Traitor.
“Sweetheart,” he says. “I want to court you properly.”
“Court me?” I stare at him. “I’d rather fuck a cactus.”
Pam looks ready to explode. Elias is grinning like the idiot he is. And I’m done with every part of this.
I turn on my heel and drop into the seat Lily saved for me.
Alphas. Can’t live with them. Can’t bury them in shallow graves without someone noticing.
I stuff a s’more into my mouth.
Fuck, that’s good.
The marshmallow is warm and gooey, and the chocolate melts on my tongue, and for one perfect second, I forget about Pam and Elias and the fact that I’m sitting at a bonfire surrounded by people I don’t trust, wearing a coat given to me by a girl I barely know, eating food I didn’t have to hunt or steal.
Lily nudges my arm with her elbow. “You handled that well.”
I lick chocolate off my thumb. “She’s lucky I didn’t handle it with my fists.”
Lily grins. “Pam’s always been territorial about Elias. They hooked up a few times, and she decided that made them soulmates.”
“Her problem, not mine.”
“Sure.” Lily gives me a look that says she doesn’t entirely believe me. “Another s’more?”
I take it, then three more after that. The fire is warm on my face, and the sugar buzzes through me. Lily chatters on about the pack, the cottages, who’s sleeping with who, and which of the betas makes the best bread. I don’t respond to most of it, but I don’t shut her out either. I just sit there, eating s’mores, watching the fire, listening to someone talk to me like I’m a person.
It’s so normal, it hurts.
Across the fire, I catch Darius watching me. His face is half in shadow, half lit by the flames, and his expression is unreadable. Then Silas moves into my line of sight, blocking the view, and sets a cup of hot chocolate in front of me without a word. He sitsdown next to Lily on the other side, and the three of us sit there, quiet, while the bonfire crackles and the pack moves around us.
I wrap my hands around the mug and let the warmth seep into my fingers.
I won’t get comfortable. I won’t settle in. I won’t let myself believe this is mine.
But I drink the hot chocolate. And I don’t leave.
17
MO
I’m starting to not hate it here. That’s the part that scares me most.
Curled on my bed, I run a finger over the comforter and scowl at its softness.
The cabin is warm. The food is ridiculous. I have hot showers, clean clothes, and a girl named Lily who treats me like a best friend she’s known for years. The alphas have backed off on the interrogation, at least for now, and nobody’s tried to chain me up again since the wires came out.
I grab a pillow and punch it into shape, because apparently I’m the kind of person who fluffs pillows now. My fist sinks into the softness, and something drifts up from the fabric.
Clove, leather and cedar—Archer.
It’s faint, barely there, but my nose catches it and holds on like it’s oxygen.
I press the pillow closer. Breathe deeper. My eyes drift shut, and for three stupid, reckless seconds, I let myself have it. Just the scent. Just the warmth of it filling my lungs, my chest, the hollow spaces that have been empty for three years.
Then I realize what I’m doing.