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Aunt May, it turned out, owned a fiddle. From deep within one of the tents, Carly rooted out a pile of semi-presentable clothes.
Michael slipped away to brush his hair, making me smile at the evidence that teenage boys were just as vain as the female of the species. Then he attached himself to his niece with the intense focus of someone given the first important task of incipient adulthood.
The rest of us gathered materials to build up a bonfire. And while it should have felt strange to work alongside skinless, they seemed to understand what I wanted before I even asked for it. Dry branches appeared at my feet along with a handful of crumpled-up newspaper. The stone fire circle expanded itself while my back was turned. And when Victor lit a match, the mood of the campsite transitioned from dismal to merely dreary in an eye blink.
And...that would have to do. Because Ruth was leading Carl and his men into the clearing already. “Sword maiden,” the young man called toward me. “I’d like to speak with you.”
His gaze slid past me toward Carly, and Ruth’s eyebrows lowered. As if she needed to warn me. As if I’d be so easily drawn into that trap.
“Soon!” I answered with a vague wave in the direction of the roasting elk parts.
Between pretending I knew how to cook over an open fire (ha!) and disappearing into a tent in search of nonexistent hair ties, I managed to evade Carl’s attempts at conversation for over an hour. Then Aunt May pulled out her fiddle, someone began pounding on a hollow tree trunk, and the festivities fully began.
Dancing with my cousin had been a matter of loud music and colored lights, all flash and no substance. The skinless were different. They needed no trappings to turn the forest into a stage. Just joined hands in a circle, weaving in and out with fancy footwork that tripped me up at first.
Then...I got it. Or perhaps they changed the dance to suit me. It was almost as if the pack and I breathed in unison, our feet flashing as soles kicked up toward the flames.
One moment I was holding Carly’s hand while Michael, on her other side, nodded a promise to stick to her like super glue. The next moment, the line had split, reformed, and now one of Carl’s men was swinging me around the fire separate from both of our packs.
My partner was Luke’s age. Broader than Carl but lighter on his feet than I would have expected. I had a sinking suspicion he knew how to handle the sword belted at his hip better than Carl had as well.
He parried with words rather than weapons however. “You and your mate are hard wolves to pin down.”
“Are we?” I spun away from him, letting the single hand that connected us grow taut before I rolled back up close. “I hadn’t noticed.”
The male’s lips quirked ever so slightly. “Good thing our pack enjoys hunting.”
“What exactly are you hunting for?”
His answer wasn’t at all what I’d expected. “Young love,” he said gruffly but with an entirely straight face. He either believed what he was saying or was a skilled actor. Either way, when I remained silent, he elaborated on his point. “Carl dotes on Luke’s niece. Living so far from his betrothed is painful.”
So Carl had sent one of his men to do his dirty work. It would have been helpful if Luke had provided a bit more information on betrothal customs before our connection went dark.
Barring actual knowledge, I went for easy evasions. Broadening the distance between me and my dance partner, I prepared to slip my hand free....
But Carl’s henchman didn’t release me. Instead, he clenched my hand tighter, his words polite yet adamant.
“Not quite yet, if you don’t mind, sword maiden.”
And...I tripped. Or, rather, someone tripped me. I was 99% sure that was a foot not a rock that twisted up my legs.
Either way, my hand yanked itself out of my partner’s grasp as I plummeted toward the ground. Then a wrinkled shoulder was beneath my armpit.
“If you’ll excuse us,” the witch-hazel-scented elder told Carl’s lackey, “she’s exhausted.”
This time, he had no alternative to letting me leave.
***
PAST THE GLOW OF THE bonfire, I realized I was exhausted. Even counting my drugged sleep while being kidnapped, it had been nearly a day since I’d rested. I tried not to lean on Witch-hazel—after all, she seemed far too frail to hold me. But my head was spinning, so it was either accept her support or fall flat on my face.
“Hold on a minute,” I said, closing my eyes as I tried to regain my equilibrium. Plus, I wasn’t sure where my companion was taking me....
It was almost as if she’d heard my uncertainty. “You need to sleep.”
I opened my eyes and was steadied by her smile. I’d never caught Witch-Hazel’s name, but it didn’t matter. What did matter was: “The pack....”
“Will be perfectly fine without your attention for a few hours. Unless you want to be here when Easton goes onto the fire?”
I shivered. I should want that, but I didn’t.
“Will they miss me?”
“Have they missed Luke?”
I glanced back at the skinless circling around the bonfire. They didn’t appear to be missing their alpha, and his absence made it easy to delay dealing with Carl until tomorrow.
In fact, going to bed would serve the same purpose. No one could pin me down to a promise if I was sound asleep.
Luke and I couldn’t hash out our differences if he returned while I was sleeping either. I told myself it was my spinning head rather than the errant thought deciding the issue.
“Come along, child.” Witch-Hazel pushed up the flap of a miniature tent barely large enough for one person. Inside was a sleeping bag and a pillow—it looked like heaven. “Wipe off your feet before you get in.”
She sounded like a mother, so I obeyed her. Took the towel she offered and scrubbed the worst of the mud out from between my toes. Then I crawled into the fluffy warmth without even bothering to unbuckle my sword belt.
The music was softer here, my exhaustion deeper. I blinked...and forgot to draw my eyes back open. Half-woke when the first mournful howls heralded Easton’s descent into the flames of the bonfire. Then sleep pulled me under so hard I lost track of everything for what must have been several hours.
I would have slept longer, too, if warm breath hadn’t feathered across my cheekbone. It was pitch dark, no music in evidence. The party was over...and someone was inside my tent.
***
I GRABBED MY SWORD’S hilt, trying to figure out how to draw the blade out of the sleeping bag without slitting my own throat in the process. Then my pelt slithered up my back until it could sharpen my senses.
Cinnamon enfolded me. Black turned into a silhouetted gray in the shape of broad shoulders. I smiled and let my eyes drift back shut as I greeted my mate.
“Luke.”
Strong arms cupped me close, only the sleeping bag between us. Somehow Luke had made it all the way into the tent before waking me. Now, my body molded to his.
“Honor.” Luke’s breath feathered over the cinnamon-scented scar on my neck.
The spiciness of him—of us—rose to surround me. Awareness quaked through my belly. Luke’s skin was a millimeter from my skin.
My pelt pressed up against my back, begging me to close that gap. And yet...I didn’t. Instead, I threw metaphorical ice water on both of us. “We didn’t finish our conversation.”
He sighed and released me. “No. We didn’t.”
And there it was. Woelfin and werewolf. The differences between our worlds yawned ocean-wide between us.
I wouldn’t have thought there was room for two people to lie in such a tiny tent without touching, but Luke and I managed. I could no longer smell his scent.
Words were the only thing I could think of to draw us closer. So I tried them. Tentatively. Almost too quietly to hear myself speak.
“I always imagined Grace and I would find matched partners,” I murmured. “It’s what twin woelfin do. Choose another set of twins as mates, wait a few years, then get pregnant the same year.”
Luke hummed. He was listening, not interrupting. My words, so quiet to me, were probably a normal conversational level for a skinless.
Brushing aside the flicker of unease that thought prompted, I closed my eyes and let the dark more fully encompass me. “Our children,” I continued, “would be as close to each other as Grace and I are to Justice and Bastion. We’d build a family around four young woelfin who tore in and out of neighboring houses barely realizing the difference between mother and aunt.”
I was glad of the dark. I’d never dreamed aloud before. It felt more intimate than kissing. More intimate than even what we were talking about in this roundabout way.
More intimate yet when Luke spoke the truth I hadn’t even admitted to myself before now. “You don’t want to have pups—kids—until you and Grace patch things up.”
“And you need an heir immediately. Not a cautiously created, loving family.” The hole in my stomach felt large enough to fall through. “You were right and I was wrong. I should have stayed away. Or left yesterday. I’m making things worse.”
“No. You never make things worse.”
The space between us disappeared. Luke’s palms settled around my cheeks as if he was about to kiss me.
He didn’t, but his words were even sweeter. “I’m glad you came back. I’m glad you’re here, Honor. What the pack needs and what you need are both valid.”
I opened my eyes, wishing I could see in the dark like he could. Instead, I inhaled cinnamon. Focused on the whisper of breath on my forehead as he pulled me in closer.
“We’ll deal with Carl together,” he promised. “And, when the issue of heirs arises, we’ll figure out another way through the swamp.”