THORN
The pelt is itching my inner thigh again. I adjust it for the third time and scowl. I’ll never understand this part of the ceremonies. We live naked. We hunt naked. We fight naked. Yet once a year, the priests decide this is necessary.
While I understand the use, it’s about resourcefulness and ingenuity. It’s my least favorite part of this whole charade. The males always choose some form of pelt to show their aggressiveness and ability to hunt. The bigger the animal, the better the pelt. I’ve always found a mountain lion or a bear venturing farther and farther each time. This time, I’ve chosen something…different.
The looks start immediately. I ignore them, prowling through the cheese and berry platter on the buffet table instead. Moonlight spills across the stone floor as clouds drift lazily across the sky, casting shadows that move like living things.
“Interesting pelt, Thorn,” a female voice cuts through the night.
I turn. A short brunette greets me in a short dress of moss that is conveniently missing moss in certain places, and is tighter around others. “Ingrid. How was Maine? Cold?”
“Not colder than Alaska.” She snickers.
I can’t believe that a few years ago I’d even wasted my time talking to her. She smells like pine, which is familiar. But now knowing how a mate’s scent is supposed to make someone react, I realize how desperate I was. “Back so soon, what happened?”
“Well, you of all people should know treetop living is not for everyone. The humans are cutting down more and more trees, I didn’t like living that way. After two seasons, Jasper couldn’t produce offspring, so I’m back. I have a feeling you and I could produce some offspring.”
“Unlikely,” I deadpan.
“Are you telling me that Alpha seed isn’t producing?”
“I’m saying, this seed belongs to someone else.”
“Oh, do tell?”
As if she could sense I was talking to another female, a flash of red hair passes the double arched doors. The breath fades from my lungs. I take back everything I said about this ceremony. We should one hundred percent be made to wear whatever the hell that is. If only so I can rip it off … with my teeth.
I take a step forward of my own accord.
“The virgin?” Ingrid snorts. “Seriously?”
But I’m already leaving her behind and walking directly toward my mate. Ember’s fox red hair is pinned up, leaving her neck bare and biteable. Her torso is covered with river reeds sown side by side to form a corset-type bodice with her two broken seashell halves at the top, which pulls her perfect breasts up high. The skirt of the ensemble is tons of tendrils of ivy draping off her luscious hips. With every step, her bare legpops out. I’ve seen her legs before, I’ve even beenbetweenthem, but this … this is erotic.
“Ember … I …”
“Is that a fox?” She laughs, interrupting me as she points to the pelt at my hip.
“I …” I stammer. I’d completely forgotten all about it when I saw her. “Yes.”
“It’s not very Alpha-like of you. Shouldn’t you have fought a bear or something for my honor?”
“I didn’t fight this at all.”
“I should hope not. If you can’t handle a tiny little fox then …” she stops, realizing more eyes are drifting toward us.
“Ididn’t kill it at all.”
“Well, it’s not still alive, is it?” she whispers, moving closer to me.
“No. It’s something I saw being buried the day I arrived.”
“Oh,” she pauses before her mouth gapes open, “this isn’t … this isn’t the fox I …”
I nod.
“Why?” she shoots, standing ramrod straight before leaning in and whispering, “Why would you dig that up?”
I reach out and tuck a loose tendril of hair behind her ear, “It reminded me of you.”
