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I pull back and thrust. Hard. Deep. The sound of our bodies meeting is obscene, wet, slapping, raw. She meets every thrust with her hips, her nails raking down my back, and I know she's drawing blood. I don't care. I want her marks on me. I want to wear them.

"Mine," I snarl. "You're mine."

"Yours." Her voice breaks. "Always. In every life. Yours."

I thrust into her harder. The bedroll shifts beneath us. The tent pole rattles. I can feel my orgasm building at the base of my spine, my balls swell, but I hold it back. Not yet. Not until she...

Her pussy clamps down on me. She screams my name, her whole body going rigid, and I let go. I bury myself to the hilt and come inside her, my cock pulsing, filling her. The bond snaps into place, that golden thread between us, taut and unbreakable, and I collapse on top of her, still inside her, still hard.

Her hands find my hair. Gentle now. Stroking.

"You're here," she says again.

"I'm here."

Outside, the morning continues. Birds. Wind through the pines. The distant sound of the pack stirring. And somewhere, deep in my chest, my wolf curls up and rests for the first time in years.

Arlene's fingers trace patterns on my back. I don't know what she's drawing. I don't ask. I just breathe her in, apple cinnamon, sex, home, and close my eyes.

I roll over, I’m on my back. Arlene is curled against my side, her head on my chest, taking in my scent, her fingers tracing slow circles over my sternum. Her leg is thrown across mine. Her breath is warm against my collarbone.

I can feel her heartbeat through her ribs against my side. Steady. Strong.

“We’re leaving.” Her mindlink arrives without preamble, carrying none of the softness of the body lying against mine. Her mental voice is clear and certain and absolutely immovable. “If you choose to stay, you’ll be staying alone. The pups and I are leaving.”

I turn my head to look at her. I press my lips to her forehead. Hold them there. Breathe her in. “When do we leave?”

Her fingers stop moving. She lifts her head from my chest and looks at me, and her eyes are wide and searching, I smirk.

“Tonight,” she sends back.

I nod once. “Tonight.”

“We don’t tell the pups,” I add. “Not about... any of it. Not about the plan.”

*****

Candice returns our pups just after noon from the normal walk with the other rogue pups. I feel uneasy, but we can’t make anyone suspicious of us. I’m sitting outside the tent, mending a strap on my pack with a length of cord. Arlene is beside me, sorting through a basket of dried herbs, her movements casual, unhurried.

“Daddy! Mommy!” Damian comes tearing around the corner of the supply tent, Darlene close behind. Darlene launches herself into Arlene’s lap. Damian crashes into my side hard enough to make me grunt.

“Miss Candice took us to the creek!” Damian announces, breathless. “She showed us how to skip stones! I got one to skip three times!”

“Four!” Darlene corrects, bouncing on Arlene’s knee. “It was four, Damian, I counted! It’s the same age as me.”

Arlene laughs, warm, easy, the laugh of a mother who hasn’t spent the morning planning an escape. “Four skips! That’s incredible. Miss Candice must be an excellent teacher.”

Candice rounds the corner at that exact moment, her smile already in place... “They were wonderful,” she says. “Damian has a real arm on him.”

“He gets it from his father.” Arlene smiles up at her, easy and open. “Thank you, Candice. Truly. We’ve been needing a quiet morning.”

“Of course.” Her eyes move to me.

“We appreciate it more than you know.” I set down the pack strap and stand, extending my hand. Her grip is firm. Practiced. “We’re going to keep them close for the next few days for some family time.”

“Of course,” she says again. “You know where to find me.” We watch her go. Arlene is already reaching for Darlene’s hair, smoothing it back, her hands steady.

You were right about her, I send, once Candice’s footsteps have faded. She can’t be trusted.