"No you don't."
"I'm reconsidering."
She pulls back, grinning despite the exhaustion. "Come find me tomorrow. We'll talk."
"About anything except this."
"We'll see."
Then Keer is there, one hand on her shoulder, steering her away. He doesn't look at me. His shoulders are rigid.
I watch them go. The back of his neck above the tunic collar—
Have I not learned my lesson yet?
"Human."
Dara's waiting, eyebrow raised.
"Melori." I hitch the basket higher on my hip. "My name's Melori."
"I know what your name is." She walks. "This way."
We're halfway up a ridge—steep, my calves burning, basket banging against my hip with every step—before Dara glances back at me.
"You really had no idea."
"About what?"
She just looks at me.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"It happens." She doesn't slow down. "The scent thing. It's just biology."
"So I've been told. By Kestria. Just now. While I was dying."
"You're not dead yet."
"The night is young."
She snorts.
"We can't control the scent—it's just what the body does. But we learn not to let ourselves feel that way. Not around him." She glances back again. "You don't look at the Alpha like that. You don't let your mind go there."
"And I didn't know that."
"You didn't know anything." Not cruel. "You looked at him. Really looked. And you didn't know to stop yourself before—" She gestures vaguely.
"Before I announced my—" I can't finish the sentence. My free hand finds my bag strap and twists. "Fantastic. 'Hello, I'm Melori, please enjoy knowing exactly what I think of your leader while I stand here holding a pink chicken.'"
"No one's going to kill you for it."
"That's really not the comfort you think it is."
"Wasn't trying to comfort you." But her mouth twitches. "No one's done that around him in years."
I stop walking. "What?"
