I slip between cabins, avoiding the main paths where I might run into someone who’ll send me back. At sixteen, I know I should be helping with chores, not sneaking off into the forest. But the forest is the only place I can be myself.
I’m almost to the tree line when I hear footsteps behind me.
“Running away again?”
I spin around, ready to fight, but it’s just Stuart. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair always falling into his eyes. Eighteen and already one of the best hunters in the pack.
“I’m not running away,” I say, crossing my arms. “I’m just getting breakfast.”
He grins, and something warm flutters in my chest. I squash it immediately.
“Mind if I join you?” he asks.
I narrow my eyes. “Why would you want to do that?”
Stuart shrugs. “Maybe I like your company.”
“Nobody likes my company.”
“I do.”
I stare at him for a long moment. He doesn’t look away.
“Fine,” I say. “But keep up, or I’m leaving you behind.”
His smile widens. “Yes, ma’am.”
We head into the forest together. I move fast, expecting him to fall behind, but he matches my pace easily. We don’t speak much at first. I show him my favorite berry patches, and he helps me gather enough for Sophie and me.
“You’re good at this,” he says as I navigate the underbrush.
“At what? Picking berries?”
“At everything out here. You look like you belong.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything.
Stuart doesn’t push. He just follows me, helps when I ask, and stays quiet when I need silence. By the time we head back, my basket is full, and something has shifted between us.
“Same time tomorrow?” he asks as we reach the edge of the compound.
I hesitate. “Why?”
“Because I want to see you again.”
I nod once, then slip away before he can see the blush creeping up my neck.
Stuart is waiting for me the next day. And the next. And the next.
At first, I’m suspicious. No one seeks out my company voluntarily, especially not someone like Stuart. He’s popular, respected, the kind of wolf who could have any girl in the pack. But he keeps showing up, day after day, with that easy smile and those warm brown eyes.
“I see you, Mo,” he says one afternoon. “The real you. Not the mask you wear for everyone else.”
I look away. “There’s no mask.”
“Isn’t there?” He reaches out slowly, giving me time to pull away, and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I think there’s a lot more to Moira than she lets anyone see.”
I flinch at my name. “Don’t call me that.”