by J. L. Wilder
Caine shrugged. “You missed basically three meals yesterday.”
Fair point. Besides, I couldn’t think about how I was going to make it through all this food; I was too hungry to consider any longer what amount would make me sick. With the ferocity of a Wolf, I dove into my plate, tearing into it with moans aplenty. The men watched on, looking rather pleased with themselves.
Between mouthfuls, I asked, “Aren’t you guys gonna eat too?”
Tristan shook his head. “We already ate.”
I swallowed, and raised an eyebrow. How was it possible that there was this much food left over, and three grown shifters had already eaten? Shifters notoriously chow down pounds of food in a day; our bodies, especially for male shifters, burn up calories like you wouldn’t believe. I paled to think of how much food they’d purchased.
Turning to Daniel, I inquired, “Where did you find all this?”
He shrugged. “Went into town. There’s a small grocery store.”
That was surprising. I’d thought the place really was abandoned.
“I suspect it’s run by another paranormal,” he added casually.
Quick term breakdown: shifters are … Well, we are shifters. And then there are a variety of other creatures that exist beyond the realm of the strictly human: people with heightened abilities. Like us, they try to evade notice, live on the outskirts of society. Better that than get discovered by folks who would rather use their gifts for evil than good. Occasionally, you’ll come across one in your normal course of life. Or, you won’t be certain you have. It’s just a vibe, one of those instinctual things that can’t really be explained.
“Should we be worried?” I questioned, rather afraid to know the answer. “Another paranormal could mean someone with connections to shifters, ones like Brock.”
“And we don’t want a repeat of the Pelt situation,” Tristan allowed, clearly still feeling a bit wrecked over that particular decision.
Daniel looked unphased. “I don’t think he’ll be a problem. Seemed like a loner.” He smiled a little, and added, “I would know.”
“This could be a town of paranormals,” Caine hypothesized. “We do all usually end up in the same spots.”
Tristan sighed. “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. In the meantime,” he turned to me, “you’ll continue your training.”
“And your dating,” Caine finished with a roguish wink. “Which is just as, if not more, important.”
“That sounds,” I garbled around the food, “great.”
“Same order,” Tristan declared. “Caine first, Daniel second, me third.”
Daniel raised a slender finger in objection. “Middle never makes an impression. Give me third.”
Tristan shook his head. “Doesn’t make sense to do survival at night.”
“That’s exactly when you should do survival.”
“Boys, please,” I interrupted. “No more fighting, remember?”
Daniel took a deep breath, and Tristan gritted his teeth.
“Easier said than done,” Caine muttered.
I swallowed a piece of pancake, and replied, “We’ll change up the order, for fairness’ sake. Tristan first, Caine second, Daniel third.”
Daniel raised a black, arched brow. “You mean, the exact order of our hierarchy in the pack?”
Shit, I swore internally. That was a good point. We’d all reached an agreement, vis-a-vis the dating business, but that didn’t mean solutions were going to come naturally. It would take work. But, then, I suppose anything worth having is worth working for.
I set down my utensils. “Okay, here’s the deal. Daniel first, Tristan second, Caine third. No more arguments.”
Nobody looked pleased with the final order, least of all Tristan. Alphas weren’t exactly used to 1) not giving orders, and 2) being in the middle, in a non-descript place of prestige. Maybe this will be good for him, I thought to myself. Maybe he’ll be humbled. As much as I loved his alpha spirit, sometimes his self-confidence got the better of him (see: Pelt). There were lessons you had to learn the hard way.
“All right, then,” I finished, “we’re agreed. I’m going to eat the rest of this delicious breakfast, and after that, the day begins.”
The boys nodded in unison, their eyes affixed to me.
I picked up my fork, hesitated, then added, “And don’t stare at me while I eat. That’s just weird.”
After breakfast, we went about the schedule as I’d arranged it: survival, strategy, then physical training. Getting more one-on-one time with each of the shifters was great. Though, if we’re being honest, the sessions felt less like training, and more like the men trying to prove their prowess in, shall we say, other arenas.
Daniel came first and declared that it was camouflage day. In other words, I’d learn how to paint myself to blend in with the trees and bushes. This, naturally, required us to get naked, and basically, finger paint one another. It was a transparent move, but man, I wasn’t complaining.
We journeyed into the back yard and found a shady spot beneath a bush, at which point, Daniel pulled out a bag of crushed blackberries and another of cranberries. He dipped his fingers inside the blackberries, removed them and held them to my nose.
“Smell that,” he told me.
I sniffed. It was gorgeous, a fruity bouquet.
“Yum,” I murmured.
“Yum, indeed. Now, I’m going to paint you into this bush.”
I looked at the bush skeptically. “It’s green.”
He shook his head and pointed a berry-covered finger toward the underside. “Look closer. In the shade, it’s a deep blue, almost purple.”
I stared at the bush again, and could begin to make out what Daniel was referring to. There was a hint of purple, I supposed. Still, mostly green.
I shrugged. “I don’t have your artistic eye.”
“You don’t have to. Here’s the rule—find the shadiest, thickest thing that gives you coverage, and paint to that. It’s usually dark shades. Use dirt, wild berries, things like that. Okay?”
“Show me,” I responded, partly because I needed a demonstration … and yeah, partly because I wanted those hands to touch me.
He didn’t need to be told twice. Daniel’s gentle, clever fingers brushed over my chest, tracing past my waist, journeying to my hips.
“How does this feel?” he asked, swirling blue with crimson at my hip bone.
“Good,” I replied earnestly.
“Could you do it yourself?”
I sighed. “I suppose. But it feels better when you do it.”
He grinned and continued to spread the mixture over my body. Every movement of his fingers set a new part of me alight, until I felt that I was burning up with sensations. Just as I thought I could take no more, he sat back on his heels.
“You’re done,” Daniel declared. “Now, go blend in with that bush.”
I rolled my eyes but cooperated, scooting beneath the rather small bush, tucking myself in.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, and before I could object, Daniel was jogging out of the back yard and into the house.
Was I supposed to just stay there all day? Not exactly my idea of a romantic time. Training, my brain reminded me. You’re technically training. Oh yeah. Right. I’d forgotten about that. The things seemed to run together.
But just as I was beginning to worry that I might be stuck here for ages, Daniel re-emerged with Caine and Tristan. I stayed silent, beginning to get where this was going.
“Why’d you bring us out here?” Caine asked. “You want us to weed the garden or something?”
“No,” Daniel replied, somehow managing to keep the smile off his face. “Just wondering if you guys thought this back yard was, uh, secure enough.”
Tristan, ever the leader, nodded. “Good point, Daniel. Let’s take a look.”
Caine and Tristan descended the steps and began poking around the garden, looking for holes in the fences, easy entrance routes, stuff like
that. I could see Daniel’s cheek muscle twitching furiously, trying to resist the urge to grin, like one of the guards at Buckingham Palace.
Tristan stopped right in front of my bush, his feet directly next to my eyes. I thought that was it, the jig was up, but then he declared, “Well, we could reinforce some of the fencing, maybe get some cameras if there are any in the house, but other than that, looks clean.”
I saw my opportunity and I took it. My hand lashed out from the bush and seized his ankle.
For the first time since I’d known Tristan, he shrieked.
“What the—”
Before he could connect a foot with my face, I rolled out of the bushes, landing face up, naked, and grinning at him.
Caine and Daniel exploded in laughter, while Tristan hovered over me, looking quite pissed. Aw, I embarrassed him, I thought with just a twinge of glee.
“What the hell was that about?” he growled.
Daniel cut in smoothly. “I was teaching her camouflage. Which apparently worked, seeing as how neither of you found her.”
Tristan conceded the point, though not very graciously. “Fine, job well done.” He looked back down at me, and with a stern expression, said, “Now, wash that off. It’s my turn.”
Another thrill shot through my body, and I ran into the house to wash off. In no time, I was back in the kitchen, working with Tristan.
We covered some light weapons training. Or at least, that’s what we’d intended to do. In reality, I spent most of the time scooting my hand closer and closer to his, hoping our fingers would brush, that he would lose control and throw me up against the refrigerator. Much to my chagrin, Tristan had better self-control than I. He didn’t even blink when I nudged my foot against his, gradually scooting it up his leg. Men can be so clueless.
I guess not clueless, because he knew damn well what I was doing. I wish I had that kind of willpower, to just ignore advances from someone of the opposite gender. But the omega in me had lusts that couldn’t be quenched.
After Tristan (and a small lunch, since I was still very full), it was Caine’s turn. We returned to the back yard, which I was beginning to enjoy more and more—if only because I’d been mostly cooped up for a week. Well, two years, if we’re being technical. There wasn’t exactly a lot of ‘yard time’ in Brock’s compound.
“No running today,” he announced, planting his booted feet atop the grass.
My brows furrowed. “What’s the alternative? Snowshoeing?”
“Combat.”
Oh, brother. “Caine, that’s nice and all, very sweet, really, but I’m rotten in a fight. I’ve barely trained, and when I have, I’ve gotten my ass handed to me by even the kids of a pack.”
That was true: I was almost notoriously weak in combat, even for an omega. Most fights ended with me on the ground, holding up my hands and crying uncle. Hey, at least I can run, it’s not like I’m totally helpless.
Caine was having none of it.
“You’re just in your head, that’s all,” he argued. “You’ve convinced yourself you can’t fight, so now you can’t.”
He adopted a staggered sparring stance, holding up his hands vertical, perpendicular to his eyes.
I looked at him blankly. “Do you expect me to charge you?”
“Yup.”
“I’m not gonna do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I like having all of my bones,” I replied. “Can we just do something, anything, else?”
Caine relaxed, and I thought with relief that perhaps I’d gotten through, but oh, no, no. Instead, he said, “Emma, I’m teaching you to fight because you’re a damn Wolf and we all fight, men and women alike. Omegas included.”
“That’s not true.”
He brushed hair away from his forehead. “Listen, kid, not that I’d mind you being a damsel in distress, provided you were my damsel in distress, but now that I’ve met Brock’s bears…” He trailed off, his eyes flashing as he recalled the trauma, before finishing, “Since then, I can’t stand the thought of you not knowing at least rudimentary self-defense. Okay? Please, just do this for me.”
Dang it, that was such a sweet argument that I wasn’t sure how to even say no. The look on Caine’s face was as haunting as it was persuasive. Frankly, I was surprised a guy as sordid as him, one who never seemed to get invested in any woman, was this concerned over my well-being.
As if reading my thoughts, he added with a flush, “And yes, I know, I’m being a big old softy, no need to mock me.”
At that, I laughed. “You’re a softy, sure, but I like it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Makes me feel special.”
He grinned. “Good, ‘cuz you are.”
Okay, that kicked me right in the heart. In a good way, to be clear, but right in that left ventricle. Ouch, but also, aw.
Anyway, that’s how I ended up agreeing to fight Caine. Big mistake.
He resumed his fighting stance. “Okay,” he insisted again, “charge me.”
“You’re not gonna laugh?”
“Of course not.”
I took a deep breath, focusing all my energy into my core, urging it to radiate outward, coursing raw strength through my blood and muscle. You can do this, I told myself. Power is mental.
Then, like a light, I took off, running toward him, feeling confident as I leapt in the air, my hands outstretched for his face—
At which point, I found myself on the ground, flat on my back and the air knocked out of my lungs, with Caine atop me, that roguish smile sparkling with merriment.
“What happened?” I panted blearily.
“You charged me.”
“And?”
He gestured down to our new position on the ground. “And, uh, your charging needs work.”
I rolled my eyes. “I told you, I really did, I’m just not—”
“Hey, hey, hey,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. His sunny face hung over me, and I was keenly aware of his hands, planted in the ground on either side of my face, his legs caging mine. Did he have to be so hot? Maybe I could fight better if my coach wasn’t distractingly handsome.
“I’m glad you charged me,” he continued. And then, with a wink, “If only so we could end up in this position.”
Red rushed to my cheeks, turning my pale skin a sunburnt red. I wanted to stay there forever.
Don’t kiss him, I was forced to remind myself. You’re dating. You agreed to date.
Right. Keep it PG. I could definitely handle that.
Not.
Chapter 18
Another two weeks flew by, each day better than the last.
The boys had properly settled their differences now, and were getting along swimmingly, as was their norm (or had been their norm, before I entered the picture). I was happy to see my men—were they ‘mine’ now? Was it still too soon to say that? —back to their good-natured selves.
That being said, I was no closer to an answer, in terms of which man I should mate with. It felt like every day, they revealed more to me, like we became more emotionally intimate as the time passed. I was grateful to get to know them on this level, but it only made my final decision harder, because all of them were so special. I could sense that each was still holding back something from me, but I didn’t mind. We’re all entitled to our secrets.
Meanwhile, my complicated emotions aside, the training was going well. I got stronger, tougher, better with each session, and the guys were starting to take notice. Caine, Daniel and Tristan looked at me as if I were both the object of their affection, and the best student in a class. I felt desired, but even more potently, I felt cared for.
The days moved so quickly that I didn’t even realize when the full moon rolled around.
I was in the kitchen, breaking between session, when Tristan entered. Without preamble, he said, “Running tonight.”
I bit into the apple I was holding. “What do you mean?”
He glanced at me as if I were a b
it slow. “Because it’s the full moon,” he explained patiently.
“Really?” That couldn’t be right.
He pointed outside the window, up to the sky. “Look.”
I walked toward Tristan, stopping next to his side and following the line of his finger. Or at least I did, after a moment−I was briefly distracted by the fact that our upper arms were touching, and I wanted other parts of our bodies to touch as well.
But after my quick daydream, I refocused, and looked up. Sure enough, I could see the outline of the full moon coming. Most Wolves can feel the moon cycles, at least to some degree, but my years of essentially being a prisoner meant my natural rhythms were disrupted, and often confused or dimmed. Case in point, I couldn’t remember the last time I felt an urge to shift during the lunar cycle.
However, upon realizing it was a full moon, something inside me stirred, a great emotional pull that was almost too powerful for me to reckon with. Like something was … awakening.
“We have to run tonight,” I agreed quietly.
Tristan agreed, but seemed confused by my sudden change of heart.
I explained, “I feel it. I feel the moon. I haven’t felt her in so long.”
He pivoted to me, his expression proud and pleased. “I’m glad to hear it. All Wolves ought to feel the moon.” His voice dropped, and he added, placing a hand on my cheek, “All Wolves deserve to … follow their instincts. What are your instincts telling you?”
Along with the quickening of the force inside my core, blood rushed to the ends of my fingertips and toes, my heart beginning to pound. My instincts were telling me I couldn’t settle on just one of the Hell’s Wolves, I needed to have them all. But what do you do if your instincts are demanding something you can’t get? Do you make peace with that?
Or do you try the unknown, and see what happens?
I was beginning to gravitate toward the latter. I’d now been with these boys for weeks, and already, I was in love with each of them, as individuals, and as a pack. They were my family, or as close as I’d had to one, and I wanted them to be my lovers. Might I take the road less traveled?
“My instincts are telling me,” I whispered, my eyes once more on Tristan’s face, “to live the life I deserve.”
