by Tamar Sloan
But one fueled by anger. I’ve had enough…
That brown-furred face grows larger; the sound of his harsh breaths gets louder. I have no plan about what I’m going to do when we collide, only that this has got to stop. Seth has got to stop.
At the last second, as the final sliver of air between us disappears, Seth twists. One slash, a razor claw on a mammoth paw, strikes my upper arm. A sting of pain and three red lines open from one side to the other. The massive body sails past, taking my breath with him.
I spin in time to see Seth change then stop a few paces away. As a human he stands, his back to us.
The horizontal lines across my arm have me clenching my teeth, gravity drawing crimson vertical lines to my elbow, creating a gruesome noughts and crosses board on my upper arm, I resist the urge to follow Seth. To run, cover those few feet, and repay the favor.
“Seth Channon.” Tara’s voice is panting but clear. “You will face Council on the full moon.”
Seth’s shoulders sag as his chin raises to the sky. He speaks to the nothing before him. “I didn’t think you had it in you…Alpha.”
And with that, he walks away. Stiffed backed and straight legged, he rounds the corner of Tyrell’s and leaves behind the mess he just created.
“Dudes?” Dale’s voice is small and confused.
“Dale.” I turn to the guy who never should have seen what he just did, keeping my bleeding arm from view. “I want you to head back into the shed, get your friends to roll you another one, and stay there.”
Eyes that may never shut again scan the three of us standing there, cool, calm, and collected. “Ah, sure man.”
With steady, measured steps Dale follows my instructions, this time pulling the metal door shut behind him.
Muffled voices once again waft out. “Jeez, what did you do, water half of Wyoming?”
“Shut up, dude. Just give me one of those.”
Silence descends on the asphalt, as the teens inside the shed fill their lungs with oblivion and the teens outside the shed wish they could join them.
I sigh. “That was three.”
Tara and Mitch are heading over, Tara’s hands reaching out to my forearm streaked in red. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. We’d better get home.”
“Here.” Tara passes me her cardigan, and I wrap it around my arm. The blood has already stopped.
We follow the path Seth took to leave and round the corner. The hustle and bustle of teens and movies and soda hits me like a reality slap. As two worlds that are never supposed to meet collided behind a cinema, everyone else had been getting on with Marvel and rom coms.
Our truck is parked out the front, in a new space just outside the cinema. Mitch raises his brows when he bends and finds the keys resting above the wheel. How did Eden get home?
Eden. Thank heavens she didn’t come.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, knowing she’d be worried.
All okay. Heading back now
The reply is almost instantaneous. Like worried fingers were waiting and hovering. Good. See you soon.
Not that soon. We’re going to have to go home and tell Dad. And we’re going to have to call another Council.
It’s a given that Mitch is driving, so I climb into the back seat, wincing as I pretend my arm isn’t stinging because an animal just clawed it open.
The quiet continues in the truck as we head home. The moment Seth changed then slashed open my arm, Tara got served up a whopper of a test. A newly appointed Alpha is about to run a Council. A young female Alpha. With a Were who openly defies her.
Although it’s possible hers looks like a side plate compared to mine. But only one person knows I’m carrying that platter.
“I’ve had enough.” Mitch’s angry voice fills the cab.
Tara’s head falls back against the headrest. “Tell me about it.”
But it’s my gaze that Mitch holds in the rearview mirror.
I look away. I don’t want to face what’s on that plate. “He’ll go to Council. It will be dealt with as our law says it will.”
A hand thumps the steering wheel. Mitch’s angry movement makes Tara jump, the rattley thud has me hiding my surprise. “How many will we hold?”
I open my mouth with a reply I don’t have.
“No, Noah. How many more people will see?” Blue eyes flicker right; he can’t see my arm but I know that’s what has his face tightening. “Who else has to get hurt?”
I shut my jaw, closing off the pretense that I have an answer.
Eden. The feeling is moving, growing, taking up more space than I have to give.
“What’s going on, guys?” Tara’s voice isn’t her usual demanding teen, it’s a very grown up Alpha voice.
At the corner of our dirt road, Mitch pulls over. As the dust settles on the hood he turns to face me. “Tell her.”
All I can do is stare back. I can’t. Those words are too big.
“Show her.” This time his voice is softer, with just a little less edge.
“Show me what?”
With a sigh of resignation, I pull down the collar of my shirt, stretching the seam. Exposing my mark.
“Holy shi…itake mushrooms.”
I’m not sure who’s more stunned, Tara at my mark, or Mitch and me that Tara almost cursed. I try for a grin, but I don’t think I make it. “Yeah, that holy.”
Mitch is looking at Tara. “You realize what it means?”
Tara arches a brow at her mate. “My art extends to hair, remember? I know exactly where that little star and circle comes from.” She turns to me. “Correction. Whom it comes from.”
“He hasn’t told her, has he?”
“Nope. I think he thinks he’s protecting her.”
I open my mouth, this time I definitely have something to say.
“Hang on—” But it seems I’m not part of this conversation, because Tara snorts then keeps talking like I just disappeared. “Eden doesn’t need protecting. That girl is one of the toughest people I know.”
Mitch looks thoughtful, and I wonder how long before he strokes his lip. “No one’s ever considered that a human, or half-human, would lead Weres.”
I don’t point out that we’re half human.
My backseat view sees Tara roll her eyes. “I didn’t say it would be easy. But it happened for a reason.”
Yep, there’s the lip rub.
Tara shoots up in her seat, her head almost reaching the top of the headrest. “It totally makes sense. She’s the best person for it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Eden has it all. She’s part Fae, the link between animal and human. Weres have always struggled to connect. But she’s also human, one that knows about us, and is now bonded to one of us.
Mitch’s eyes widen. “She’s the intersection of us all.”
They both turn to me. The desire to add to this conversation has disintegrated along with the air in my lungs.
Tara arches a brow at my twin. “If only there was an opportunity coming up for them to talk…”
Mitch’s eyes twinkle. “Like a camping trip or something?”
Tara’s face lights up, like she hadn’t considered that. “You’re a genius bonded-mate-of-mine.”
Like they’ve been bonded for years, Mitch and Tara speak in unison. “You need to tell her.”
22
Eden
“This is all you’re bringing?” Trev’s ventriloquist lips barely move, meaning I have to differentiate the this-all-you-bringing?
I’d quickly figured out Trev is a mutterer. He muttered a hello when I entered the little building at the back of the airport tarmac. He’d muttered all through the pre-flight safety checks. Whilst flicking through pages on his clipboard he’d muttered through the argument he had with his wife about buying another dress. For their Chihuahua.
His eyebrows had hitched up when I’d brought over a daypack to stash in the rear of the helicopter.
“Ah, yeah.”
“And there’s two of you.” Trev looks doubtfully at the lone bag strapped into the small cargo hold. I’d managed to jam a tent, two sleeping bags, and as much food as possible into its confines.
“Um, we’re, ah, survivalists.” I really hope that’s a term.
“You know they’re forecasting a cold snap.” The words are said slowly; I’m not sure if he’s making sure his words are understandable or assessing my IQ.
A sinking stomach had registered the weather map two days ago. A cold front was steadily dragging rain toward the mountains. With luck, we’d be back before those swirling masses of white and grey drop their load.
I smile brightly, trying for a Tara-like optimism. “I don’t really feel the cold.”
Trev opens his mouth to respond but a door opening cuts him off.
Noah, Mitch, and Tara tumble through the door. Tara looks far too excited for a person who isn’t going, whilst Mitch heads straight for the window that overlooks our little-chartered helicopter. Noah looks wind-blown and delicious.
Trev scans Noah. “You got a bag?”
Noah looks to me; I told him not to pack anything. I shake my head.
He smiles at Trev. “Nope. You ever seen Bear Grylls?”
Trev shakes his grizzled head as he walks to the door, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like ‘kids these days.’
I turn to Noah, nervous and excited. “Ready?”
He grabs my hand and heads for the door. “Am I ever!”
Oh, we need to say goodbye. It seems anticipation shrinks my world to just a set of sparkling summer eyes and the body attached to them.
Mitch and Tara have followed us to the door; I think I see an eye-roll pass between them. Mitch slaps Noah on the shoulder. He gives him a long stare. Noah nods, and I know more twin-talk just happened.
Tara has me in one of her hugs, all giggles and bounces. She doesn’t see, or purposely ignores, her mate and her friend. “You two kids have a good time, you hear me?”
I arch a wry brow; she just went all bonded-Were on me. “Thanks.”
Noah and I head to the bubble with blades sitting in the middle of the tarmac ocean. We climb into the back seat; anticipation feels like soda in my belly. We wave to Mitch and Tara, hands flapping madly.
Noah takes in the million little switches and lights, watching Trev flick one, adjust another. We do up our harnesses, and Trev turns to make sure they are tight. My smile is about to touch my ears as I watch Trev double check Noah’s. He probably thinks it’s necessary for the ping pong ball beside me.
As we lift into the sky Noah mouths one word, “Wow.”
Something about Noah looks younger, lighter. Like a whole lot of weight just got left behind. He pulls my hand to rest on his leg, the warmth of his palm pulses in mine, the heat of his thigh warms the back. The love in his gaze warms my heart.
I know this is going to be an amazing flight, a wonderful couple of days.
A memorable, incredible, unforgettable trip.
I want to lean over and kiss him, but the harness has me pinned to the seat. Instead, I squeeze his hand. Noah makes my soul fly.
The black tarmac shrinks as clear blue becomes our world. A muffled roar pulses around my ears. The anticipation can’t be contained by the two people sitting side by side fills the cockpit. It has us both smiling giant smiles, holding hands like we’re about to embark on something special.
Once we’re in the sky, Trev steadily moves the joystick forward. My stomach ever so gently rocks back to my spine as the helicopter propels forward. Noah’s eyes don’t know where to look first. They dart back at Jacksonville disappearing behind us; they roam over the sea of alpine we’re slicing toward; they swallow me whole with their excitement.
Miles are compressed into seconds as the helicopter speeds through space. Below us is a puffed quilt of greens, the mountain up ahead jutting through it. We head north, circling the slumbering giant, white winter at its peak, waking spring below.
The reserve from this eagle view is breathtaking. It’s almost too much to take in. The blazing wealth of earthy browns, tranquil blues, infinite greens. The throbbing noise, sucked in breaths, and a surprising sense of peace. Two held hands, my right, his left, communicate our sense of wonder and astonishment.
Periodically this patchwork of nature opens out to grassy plains in shades of blond and sun-drenched yellow. A herd of elk, spooked at the roaring machine overhead, gallop erratically through one area of open terrain. My hand touches the glass in sympathy as I watch their frenzied run; my eyes barely blink as I marvel at the mass of animals that move with the coordination of a single organism.
I look to Noah, and I’m pretty sure his face mirrors mine. Open and happy and smiling and totally bowled over. We both say that one word simultaneously. “Wow.”
It’s over before either of us is ready. I think we could circle this wonderland for hours. A clearing, stubbly green surrounded by tall pines, opens out then starts to grow closer. Trees whip and bend as the helicopter straightens and begins descending. The grass whips and flattens as we touch the ground. That roaring finally dulls then stops. The silence is a sharp contrast as we all sit in shock.
The trees recover from their beating. The grass regains its upright posture. Noah and I reel from the dazzling sights we just shared.
Trev, astounded at the stupidity of the generation that will inherit his world. “You got enough for three days?”
Trev’s right, a human would need three days to trek out of here. “Sure.”
That just earns me another kids-today shake of the head. “You guys got a PLB?”
I climb out, taking the backpack with me. I pull the emergency GPS beacon from the side pocket. “Yep. Safety first, Trev.”
Trev takes a good look at us, probably thinking he’ll be part of the search and rescue. Or this is the last time we’ll be seen alive. He climbs back into the helicopter, muttering some more; I think I hear something about drugs being the ill of all society.
With the backpack slung over my shoulder, I take Noah’s hand and head for the trees. I plotted this hike carefully, finding the clearing deep in the reserve, measuring the distance, calculating the time it would take a Were to get back. One that runs as fast as Noah. Then charted our way out, knowing we don’t need roads or tracks. Knowing we don’t want roads or tracks. That dense forest and craggy mountain sides were ideal.
At the edge of the trees, we turn to see the chopper lift, the rotors whipping the trees that had just breathed a sigh of relief. I can practically hear them groan as the man-made hurricane pummels them all over again. The rotors pick up every pebble, twig, and piece of forest floor, sucking them in and flinging them out. I put my hand up to shield my face, only to find it pulled into Noah’s chest. He turns us around, curling around me.
We straighten in time to watch Trev disappear into the sky, the sound disappearing before the sight. All that’s left is silence. Any animal or bird long gone, thanks to our landing.
Just me and Noah and the wilderness.
Noah looks at me, the engineer of this adventure. I shrug. “We just head south.”
He smiles, summer sky eyes alight with anticipation. “Ready?”
“Yes.” Yes, yes, yes!
Noah grins like he heard me, or gets it. He walks toward a nearby tree, always putting space between us when he shifts. He changes so fast now. I watch every time, practically salivating at the flash of smooth broad shoulders, the flat planes of his shoulder blades, the width of those muscles narrowing down to…I blush but don’t look away.
It’s amazing how much detail you can memorize in a split second.
He turns, and the same blue eyes look at me from a very different face. Why does it feel so long since we’ve run?
The massive snow-white body approaches me, all untamed grace and breathtaking stealth. Wild blue eyes lock with mine, telling me everything I need to know.
I take two long strides until we’re face to face
. Happy eyes meet, wolf to human, wide smiles matching. I lean in to kiss his velvety nose. In return, I get a cheerful tongue across my cheek.
“Ew.” I giggle, not bothering to wipe it away. I press my forehead to his, breathing in sandalwood and wolf and pine.
Let’s do this.
“Let’s do this,” I reply out loud.
I vault onto his back; warm white fur hugs my thighs, and I can’t help but sink my fingers into its lush thickness. Noah angles south, and with a powerful push, he powers forward. There’s no gentle walk, easy lope; we’re stationary to speeding in a second, flying through the shadowy forest.
This deep in the reserve, the forest is thick and untamed. But the tightly packed trunks are a welcome challenge for Noah’s reflexes. Left, right, slower, faster. He navigates the obstacles with agility and enthusiasm.
The sound of my excited breath fills my ears; the scent of sandalwood and pine fills my senses. The feeling of love and life overflows from my rapidly expanding chest. It’s exhilarating. It’s amazing.
We run for hours. The trees open out sporadically to meadows filled with spring color then close in again to create an army of pines. We duck under branches as old as Grandfather Douglas. We follow the rise and fall of Mother Nature’s hills and valleys.
In the open, craggy areas there are giant-sized hurdles that we line up and fly over. Chasing the wind, leaving it behind to find that place where time stands still and it’s just a girl and a Were.
We don’t talk; there’s no silent communication. All we do is see and feel.
We stop for lunch beside a stream, the sun flashing diamonds on its sapphire surface. I rest in Noah’s arms as we eat squashed cheese sandwiches. Neither of us talks, the silence and connection too sacred to breach.
I spend a lot of time looking at the age-old pines, outstretched branches getting smaller and smaller as their pyramid shapes reach for the sky. Taking in the fragile flowers, the grey, mossy rocks. Gazing at summer eyes that reflect everything I feel.
Another flash of naked shoulders, arrow-shaped back, and lean legs etched into my memory and we’re off again. This time we go slower, a rhythmic lope through the changing pattern of nature.
