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Her nod was slow.
“She’ll be an excellent hostess.”
Her father stood taller. “Most definitely.”
That thoughtful noise came again before one final praise. When they turned to leave, her mother let out a relieved breath. However, they weren’t yet out of earshot when Thatcher glanced over his shoulder at her, considering her a final time before saying to her father, “You know, it’s been a while since I took a mate.”
Her father didn’t respond before they began discussing pack business and finally, finally, left the kitchen.
But by then, it was too late.
Numb, Vivian flexed her fingers, attempting to feel her digits again.
Terrified, her mother looked at her. She forced a smile and said, “We should start serving the hot food.”
Really? Really, Mom? But what did she expect from the woman who let her husband hit both of them simply because they’d been born with a vagina rather than a penis?
Her stomach rolled. “I need a minute.”
“Don’t take too long.” Leaning forward, she whispered, “You don’t want to draw further attention.”
Through watery eyes, she nodded, though they both knew the truth. Thatcher noticed her, and if he decided he wanted to mate her, it was as good as done.
Fleeing the kitchen, in the opposite direction her father and Thatcher had gone, Vivian burst into the sunshine, practically gulping fresh air.
She didn’t know where to go or what to do, so she walked as fast as she could in the opposite direction of the festivities. She looked behind her, searching for Thatcher or her father, petrified that either would come to sentence her to a future of rape and manipulation.
Her focus was so intense, her fear and panic so strong, she didn’t notice where she was going and hit something solid, bouncing backward.
“Whoa!” A man’s hands grabbed her to keep her from falling.
Swinging her attention forward, she sighed in relief before tossing herself into his arms, tears flowing freely. “Rafe!”
“Vivian?” His arms closed around her, giving her some measure of security, but the hug ended too quickly. Gently holding her away from him, he looked her over. “Are you okay? Hurt? What happened?”
Shaking and hiccupping, she clapped a hand over her mouth.
His gaze sharpened, taking in their surroundings, looking for a threat, before focusing on her. “What’s wrong?”
From between her fingers, she breathed. “He noticed me.”
Squeezing her eyes shut only allowed for more tears to flow down her cheeks. Before Rafe could ask, she strained to compose herself. “Thatcher. He noticed me.”
“Noticed you how?” His voice was low.
“He knows I’m really the one who put this event together. He touched my hair.” She trembled. “He asked my dad if I was going to the Curusm. Asked if I was pure.”
Rafe’s jaw clenched. “Okay, we can handle this. It’ll be okay.”
“When they were leaving,” she said between breaths, “he told my dad he hasn’t had a mate in a long time. Like he’s considering it. Considering me!”
His jaw flexed. “Fuuuck.” The word was drawn out between clenched teeth.
His reaction confirming her fears. This wasn’t good. I think I’m going to be sick.
Watching his face, she tried to quell the tidal wave that rose in the pit of her stomach.
Slow breaths flared his nostrils as he stared blankly over her shoulder. His gaze, his mind, was a million miles away as his fingers clenched and unclenched on her shoulder.
