Cameron stokes's Arc

Chapter 4 of 8

They reached the border at dusk. The pines thinned, and a line of men stepped out of the dark. Four of them, broad and silent, blocked the trail east. The pull behind Cameron's ribs dragged her forward, hard now, close. She had walked three days for this edge of land. These men would not let her cross. The tallest stepped forward. He wore hunting leathers, and his shoulder-length blond hair caught the last light. His eyes were ocean blue and flat with suspicion. He looked at Asher, then at Cameron, and his hand rested near his belt. "You know the law," he said to Asher. "No stranger crosses the king's land. You bring one anyway?" "She has reason," Asher said. He kept his voice even. "Let her speak." Cameron stepped past him. Her heart slammed against the pull. "I'm the king's mate," she said. "I've felt him since the eastern border. I came to claim my place." The men laughed. The tall one did not. "Women say that at every border," he said. "They say it to pass. The king turns them out, or worse." He jerked his chin at the trail behind her. "Go home. You won't see him." The pull burned. Cameron knew the man in front of her. Her body knew him before her mind did. She reached under her collar and lifted the chain over her head. The silver raven feather pendant swung between them, catching the dusk. "Then look at this," she said. "And tell me I'm lying." The tall man went still. His flat eyes dropped to the pendant and held. The other men stopped laughing. One took a step back. The tall one reached out, then stopped his hand short of the silver. "Where did you get that," he said. It was not a question. "I've always had it," Cameron said. "Asher knew it the moment he saw it." The man looked at her face a long time. Something shifted behind his eyes, shock and something colder under it. "I am Fenrir Silverstone," he said. "I rule this land and every pack in it." The ground seemed to tilt. The pull snapped taut, pointing straight at him. He was the king. He had stood at his own border and called her a liar. "You," Cameron said. "It's you." Fenrir did not soften. He closed his hand around the pendant, chain and all, and lifted it from her fingers. "This belonged to my mother," he said. "It was buried with her." His voice dropped. "So you will come with me. Not as a mate. As a thief, until I know how you carry a dead woman's silver." Two men took Cameron's arms. She did not fight. She had reached the king. She had crossed his border. But he held her pendant in his fist, and he looked at her like a crime to be solved.