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“I’ve got it, baby.” He clutches my bag tighter as if he’s worried I’ll try to snatch it away. With the worry sitting heavily in my stomach, I’m afraid he’s not completely wrong.
“Ian, let me carry it,” I tell him in a low, serious tone.
He studies me for a moment, taking in what I hope is an imploring look in my eyes, and hands it over grudgingly. “Okay, but tell me if you want me to take it back at some point.”
“I will, promise.” We’re getting close to Axis Training Co., the compound we’ve been slowly picking our way toward, and I want to have my heart stones in my own possession. Something about the idea of being in a new place, with the promise of unknown shifters, puts me on edge.
After the two weeks we’ve spent getting here, I trust my guys implicitly, but there’s something making me hesitant to stop in a new place that’s crawling with so many unfamiliar shifters. Sure, I trust the guys and I know they would never willingly allow my things to be taken, but I don’t trust them more than I trust myself. Especially when I still haven’t found it in myself to tell them exactly what the heart stones mean just yet. I’m not hesitating, per se, but I have a feeling I’ll just…knowwhen it’s the right time to show them. Trusting my gut is key.
And I have to admit that these past days have done wonders for me, helping me regain my confidence in myself. I wasn’t sure if I would trust my gut again, but spending whole days in wolf form helped clear that up for me. I feel closer to my true self when I spend more time with my wolf, and my instincts are as sharp as ever.
I don’t need to glance over my shoulder to know that Mason stalks behind us. A shiver runs down my spine as he moves up to a protective position at my side, fingers glancing over the small of my back.
Ian walks beside me still, hand reaching toward me every few steps. Like he’s drawn to me. Or a half-second away from wrestling my bag away from me again. It’s cute that he wants to take care of me, really. I reach for his hand, entwining our fingers and squeezing gently as I stare ahead of us while the oppressive summer heat bears down on me. I use my free hand to wipe the sweat from my forehead as I glance toward Willem.
He walks slightly in front of our small group. He shared that he’s never seen a large shifter training ground like where we’re headed, having come from a more remote part of the world and heading almost single-mindedly toward Cupid’s Pack land. I think it’s his curiosity that leads him.
We turn onto the last road and there it is, looming ahead of us with multi-story buildings spread out around the area blocking the immediate horizon. A metal gate with barbed wire on top surrounds the entire property, a gate awaiting us at the end of the road. It looks like a prison. My stomach drops, and I must hesitate because Mason applies a little more pressure to the small of my back.
“Don’t worry,” he says, nudging me ahead as I slow. “I called in some favors, and they know we’re coming.”
“Good,” I breathe. It doesn’t actually do anything to soothe me. Like Willem, I’ve never seen anything like this up close. Arielle showed me pictures once when someone from my graduating class went to a similar place to train, but it somehow didn’t seem as cold as this one does as we approach.
Instinctively, I pull my hand from Ian’s and wrap both of mine around the strap of my bag, clutching it tight as we close the distance toward the barbed-wire topped fence.
A giant of a man meets us at the gate. His eyes are hard and dark, and his hair is buzzed close to his skull. An unexpected line of ear piercings catches my eye, and I almost stall as I take in his imposing form. Muscles bulge beneath his sweat-stained shirt, and his bronze, toned arms flex as he crosses them over his chest.
“Mason Stiles.” Mason steps forward and holds his hand out to the man. He doesn’t seem the least bit intimidated despite the fact that the man looks like he could bench press Mason and Ian at the same time, without breaking a sweat.
The man mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like Tire.
What did he just say his name is?Willem asks across mind link. He glances over at me, brows arching toward his hairline, and I twitch one shoulder in the slightest shrug.
I’m pretty sure he said his name is Tire. Like… a car tire.Ian’s so amused that he clears his throat to poorly cover a chuckle. Still, the feeling of his body shaking as he presses against my side is hard to miss.
The mirth is enough to help my shoulders relax, and I even loosen my grip on my bag so that my fingers aren’t painfully tense. I’m sure the guy’s name isn’t actually Tire, but none of us ask him to repeat it.
“This way.” Tire-the-giant unlatches the gate and holds it open for us. “Keep walking that way.” He points vaguely ahead and maybe a little to the right.
“Thank you,” I tell him politely when we pass. He looks down at me with a blank expression, so I smile wider at him.Kill them with kindness.My wolf approves of the tactic.
I turn my head to watch him, and I swear the guy’s lips twitch slightly on one side even though it doesn’t turn into anything. At least there’s that.
We walk in the direction he pointed, and I can’t help but picture us as the Wizard of Oz characters walking the yellow brick road. I can only hope we have better luck with the man we’re coming to meet than they did.
Waiting at the end of the road is Otto Black, the person we’ve come to see. He strikes an imposing figure despite his age. His silver-streaked brown hair is pulled back, revealing hard-set green eyes. They narrow as we approach, weathered skin pulling taut as his mouth sets in a frown. Like Not-Tire at the gate, he crosses his muscled arms over his chest as we get closer.
“You arrived earlier than expected,” Otto notes, his first words to us.
Mason steps to the front again. “We stayed on the move overnight since there weren’t any good options to stop. Sorry for the change in plans, but thank you for allowing us to come.”
Otto bows his head slightly before his eyes roam over the rest of the group. “Of course.” His attention turns to me, the grim set of his mouth loosening as he considers me. After a moment, he speaks. “Quinn Cassidy, the Cupid’s Pack Luna.”
“I’m no Luna,” I correct him as I flush. My hands tighten around the strap of my bag again, and I fight the very real urge to twist in my spot as discomfort rips through me. “That would be my mom.”
“For now.” Otto sizes me up, and I force myself to stand still, meeting his hard gaze. “I’ve had some of your women come to train with me before.” I frown, confused, and he continues, something that could be mistaken for praise coloring his tone, “Women you’ve helped away from their mates. Several have come to me over the past few years hoping for help defending themselves just in case. They speak highly of what you’ve done for them.”
I can feel the guys staring at me, but I keep my eyes locked on Otto. I tuck some errant strands of hair behind my ear as I do my best to avoid their attention.
