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My work in Cupid’s Pack isn’t meant for recognition. I do what I do because it’s what’s right. Nothing more, nothing less. But between Willem, and now Otto, I’m starting to realize the help I’ve given isn’t as private as I assumed. I had no idea I had a reputation. At least not one that was already spreading through shifter society.
Even though it’s a positive one, I still feel awkward from the hint of praise in Otto’s tone. Silence stretches between our group, and I can feel the weight of the men’s stares on me as I smile uncomfortably at Otto.
“I’m sure you all need some rest before we begin.” Otto mercifully changes the subject after a too-long moment. “I’ll show you to the beds we’ve set up for you and have your dinner brought to you for tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll see what you can do and how I can be of help.”
After we thank him, he walks us a few minutes away to the opposite side of their set-up. Large buildings dot the landscape, interspersed with outdoor training facilities and fighting rings. Every now and then, I catch sight of another shifter, but we move too quickly through the grounds for me to take much in. He points the men to a bunkhouse and then me to a small cabin across from it.
I get butterflies in my stomach at the idea of being housed alone—and not in a good way. I’ve spent two weeks surrounded by my men, being separated, even just a little bit, feels bad. Wrong. Potentially unsafe.
“I’m sorry that we don’t have space to accommodate all of you in one place,” Otto says, possibly reading into my expression. “We only have the one private cabin at the moment.”
“This is great, thank you,” Mason assures him as his hand returns to the small of my back, rubbing small circles against my tense muscles. He carries himself well, I’m realizing. There’s an air of diplomacy about him that screams Alpha blood.
Not for the first time since we left the Cross Mountain Pack, I wonder if I’m making the wrong choice by allowing him to continue to travel with me. It’s obvious that he was born to be an Alpha; I don’t honestly know what the heck he’s doing here with me instead. Not when there aretwopacks that could benefit from his leadership.
Mason waits until Otto excuses himself to take care of dinner arrangements before he drops his hand and spins to face me. I can feel the other men shuffling just behind me as he pins me with a hard stare.
“What?” I ask defensively.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re wondering why I’m here.” A muscle twitches in his cheek, his eyes narrowing as he stares down at me, the minute annoyance clear in the way he clenches his jaw.
Once again the pendulum of my guilt swings, and I feel guilty now for doubting his intentions. He’s here because he wants to be, not because I pressured him. If anything, I’ve given him too many chances to walk away. The first few days after we left his dad’s place I asked him no less than a dozen times if he wanted to go back or go home to his mom’s pack.
And he doesn’t like it, so don’t even think about asking again,my wolf warns unnecessarily. I have no intention of asking again.
Mason tugs on my ponytail playfully, his face lightening up. My heart thunders in my chest as he smirks at me. “Go put your stuff away and we’ll be over soon. Just because we’re not sleeping together doesn’t mean we’re letting you eat dinner alone.”
He leans in for a quick kiss, cupping my cheek gently before stepping away. I squeal when he swats at my butt, and I spin to watch him approaching the others, shoulders shaking with amusement. I watch for a minute as they walk toward their assigned bunkhouse before turning and walking toward my space for the time being.
I consider sneaking at least one of the guys in for the night until I see the size of the studio space inside the cabin. There’s only a twin-sized bed and a couple of stiff-looking chairs.
I’m really on my own for the night, I realize. It’s the first time I’ll have slept alone since meeting the twins. Something inside of me feels hollow, but I push it away and force myself to stay productive.
I tuck my bag away under the bed and snoop around the small space until the guys arrive, Otto arriving shortly behind them with another man who helps deliver dinner to us.
We eat outside between the bunkhouse and the cabin, listening to the sounds of other people going about their lives on the grounds. A few people look at us curiously as they pass us to head into the bunkhouse, but no one stops to talk. Part of me aches for the comforts of pack life, of being surrounded by a group of shifters you’re connected to that treat you like a member of an extended family. And not for the first time, I find myself missing what I can’t have just yet.
As I watch another set of shifters pass, eyeing us with curiosity but not stopping to engage us, I find myself wondering if Otto let anyone know we were coming or told them why. I’m not sure how much Mason told the man.
It’s actually kind of nice to enjoy quiet time with my guys without feeling pressured to stay on the move or stay vigilant. No one can sneak up on us here.
It isn’t until I’m alone later in my small cabin that restlessness sets in.
I kick my feet over the side of the twin bed and sit for a moment, trying to place where the weird feeling in my stomach is coming from. I have the sensation in the back of my head that I’m forgetting something, but I can’t fathom what. I wrack my brain as I stand.
Pacing the small studio space, I try to make myself remember whatever the hell it is my brain is prickling about until my eyes fall on my bag, and I almost tumble over my feet when I stop suddenly. The overwhelming urge to hold my heart stone hits me, and I drop to my knees to dig my bag out from under the bed.
When I pick the heart stone up, I realize why. It wants to tell me something. But the problem with these stones is that they only communicate onfeeling.If only it could actually speak to me instead of setting off strange feelings that I always have to sort out on my own. It isn’t always easy, but I usually get there in the end.
The stone seems to be guiding me out of the cabin, though. I push my bag—with Arielle’s heart stone still inside—back under the bed and abandon the relative safety of my cabin.
Everything is eerily quiet outside as I pad barefoot across the training grounds, following my heart stone’s directions as it heats up in my hands to tell me when I’m going the way it wants me to.
Demanding little rock, my wolf snips.
