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He meantSterling.
“Yes, Alpha,” I murmured, heading for the doorway. At least he hadn’t told me to strip the clothes off myself and burn them.
Searle would be telling me that.
I pushed open the bedroom door. Stepped inside. Closed it. Sorted through the wash of scents: mine and Searle’s, laundry, fresh sheets, the slight scent coming through the half-open window that let in the cool spring night air. Then the golden glow of his nightstand light, which also illuminated him, in bed, reading a book. Not sure what he was reading, because he wasn’t reading a dead-tree book. He preferred e-books. He and I could agree on that.
The spikes under my heels drove dull daggers of discomfort through the bone into my ankles. It reminded me I was still alive.
Words failed. I tried again. Lost the will to do anything but stand as he took in my undyed hair and clothing. I’d come back as Winter. I needed to get changed.
He didn’t move beyond raising his gaze—which included minimal head movement—to acknowledge my arrival.
I stepped out of my heels. Went to hang my bags in the closet. I’d unpack later. Or maybe never. Why would I ever need this stuff again? Why hadn’t I told Hamid to get rid of it?
I pulled the jeweler’s box out of my satchel. Didn’t open it. Set it on my nightstand.
“What is that?” Searle asked, shifting under the bedclothes to reach for it, his scent blooming into anger. Real anger. Jealousy. Resentment.
It all hit like a dozen small hammers. “Not what you think. It’s what I went to find. I’ll show you once I… change.”
…change back into Summer.
Into the shower. Reach for the spare box of hair dye.
Sat on the edge of the tub while the dye sank in, letting everything else sink in too.
I hadn’t thought what goodbye would feel like. Or goodbye without a solid layer offuck you, he’ll winanger providing padding.
My side ached. My fingers danced. And my silver scar throbbed with a sharp, stinging pain like I was being cut over and over and over again.
I stared at the tile floor. No sobs. Just tears.
You can go. I’ll be fine.
You can go. I’ll be fine.
And he’d went.
Searle was waiting with his book when I emerged with my hair dyed Summer-brown. I got into bed next to him. It was warm. Smelled of him. No one else. I tucked myself onto my side and snuggled into the blankets.
The grief ocean was wide, vast, and very deep.
You can go. I’ll be fine.
Searle turned off the light and kept reading.
* * *
It was a beautiful spring day.Warm. Sunny. The trees had burst into full greenery while I’d been gone, and they swayed and danced in the wind blowing off the mountain. The hillside and the valley below had erupted ingreen, dotted with white and yellow flowers, but so many shades of spectacular green. The warm, grass-and-sun-scented air flowed through the open window, carrying with it the scent of flowers, grass, hatched bird eggs, small prey, and the various AmberHowl wolves.
Searle buttoned up his shirt. “Tell me about this box.”
I held out a hand.
He picked it up off the nightstand and placed it in my palm. Still staring out the window, I cracked open the box. “Don’t touch it. It’s fragile.”
I didn’t know if it was fragile or not. Hadn’t figured out how to open the crystal, despite there being those tiny hinges.
