Freya‘s pov.

I stormed out of the Shaman’s hut, the door slamming behind me with a hollow thud that echoed in my chest. My boots skidded over wet leaves and roots, but I didn’t care. I needed air, space, anything but the choking feeling of being trapped by fate, duty, and gods-damned mateships.

“Freya!” I heard Tiberius calling after me.

Fuck that. I ran faster.

Branches whipped against my arms as I pushed through the forest, lungs burning, heart racing like ...