted lines. The second card lands beside it. A black wolf. His body is angled forward, placed between the white wolf and a line of shadowed shapes at the edge of the card. Mrs Mally taps the space between the two cards. “Light that calls,” she says. “Dark that answers.”

Her eyes lift to Blake. “You did not choose this.” Then to me. “Neither did you.” The candle flickers as she lays a third card across the two, bridging them. A thin silver thread runs from one wolf to the other, pulled tight across the painted dark. My fingers tighten in Blake’s. “What does that mean?” I ask.

Mrs Mally studies the cards for a long moment. “It means the bond was waiting before either of you knew.”

Blake leans forward slightly. “Most mate bonds are like that.”

Mrs Mally’s mouth curves, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Most mate bonds bind two wolves. This one woke something older.”

The noise outside the curtain swells for a second, children laughing near the games, someone calling raffle numbers, music drifting through the hall. Inside the booth, the air feels still. Blake’s voice lowers. “Older how?”

Mrs Mally turns another card, showing a doorway made of ice, and behind it, a forest. Above it is a moon split down the centre, half pale, half black. She does not touch that card after she lays it down.

“There are old pairings,” she says. “Ones the stories softened over time: healer and guardian. Call and answer. The wolf that brings the lost back, and the wolf that stands between her and what follows.” 

My mouth goes dry. “What follows?” I ask.

“When something lost hears its way home, not everything that comes running wants to be saved.” Blake’s hand tightens around mine so hard I feel the bones shift under my skin, but he quickly eases his grip at once. “Sorry,” he murmurs. I shake my head because I don’t want him to let go.

Mrs Mally draws another card. A pale cup sits overturned on frozen ground, its contents spilled into the snow. Around it, tiny painted footprints scatter in every direction, some human, some wolf, some too thin and crooked to belong to either. Mrs Mally’s fingers hover over the edge of the card without touching it. “The feast ends before the table is cleared,” she says quietly. Blake’s shoulders set. “What does that mean?”

“It means open doors invite more than guests.” She says, her eyes locked on him. Blake goes completely still. Then his eyes flick toward the curtain, where I can hear someone laughing and a child shrieking nearby. I listen further and hear coins dropping into a jar. Everything seems normal.

Mrs Mally gathers the cards slowly, one at a time, sliding them back into the deck with her ringed fingers. She leaves the overturned cup until last. Her hand rests over it for a moment before she lifts it from the table. Blake reaches into his pocket, but Mrs Mally shakes her head. “No charge.”

Blake’s jaw flexes. “Mrs Mally, you know Mum didn’t raise me that way.”

She ignores him, though, her eyes lifting to mine. “When the room gets loud,” she says quietly, “listen for what goes quiet.” I swallow hard. Blake stands, his chair scraping softly against the floor. Mrs Mally looks at our joined hands. “Take care of each other,” she murmurs. Blake says nothing, but he nods as he guides me out through the curtain.

Blake stops just outside the booth and turns me toward him. “You okay?” he asks.

“I think so.”

His eyes search mine. “That was weird.”

“That was very weird.” His mouth lifts just a little, and he leans down and kisses me. “I’m going to check in with Dad,” he says. “Stay by the stall for a minute?”

I nod. “Okay.”

“I’ll be right back.” He brushes his thumb over my cheek, then walks toward Gareth near the doors.

I watch him go for a second before turning back toward table thirty-four. Charlie is leaning against the stall with a biscuit in his hand. His eyes drop to the plush wolf tucked under my arm, then to the little box of chocolates and the tickets still curled in my fingers. “Looks like you’ve been having fun.”

I breathe out, and some of the tightness loosens. “I have,” I say, stepping beside him. “Blake got very cocky about winning me prizes.”

Charlie snorts. “Of course he did.”

I start telling him about games, everything else slipping away, as I hold the plush wolf a little tighter.