Page 43

Anise, whose biped form is truly massive, carries Avery.

The first hour’s walk takes them from the hotel to Mackinac Beach.

From there, a deeply anxious Zuhr, accompanied by Beryl, hurries ahead to fetch her brother.

They both shift, and Sascha is surprised to see Zuhr’s bones crunch into the shape of a stooped lizard that looks very much like a meaner, spikier Komodo dragon.

Faster, too, judging by how she and Beryl take off down the road.

The walk from the beach is quiet. Sascha is restless, wishing he could be the one holding Avery despite Petra having forbidden it.

All the walking has already put him at risk of triggering another flare-up, and even though Avery looks weightless in Anise’s arms, Sascha wouldn’t have the stamina to do the same.

The fitness regimen he observed at the pack house kept Sascha in good enough shape to endure all the foot travel. He’d give credit to his father, but, well. Samuel disowned him. So he guesses he doesn’t have one anymore.

Another hour and a half takes them to the North Country Trailhead, where they meet up with Beryl, Zuhr, and her younger brother, Charlie, whom she sharply calls ‘ Charlesh ’ when he fails to properly demonstrate submission protocol upon meeting their new alpha.

The teenager has medium-length waves of black hair that partially cover his sullen expression.

Uncomfortable, Sascha tries to beg off, but Beryl shakes their head.

Explaining the way he and Avery plan to run the new pack can come later.

All three of the Wilderness pack defects are carrying heavy camping equipment.

Petra scowls when Sascha relieves Charlie of his share but doesn’t argue.

This is no situation for a kid to be stuck in, but they have no choice.

At the pace they’re moving, it should take another two hours of walking to reach the Madison pack lands, and out here, there’s no hope of finding transportation for eight people to spare them exhaustion.

When Avery wakes up, Petra takes one look at him and declares, with as much authority in her voice as any alpha, that they need to rest .

“There are no hotels out here,” Sascha says, but a snort from Beryl reminds him that his new packmates have been living nomadic on these parklands for years. Fortunately, no one verbally calls him on it. They simply start setting up camp, with the Wilderness pack members taking the lead.

It’s the first time Sascha has camped since his mom was alive, nights spent in the cave where he’d eventually hide his werecreature lover and future mate.

Or… They were already mated by then, weren’t they? They just didn’t know it yet.

Warmth heats Sascha’s chest while he helps set up a bare-bones camp.

Across the way, Avery is squirming on a stump, having been ordered not to do anything physical under pain of death.

When Sascha looks toward him, Avery is looking back with a curious expression, one hand pressed flat against his sternum.

Sascha smiles briefly, then returns to work.

There are only three tents to eight people—seven, once Anise states he won’t need his.

Zuhr and Charlie take their own tent, while Beryl and Petra, who seem to be bonding quickly, plan to take Anise's. Should Sascha be worried about them becoming evil besties and taking over the pack? Probably not. Petra hates making decisions other than medical ones. Beryl drags Sheridan to share the larger tent with Petra and themself, though the way Sheridan’s gaze lingers on Anise’s wide back doesn’t escape Sascha’s notice.

God, he’s going to have to pay attention to so many things from now on.

Everything from food, to sleep schedules, to— Fuck, heat cycles?

Making sure everyone’s safe during full moons.

Keeping conflicts to a minimum, internally and externally.

They sure as hell can’t be fielding mass assaults from rival packs every day, which means in addition to finding an affordable pack house, Sascha and Avery will have to ensure potential threats aren’t unmanageable, complicated further by their pack’s official mixed status.

As far as Sascha knows, no pack truly inclusive of both shifters and werecreatures currently exists in the public eye.

Celeste’s predatory manipulation was off-record, but still wouldn’t count.

The Wilderness werecreatures weren’t treated as equals—in this pack, they will be.

Sascha is still deep in thought when Petra pats him on the head and gently steers him toward the tent he’s sharing with Avery, who’s already tucked on a bedroll inside.

He hasn’t had a chance to tell Avery they’re mated.

It’s not that Sascha is worried Avery will be mad, but maybe he’ll be upset.

Not at Sascha, but just in general. Maybe when he asked to start a pack, he didn’t mean being permanently, irrevocably magically tethered to someone who might still be sitting in “guy I just met” territory.

Maybe the absolutely fucking transcendent connection between them is a bit more sparkly on Sascha’s side of the mate bond.

Or maybe Sascha’s just being a fucking dumbass.

After giving Petra a quick hug and, in a fit of sentimental weakness, dropping a kiss on her forehead, Sascha disengages and crawls into the tent.

Avery is curled up under a sheet, not taking up even half of the sleeping bag that’s been fully unzipped and spread over a thin layer of foam padding.

Sascha has never not-known that Avery is a small person—seven inches shorter than him and slender like a handful of dry spaghetti—but he seems even smaller now that Sascha has stood next to the hulking beast that tears itself out of him every full moon.

Hovering just beyond the edge of the sleeping bag, Sascha is briefly afraid. He wants nothing more than to gather Avery in his arms, but what if he hurts him? What if the pain goes deeper than what stitches can tie together?

Avery shifts so the sheet falls to his waist, exposing his bare chest. He opens his eyes, long dark lashes and seaglass irises that no longer look flat and empty like they were in the pictures Sascha saved on his phone.

In the low evening light, only barely filtering through the tent’s walls, Avery’s eyes are red-rimmed but gentle, warmed by the small smile dancing over his lips.

“Take off your shoes and get over here,” he mumbles, voice scratchy.

Sascha obeys, setting his shoes outside the tent before stripping down to his underwear and squirming under the sheet next to Avery. He pauses on the edge of the sleeping bag, once again lost in the feeling of Avery being breakable and impermanent.

“What’re you getting all stuck in your head about?”

Blinking, Sascha reaches for his habitual denial without considering otherwise. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

Avery’s smile turns into a weak-but-knowing smirk. “You do not get to bullshit me just because I’m on the ground half-dead for the second time in less than a fortnight.”

“Be less half-dead, then.”

“I’ll get right on that. C’mere.”

Again, Sascha obeys, putting aside his worry in exchange for the deep sigh of pure relief when he pulls Avery into his arms. Avery kisses the center of Sascha’s chest, then over his heart, before pressing his cheek against it. When he blinks, Sascha feels the flutter of lashes against his skin.

Sascha strokes down the length of Avery’s spine as delicately as possible, wincing when he comes across stiff thread and bandages. “I really let you get fucked up,” he says before he thinks the better of it.

“You had an episode you couldn’t control,” Avery replies immediately. “And you were already moving too soon, on so little energy.”

Even with the magic infusion, Sascha’s body could barely handle the excitement. He’s lucky he hasn’t needed another, given all the walking they’ve done and still have to do, followed by acquiring adequate transportation outside of Bliss Township.

“I wish I didn’t have the limitation at all. There isn’t an end in sight, you know. Having to navigate my needs makes this way harder.”

Avery shrugs. “I got ripped to shreds, but it wasn’t your fault, or even mine. Still sucks. It’s fucking awful watching everyone else do the work while I have to worry about Petra towel-whipping me if I so much as look like I’m gonna try helping out.”

“Oh, ouch. She’s really good at it, too. Like a goddamn locker room bully.”

Laughing, Avery drags his lips up to Sascha’s throat.

He kisses the hollow between his collarbones.

“Don’t feel bad. Please. I’m just happy we survived this far.

God, I’m tired, and this whole time, all I’ve wanted was to be close to you.

It’s like I still feel your heart beating when there’s distance between us, and mine gets lonely if you’re too far away.

” He pauses. “That sounds stupid, right? Forget I said that. The exhaustion’s making me sappy. ”

“I love you so much,” Sascha whispers, throat tightening beneath Avery's lips. “And I need to tell you something really important.”

Avery nuzzles his jaw, seeming entirely unconcerned. “Okay. Shoot.”

Sascha kisses his brow, then the side of his nose. Then he draws back enough to cradle Avery’s cheeks, trying to keep his breath steady while their eyes meet. He feels Avery’s thoughts entwine with his, somehow. Like he’s sending Sascha comfort through the mate bond he doesn’t yet know is there.

“Something happened while we were in the hotel, uh, taking care of your heat.” Avery smirks, but doesn’t interrupt. “I don’t know how, and didn’t even realize it had happened until Petra figured it out.”

“This is about what she was saying on the boat.”

“Yeah. We, uh… I don’t know how, like I said.

” Sascha scratches the back of his neck, still not sure why he’s so ne rvous.

Mating is just awfully permanent for a touch-starved werecreature who hadn’t heard a friendly voice in almost a year.

Love forming out of desperation is different.

“The magic, I guess… our magic… decided we should… bond.”

Now Avery’s brows are furrowed, and Sascha wants to die a little bit. But then he says, “Did you not want that? Is it my fault?” and Sascha’s heart squeezes so fiercely he momentarily can’t breathe.

“No. The opposite.” Avery’s seaglass eyes shimmer, so Sascha returns to holding his face, drawing him close until their lips brush. “I don’t want you to feel trapped.”

“I’ve never felt safer, or freer, than I do with you,” Avery murmurs, breath a welcome tickle reminding Sascha he’s alive.

They both are.

“Good. Because it’s kinda permanent unless you want to spend a lot of time looking for someone who can untangle a lot of magic threads.”

Instead of responding, Avery kisses him, desperate and hungry.

Tears spill over their lips, and Sascha keeps kissing him, not dropping his hands lower than Avery’s jaw, even though he wants to touch all of him.

Avery makes the decision for him when he throws a leg over Sascha’s hip and attempts to squirm closer. Then he hisses.

“Easy, easy,” Sascha croons, stroking Avery’s hair. The bleached curls at the back of his neck have grown out, leaving dark roots. Sascha tugs them gently to keep Avery from chasing his mouth. “We don’t have to do anything. Shouldn’t, actually, while you’re in this condition.”

“Fuck my condition,” Avery says immediately. His mulish expression tells Sascha he’s willing to fight any insinuation that he can’t fuck after being mauled by several apex predators.

In the interest of keeping him pacified, Sascha laughs and kisses the corner of his mouth. “Fine, we can make out. Just be careful, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

Avery mutters, “Better not be,” then swallows the next peal of Sascha’s laughter, chasing the rest of it with his tongue until it turns into a moan.