Stavanger Bay we gather in shadow and ash

A sudden blaze of pain and sorrow for the daughters he had lost and for the lightless, joyless citrine of Doe’s eyes rocked Szymon where he stood; to mark her as she had marked him was so abhorrent it curled his lips in a grimace of dislike. From the very first day he’d met her, he’d been cautious not even to touch the sprightly female lest his affection inadvertently cause the rending or bruising of her tender flesh and bone. Despite himself, a traitorous desire to flee inland, far from the Sea and Her demands — demands that had fallen upon his shoulders simply because he was the only remaining Cairn to shoulder them — brewed within his chest. I have given You my life, he thought, unsure whether he was directing his words to Skellige or the Sea or both, but You have taken more than I could afford. His breath hissed between his clenched teeth.

An undulating growl took up residence within the youngest Cairn’s breast, breaking free as his scarred lips reeled back over his fangs, wrenching so violently his mottled gums were visible and gleaming. The hurt he felt at the prospect of wounding his Chosen One — she was already so wounded, from her singed flesh to the very marrow of her bones to the relentless thump of her full heart — was transmuted into fury at the Sea, at his brother, at the fire that had devoured Donnelaith, and at himself. Somewhere along the line he’d discovered that his boundless faith was not nearly as bottomless as he’d thought — he did have boundaries, and doubts, and questions that no wolf could answer, and the Sea had closed her lips to all but Skellige. Szymon had never been able to hear Her voice as clearly as his brother had, and She was angry with him.

I love you, said his eyes as he gazed upon his mate, I love you and I may not know it yet, but you are my goddess, as his hackles bristled in salt-and-ash-crusted spikes and he struck out at the woman who worshipped a deity she had unknowingly usurped. His fangs met flesh and drew blood, leaving stripes of crimson on flesh he’d sworn to himself never to sully. For Doe, he would persist in his faith.