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We slow down as Memphis leads us up a steep incline. With the weight of our packs, it’s tough to scramble up rocks, no matter how in shape we are.
Finally, Memphis stops at the top of a hill. It lets us survey the landscape ahead and sniff around for anything unusual. The breeze shifts, and we all pause in place. I can see Denver’s nostrils flare—I know they’ve both caught the same scents I have.
The first is welcome. It’s Brooklyn, her wildflower aroma even more delicious now than it was last night, which means she’s probably getting close to starting her heat. We’re finally getting close to her.
I’d fist pump in celebration if I didn’t smell the smoke.
“You were right, Memphis,” Denver says dryly. “Something’s on fire.”
Memphis growls. “I hate being right.”
There’s no more talk between us now. We save our breath to move even faster. Memphis leads us upwind of the fire and toward Brooklyn.
I’m practically drooling from her exquisite scent by the time we find her shelter. It’s small and simple—clearly, she was prioritizing camouflage over comfort. The pine boughs covering its A-frame make it practically disappear into the park around it. If this were any other situation, I’d take some time to walk around and observe the habitat she created. You can tell a lot about a person based on their home, especially when they build it themselves.
But right now, I’m not capable of thinking about much of anything. My attention is solely focused on one beautiful, sobbing woman.
Our Omega’s waiting, just inside.
TWELVE
—
B R O O K L Y N
I didn’t hear them coming. My teeth are chattering so hard, I can barely hear the booming thunder, let alone the Alphas’ footsteps. By the time I can hear their muffled voices outside, I can’t possibly run anymore. I’ve only got one card left to play.
The pain was bad enough, but my fever’s risen so high that it’s hard to think about anything else. One minute, I’d feel burning hot, sweating, and so sensitive that even the soft surface of my T-shirt quilt was agony against my bare skin. The next minute, I’d be wracked with shakes, feeling like I was naked in a glacially cold winter. My body was incapable of finding equilibrium.
Desperate to relieve the agony, I managed to drag myself to my stream. The icy water provided some temporary relief, but it also washed away the remnants of the mud I used to hide my scent. I tried to reapply it, but my sensitive skin couldn’t bear to have anything coating it to keep the heat inside.
When I made it back to my bed, there was nothing to disguise my scent. I had to hope my shelter walls could contain the smell.
I can’t run and I can’t hide. Which leaves me just one, desperate option.
Fight.
Part of me wishes I’d taken Denver’s rifle, but I balked in the end. It felt more violent somehow.
Memphis was right—the crossbow was almost too heavy for me to draw. Almost. It took nearly half an hour to notch even one arrow, and it’s a miracle I even managed that. My fingers are tender and bleeding from all my failed attempts to draw the bow back. Once I fire, I won’t have the strength to notch another.
I’ve got one shot.
Somebody pulls back the tarp I use as a door, and dark, broad silhouettes appear. They sway in place, blending into and separating from each other. I see three men, then five, then one. Fuck, my fever has me seeing double.
I can still see how they recoil when the full force of my scent hits them.
“Jesus Christ,” one of them growls. Memphis, I think.
They say something to each other, but I can’t make it out. My teeth have started chattering again. I can’t tell what’s more upsetting to them, my scent or the crossbow I’ve got aimed right at them.
One of them lifts their hands in surrender then crouches. My heart swells in my chest as I catch his metal and peppercorn scent.
“It’s okay,” Denver whispers. Yesterday, he was harsh and commanding. But now, he’s soft. He moves slowly toward me, and his handsome face swims into focus. There’s kindness in the soft set of his mouth, but his hazel eyes are another story. They’re all raw, feral hunger. Hunger for me.
I whimper helplessly at him, and he closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath, then lets it out so slowly. When he looks at me again, his gaze is cool and controlled. Like he forced himself to stop before the hunger took him over.
Good thing he’s able to stop himself. Because now, I know I can’t. If any of these men offers me their knot, I won’t resist. I’ll lie back and let them take what they want, let them give me what I need.
