Aviva
The moment Ryan stirs again, I launch into motion. I’m out of the tent the second he begins to stretch like he’s the only one on the sleeping mat. I run at a full sprint through the center of the camp, wearing nothing but his shirt.
I jump into Freya’s tent and land with a crunch on top of her. She squeals, swatting me as she tries to untangle herself from the quilt she bundled herself up in last night. “What the hell are you doing, Aviva?”
I grab her cheeks. She blinks sleepily up at me, her eyes cloudy with confusion. “I need you to tell me everything about men. Everything.”
* * *
“Look at those idiots,” Freya giggles as she pops another perfect, sweet strawberry into her mouth.
I lick strawberry juice from my fingers and turn to look over my shoulder at the group of men on opposite sides of the creek below, yelling and arguing with each other as they try to get the two heavy, overladen carts across the swollen creek. I smirk down at them. I doubt they’ve even noticed us watching them. It’s well into the afternoon on the second day of what should have been a day-long journey.
From our perch on the flat peak of a huge boulder sticking out of a hill nearby, we can see the entire hilarious scene below and have no plans or desire to help them.
Instead, we spent the day roaming the hills and picking the sweetest strawberries I think I’ve ever tasted with no plans to share our bounty with the tired, increasingly grumpy men below.
I bite into another strawberry. The bright flavor explodes on my tongue. I groan around it, happy with our decision not to give them any.
“Should we help?” Freya asks, tilting her head. “It’s been three hours since they started.”
I peer down at the center of the creek where a soaking wet Ryan is shouting at Jacob, who is waist deep and using a rope to try to pull one of the carts across. Four other men are pushing it, slipping on the rocks into the swift current.
“Nah,” I reply, fishing for the last of the strawberries in a huge basket between us. “They’ll use those big, male brains of theirs to figure this out eventually.”
“They could have made a raft, at least. It wouldn’t have taken that much time.”
“They’re showing off for us,” I laugh, pointing at Andrew, who has his shirt off as he jumps into the water with a second rope and swims to attach it to the cart.
Freya shakes her head, smirking. “You know, everyone back home is so jealous we got to go. Rochel was in a fucking tizzy about it. Miriam told me she cried through your entire wedding and not because the ceremony moved her to tears.”
I roll my eyes. “Why does everyone want to get married so badly? I had to share a tent with Ryan last night–”
She gives my leg a little nudge with her foot. “Yeah, you did. And you also burst into my tent this morning acting desperate to understand why just sleeping next to him had you all worked up… warm, and wet–”
I pinch her, and she yelps. “I never said I was–”
“Oh, please.” She waves a hand in dismissal. “It’s okay to be attracted to your husband. You’re lucky, honestly. I’m sure not everyone is half as lucky as you, Aviva, having such a handsome man to share a bed with.” She sighs dramatically and rests her chin on her fist, batting her eyelashes at the men now fighting for their lives as the cart slips into the current and starts tilting sideways. “I’m honestly shocked he hasn’t, you know…”
“I thought maybe last night–” I bite my tongue. Okay, first of all, why do I care? I shouldn’t be tangled in knots over the idea that Ryan and I have been married for two days, and he hasn’t taken me to bed yet–not in that way, anyhow. Secondly, I should be thankful for it, especially after catching a glimpse of him in nothing but his undershorts this morning.
My throat goes dry at the thought of his thick, muscular thighs and chiseled abs with that sharp V leading toward–
“Look, they got the first one across.” Freya giggles. We both clap and whistle enthusiastically.
Andrew beams, waving at us. Jacob and Ryan exchange glances, and while Jacob chuckles and says something under his breath, we’re too far away to hear, Ryan scowls directly at me, his eyes shining with annoyance over the gurgling howl of the swift creek.
Eventually the second cart floats over the creek, and Freya and I have to leave our perch, now covered with the leafy, discarded strawberry tops, and hike down to the creek. Andrew offers to carry Freya on his shoulders as to not, “get her pretty dress wet,” which he says with a wink that makes Freya blush, and of course she obliges. She throws a look over her shoulder and waves as she clutches Andrew’s head between her thighs and I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he’s loving every second of it.
Ryan doesn’t offer me the same treatment. He’s waiting on a large rock in the very center of the creek, crouching, resting his elbows on his knees. “Go ahead,” he says, his voice low and dripping with remnants of frustration left over from an honestly arduous task I didn’t help with.
In my defense, no one asked for my help.
I’m sure he’s hoping I fall in.
I skip across the creek like it’s nothing, carrying my sandals under my arm as my bare feet find the taller, flatter rocks none of these men saw under the current, apparently. When I pass Ryan, forgoing his center rock, he frowns at me. That frown singes the back of my head as I leap off the last of the rocks and land on the other side of the creek, totally dry above the ankles.
I walk beside Freya for the rest of the afternoon, arm in arm, too busy listening to her rattling on about all of the gossip she gathered during my wedding to even bother shifting. Eventually, we leave the rolling, open plains again and start walking along a well packed dirt road into the forest. It’s straight and narrow. Old, actually. I know exactly where we are, even though I’ve never been this far away from Endova.
This is the road leading to the Roguelands. Beyond this forest, the Deadlands become nothing but barren, gray hills. Once, refugee camps dotted those plains. Sometimes the elders tell stories about that time, over two decades ago now. War and famine. Unimaginable hardship. My heart begins beating so fast I start to lose the ability to take a full breath. Freya keeps talking, going on and on about how someone we know kissed someone else we know at the wedding party.
For some reason unknown to me, I look over my shoulder. We’re in the center of the group, following the carts, and Ryan is far back.
He’s walking in his human form, following his people. His eyes meet mine as my heart rate continues to skyrocket. For a split second, his eyes shine with sudden understanding. He looks momentarily concerned and straightens his shoulders. I doubt he can sense the way my heart is beating out of rhythm, but he searches my face, then tilts his head to the side. ‘You’re not scared, are you, little wolf?’
‘Stay out of my head,’ I fire back through the mind-link, and face forward again.
A few minutes later, the group ahead of us turns sharply to the left, no longer following the well packed road to the Roguelands. Instead, we pick our way along a more rural road that’s still fresh and obviously seldom used. A mile later, the forest gives way, and a valley so green it’s blinding erupts before us.
Freya gasps, and so do I. We hold each other a little tighter as shock ripples through us both. “What is this place?” She gapes, looking around as rolling farmland hugs either side of the narrow road.
“Silverhide,” I whisper in disbelief.
Cattle graze lazily in a field nearby. More fields come into view. We climb higher into the valley, eventually following another shallow creek. Some are tilled and freshly planted with who knows what, but I can see the first outlines of fields of grain sprouting in the distance, golden blades swaying in a soft, warm breeze.
I’m not sure what I expected. When father visited this pack for the first time, he’d come home telling stories of a village of canvas tents, not large stone houses with blue shutters. Not barns and cabins made of logs that gleam like gold in the sunlight. Not the village now standing toward the back of the valley, built on either side of the creek, and connected by a wooden bridge.
Some of the buildings are two stories tall. Glass windows shine in the sunlight. Smoke flows toward the sky from several neat, stone chimneys on several of the larger buildings.
Gardens spread wide over the rolling hills. A small wooden building with a stippled roof has several children playing in the yard. They see our group and start shouting, laughing deliriously as they run forward and watch us walk by. A woman calls the children back, but waves excitedly.
A school, perhaps?
I didn’t realize there were so many children here.
Several women are doing laundry in the creek, which is shallow enough the water only reaches their knees in some spots. Their clothes are different compared to back home. Thick fabric woven so tightly I can barely make out the threads. Warm, fluffy sweaters made of what looks like fine wool.
Freya clears her throat as we pass the women, who stare at us and whisper.
We pass them and soon we’re stepping into the village proper and… I’m shocked. This place is lovely.
“Took you long enough,” says a deep, male voice somewhere ahead of us.
Ryan walks past us. I turn around, wondering how long he’d been gaining on Freya and I, and notice most of the group we’ve traveled with has dispersed. Several of the men are walking toward small houses dotted along the road, further away from the village. When I turn to look forward, practically dragging an absolutely stunned Freya by her arm, I realize we’re part of the few left in the group to actually walk into the center of the village.
Ryan clasps elbows with a tall, dark haired man as we come to a stop. The man’s eyes slide to mine, then back to Ryan’s as he steps closer and says, “Jacob mentioned–”
“I was so worried!” A soft, lifted female voice hits my ear, and the most pregnant woman I’ve ever seen comes to stop at the stranger’s side, steadying herself on his arm.
“Oh, Dahlia,” Ryan sighs, shaking his head. “I was really hoping you’d have had the baby by the time I got back.”
She frowns, tucking her light brown hair behind her ears, which have gone pink. “The baby is stubborn. I have nothing else to say about it.”
The stranger purses his lips, gently wrapping his arm around her back. He must be Ryan’s Beta. I remember hearing that he had one, someone who acts as his second, or something like that. I also remember that he didn’t come on the hunt because his mate was due to have their baby any day.
Mate. The word rings through my head as I stare at the couple. I’ve never met a set of mates before.
Ryan slowly turns his attention to me, grimacing a bit. “Uh, so, this is Aviva. My wife.”
Dahlia looks at me cheerfully, but her mate doesn’t give me a smile. So, I don’t give either of them one in return, and stay stone-faced and skeptical.
Ryan sighs, his eyes locked on mine, and turns back to his Beta to say something else when a commotion directly behind us has everyone turning toward the carts. Andrew, who was raising the tarp off one of them, jumps back with a grunt of surprise.
“What?” Ryan asks coldly, stomping toward him.
“Shit, man, we gotta problem–”
The tarp starts to move, which causes several people to yelp in alarm, and then flies back to reveal…
“SHOSHANNAH?” I shriek as my sister pops her head up, smiling like the little demon she is.