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“So what now?” Camden asks, sounding chipper. I hate his stupid voice.
“We go north,” Denver says. “Mountain range to the west, fire to the east and moving south. We’ve got to get around it.”
Normally, a mountain wouldn’t be an insurmountable roadblock, but we can all see that Brooklyn’s in no condition to climb. Even if it brings us further from our destination, going north is the smart option.
“You have everything?” Denver asks Brooklyn.
Camden holds up his pack. “She put what she wants in here.”
I loathe that he’s the one carrying her supplies instead of me. Freaking over-the-top Camden. Later, I’ll remember that I actually kind of like the guy. But right now, my jealousy just keeps saying, fuck him.
Brooklyn pauses, then ducks back into her shelter. She returns with my crossbow in her hand. She looks a little guilty as she hands it back to me. I make sure to smile when I take it from her.
“Thanks,” I tell her softly.
Her cheeks turn pink, and the jealous monster inside me purrs with satisfaction. I made her blush.
When she steps away from me, I see Camden and Denver let out a visual sigh of relief, which makes me bristle. They don’t trust me with her. I know her scent has affected me more than them, but what do they think I’m going to do, jump on her, tear her clothes off, and knot her right in front of them? Yeah, I might have been thinking about doing exactly that a few minutes ago, but they don’t know that.
“Let’s get going,” Denver orders. This time, he leads the way, Camden following him with Brooklyn just behind. I strap my crossbow on the top of my backpack and bring up the rear. In front of me, Brooklyn looks back at her shelter wistfully. It breaks my heart—she’s not just enduring a heat with three strange Alphas, she’s also leaving her home behind.
Because the shelter is home for her. Technically, we’re bringing her back to her house, but I get it—sometimes, I feel like my real home is under the stars.
We make good time at the beginning. Lightning crackles occasionally, reminding us that the storm hasn’t passed yet, but the smell of smoke from the fire is getting weaker. We’re going in the direction we need to go. Brooklyn occasionally peeks back at me, like she’s keeping track of me. Clearly, she doesn’t trust me yet. I just respond with a friendly quirk of my lips.
Trust takes time to build. I’ve got nothing but time to do that.
After an hour or so, Brooklyn’s movements slow. I can tell by the way she hunches her shoulders that the pain’s started again.
“Need some pain reliever?” I ask.
She looks back at me, eyes wide with surprise. I wonder if it’s from me noticing her pain, or from me finally being civil with her. Ahead of us, I see the other guys stop.
“Yes, thank you,” Brooklyn says, extending a hand.
I take my pack off and find the bottle, pouring two pills into my hand. I pass it to her with my water bottle. When my fingers graze hers, she doesn’t pull back.
Progress.
Denver and Camden, on the other hand, practically jump when we get close enough to touch. Their suspicion is getting old pretty fucking fast. They don’t want me anywhere near her, but they better get used to it. Because she’s finally giving me signs that she could trust me, and I have no intention of letting her go.
She passes the water bottle back, but I hold up my hand.
“Keep it. You should rehydrate.”
This time Brooklyn doesn’t thank me, but she doesn’t need to. Her blue and brown eyes practically glow with gratitude. It should cheer me up, but instead it irritates me. Is she so desperate for the smallest speck of kindness? Why does offering her some water make her look like she’s never been given something so beautiful in her life?
She sips while we walk but doesn’t speak. I know it’s been a while since she was around people, but my instincts tell me this is more than that. Brooklyn only speaks when she has something to say. A lot like me. But I wish she wasn’t, because for once, I actually want to listen to someone. I want to know everything about her—what makes her happy? Does she have hopes for her life outside of this forest? Does she even want to leave?
When I first saw her picture, I suspected she was sad, defeated, even. And I want to know why.
So I decide to do something I haven’t tried doing in a long time.
I’m going to attempt to make small talk.
I take a few steps forward so I’m walking beside her. I keep a few feet between us, so she doesn’t spook at my proximity. Her full lips are pursed when she glances over at me.
“Do you know how long you’ve been out here?” I ask.
