Page 16

ROWAN

I could barely keep my eyes open. I looked at my sleep app on my phone. It was the third time I’ve looked, but this time, I’d commit the statistics to memory.

Four hours of sleep, broken up by shifting my position every twenty minutes.

I swiped the screen and studied the last month and a half.

Similar results, but the pattern was broken by nights where I was so exhausted that I fell unconscious as soon as my head hit the pillow.

Those nights were too few to be restful or healthy.

“Maybe we should get out of the apartment for a few nights?” I looked at Tracker, my Australian shepherd. He looked at me and tilted his head. He was trying to be a good boy, but the way his eyes darted back to my plate showed that he was more interested in my sandwich than what I was saying.

I pulled my chain out from under my shirt and took it off. The necklace was weighed down by the small glass vial that hung from it. Dried clovers rested in the vial, and it was all sealed with wax and resin.

“What do you say?” I dangled the necklace from my index and pinky finger. “North?”

The vial didn’t move.

“South?”

Nothing. Some divining pendulum this was.

“East?”

Maybe a slight twirl, but I could have imagined it.

“West?”

It wasn’t that I believed in divination, it was just that I was desperate. And exhausted.

“ South west?“ I suggested with a crack in my voice. Again, the vial didn’t move. I rolled my eyes. “What, should I just stay here?”

Tracker suddenly jumped to his feet, alert and barking.

Startled, I looked in the direction that Tracker was so focused on.

I saw her stagger into the road on unsteady legs.

She was going to get herself killed. The sound of a frantic car horn screamed over the traffic and my dog’s equally frantic barks.

I launched from my little patio table, spilling my soda all over my sandwich in the process, and flung myself in her direction just as another car was coming towards her.

I gathered her up in my arms, spun so that if the car was going to hit anyone, it was going to hit me, and managed to get us both back onto the curb before any harm came to anybody.

Tracker trotted up, all sniffles and tongue flicks, doing his best to comfort us.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

She peeked up from my chest, a sheen of sweat on her brow. Her big blue eyes seemed to be having trouble focusing.

“I…”

Those intense blue eyes rolled back and she fell into unconsciousness there in my embrace.

She fainted. Probably from all the excitement, or maybe the heat.

I lifted her into my arms and returned to the cafe, but sat at a new, clean table.

I lowered her into a chair and asked for cold water, which a server promptly provided.

Taking off my coat, I folded it up, then tugged her chair closer, so she could rest her head on my shoulder, using my jacket as a pillow.

It was the only bit of comfort I could provide.

Tracker rested his chin on her thigh, his eyes shifting from her face to mine and back.

“Good boy,” I said, before my interest drifted back to the unconscious woman.

“Who are you?” I whispered. I didn’t want to search for a wallet or anything, that seemed creepy, but I was endlessly curious about who she was.

Her long reddish-gold hair had fallen aside and I spotted part of a row of three bite marks. She was claimed. Was that a good thing, or bad? Was she running from an abusive pack? Was she lost?

Her scent was familiar, and nostalgic. Freshly picked blueberries in baskets in a kitchen, vases filled with bluebells perched on windowsills. It was soothing somehow. She smelled like home.

I fished some ice cubes from the water, wrapped them in the fabric napkin and held it to the back of her neck in an effort to cool her down and maybe wake her up.

Ambulance. I should call an ambulance. Just as I finished the thought, her eyes fluttered open. She focused on the table, then on me.

“Oh,” she sat up, and leaned away from me. She jumped as Tracker licked her hand, then reached behind her neck just as I was withdrawing the compress. Our hands brushed against one another. She blushed. I cleared my throat.

“You fainted.” It was all I could think to say. “My name is Rowan. That’s Tracker. You’re safe.”

She looked around, taking stock of her surroundings.

“Where am I?” she asked.

“A little cafe on the pier,” I told her, and watched as she hugged my jacket to her chest. “What’s your name?”

She looked around again, probably getting her bearings. “Skye,” she said, returning her gaze to me. “Skye Heller. Is my pack here?”

“I haven’t seen them.” I flagged down the waitress to pour a fresh water for Skye, and she did. I nudged it toward her. “Drink.”

Skye hesitated, but picked up the glass of cold, crystal clear water, and swallowed a few sips. Then a few more, her body craving the refreshment. Dehydration probably contributed to her passing out. Soon, the glass was empty except for the crowd of ice cubes.

“Do you live far from here?” I asked.

“No,” Skye said.

“Are you safe?” I asked.

She hugged my jacket a little tighter and her eyes seemed to grow bigger and brighter. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you were running, almost got hit by a car. Were you in danger? From your pack, maybe?”

She blushed and her eyes widened. “No, my pack is wonderful. I just…” she hesitated. “Even good relationships have their hurdles. It’s nothing.”

I studied her carefully, but she didn’t seem hurt or afraid, just embarrassed about the entire situation, how she unwittingly dragged a stranger into her personal drama.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” I offered.

“That’s not necessary.” Skye swallowed. “And, I don’t think I’m strong enough to walk back yet. I don’t have my phone. Can I borrow yours to call one of my alphas to pick me up?”

I pulled my phone from my back jeans pocket. “What if I called you a rideshare?”

“I don’t have my wallet,” Skye said.

“It’s on me,” I offered, already pulling up the app.

“That’s very kind of you, um, Rowan, was it? I’ll pay you back. Oh, you can add me on Packspace.”

“I don’t have Packspace,” I said.

She blinked and looked at me like I suddenly started speaking a different language. “Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll find a way to pay you back, anyway.”

“Tomorrow,” I said. “We can meet back here.”

“Alright.”

“The car should be here any minute,” I told Skye.

“So, what do you do, Rowan?” Skye asked, passing the time by making conversation.

“I’m just a barista over at Fair Grounds,” I answered. “Tragically boring and mundane.”

Skye grinned. “At least you have a job. I’m basically a homebody,” she giggled. “No, that’s not fair. I love being a traditional omega. Besides, I’ve been sick, so I couldn’t hold down a job right now even if I wanted to. That’s why I passed out,” she explained.

“Sick?” I didn’t want to pry. “I hope you get better. You look better already.”

A new dusting of pink blossomed on her fair cheeks. “I feel better,” she said.

A white car pulled up and my phone buzzed. “That’s your ride.”

Skye rose from her seat. “Thank you for everything, Rowan. I really appreciate it.” She ruffled Tracker’s marbled scruff in farewell, spending way more time on his goodbye than mine. I couldn’t blame her, Tracker was the best boy.

She walked toward the car, then spun to face me. “Oh.” Realizing that she was still hugging my jacket, she held it out to me.

“Give it back to me tomorrow,” I said.

Skye gifted me a shy smile and nodded, pressing the jacket to her chest. She got in the car, and I watched through the rear passenger window, how she lowered her face to my jacket, and inhaled my scent as the car drove off.