Page 32

The moment Veva steps off the stage, I feel her eyes on me, sense her want to get near me again, but someone stops her at the base of the stairs, catching her in a conversation.

Chuckling under my breath, I watch her try to disentangle from it multiple times, only for someone else to pull her aside.

They’re probably all congratulating her on a job well done. When I get her home, I’m going to congratulate her, too. After this long, tiring week, the only thing I want to do is take her home. Wait for Sarina to fall asleep, for Veva to crawl into my bed.

I want to mark her.

Tonight.

Reaching my hand into my pocket, I brush my thumb over the velvety box I find there, thinking of the heirloom ring that’s inside.

I imagine the way it’s going to look on Veva’s finger.

If I can, I’m going to find every way there is to claim another person.

My ring on her finger, my mating mark on her neck.

Fuck—we’ll get matching tattoos if we have to.

“I’m going to do that someday,” Sarina says, sliding into the seat next to me, scooting a bit when her feet no longer hit the ground. I reach out to steady the paper plate she holds, which contains a slice of cake.

Sarina wears a simple purple dress with a matching hair ribbon, an outfit I know my sister probably drooled over. When they had their welcoming party, when the twins were named into the pack, one of the first things Kira says was, “I hope the next one is a girl.”

Mind catching back up to the current conversation, I smile and say, “You’re going to cast? Like your mom?”

Sarina slices off a thick bite of cake, stuffs it into her mouth, and says, grinning at me.

“I’m going to cast better than my mom. If you can make a little stone just that big, then imagine what else you could make!

” She lifts the hand not holding the fork, gesturing at the table. “A house? An elephant?”

I could bring up the fact that just because the Amanzite is small doesn’t mean it’s a simple thing. I could also bring up the ethical problems, and frankly, nightmarish complications that could arise if you attempted to cast a living thing into being like that.

But Sarina is silly, and thinking big thoughts. And I’m never going to discourage her from doing that.

I think of the conversation I’ve been having with Kira. Her explanations of what it’s like to grow up as an omega—what it was like for her. This strange idea that, because you might mate an alpha someday, that would determine your entire worth.

For Kira, being chubby as a kid, then plus-size as a teenager, made people assume she would never find a mate. Which was obviously untrue, and came with a whole host of its own issues.

But hearing about her experience has opened my eyes. Made me realize how I was complicit in reinforcing those ideas.

And I will never push Sarina to stop thinking her big thoughts. Maybe she grows up and finds a mate, or maybe she doesn’t, but her dreams are allowed to exist outside of that. Her worth certainly does.

Dorian’s grandfather already ended the tradition of fighting to the death for the alpha leader role in this pack. It could be the beginning of many changes, all pushing us to be stronger, better. To take advantage of everything each Ambersky shifter has to offer.

I realize Sarina is waiting for me to answer, and so I say, “A new canyon? A bunny?”

Sarina laughs, “I can make a bunny.”

“Oh, really?”

She taps on the table, and a little scrap of paper folds into a tiny rabbit. I try to keep from looking astounded.

“Pretty cool,” I say as she picks it up, hands it to me.

“Here, you keep it.”

Something sticks in my throat, and I push it away, running one finger down the back of the rabbit. Then, I say, “What about extra clouds during the festival? Could you make those?”

Her mouth drops open, and her eyes light up. “ A new game for the festival! We could make a new game—something even more fun than the lassoing.”

“Yeah,” I laugh, oddly endeared by her competitive side. It’s like seeing myself as a kid reflected back at me. “We could, couldn’t we?”

“Do you have any ideas?” Sarina asks, abandoning her cake, pushing it forward so she can drum her fingers against the table. “Something to do with clouds—like cloud-shaping!”

With that, she stretches her hands, and I watch as the white frosting on her plate shifts, moving into the shape of a heart. I look up at her, eyes wide.

I’m not that familiar with casting, but that has to be impressive for her age.

“I’m not sure about it,” I laugh, trying to be nonchalant. “Not everyone can cast like that, Sarina.”

She nods, rests her chin on her hands. “Good point. Maybe we could do cloud fishing!”

I don’t point out that cloud fishing is pretty close to cloud lassoing.

Instead, I focus on the fact that she’s brought up fishing.

A few days ago, I got Veva and her out on the lake, in the boat.

Veva said it was boring—that there were much more efficient ways of catching fish, and she’d drawn one right up to her hand with her magic to prove it.

But Sarina had enjoyed the process of setting the bait, casting. Even though, after watching her with the icing, I’m starting to think she could have used magic to catch a fish, too.

“Did you like fishing?” I ask, hoping I sound as nonchalant as I’m going for. “Because we could do some real fishing again, too.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sarina says, nodding and leaning forward, so her coppery-blonde hair catches in the light, some of it swinging out over her shoulder. Lowering her voice, like it’s a secret, she says, “I’m going to ask Mom for a fishing pole when I turn ten.”

That makes me laugh. “You can have a fishing pole for your next birthday, Sarina. You don’t have to wait that long.”

She returns to her cake, scoops up a dollop of the frosting with the tip of her finger, and shakes her head. “It’s not that long. I turn ten in one month.”

The first prickle of unease moves over my skin like a fever. Hot to the touch, but forces a chill through me. “…No,” I laugh, feeling my face go weird. “No, Sarina, you’re turning eight soon, right? Or, you’re eight now, and turning nine.”

“No,” she laughs, shaking her head and giggling like I’m teasing her, or playing a prank.

Popping another dollop of frosting in her mouth, she says, “I’m nine right now.

And I know because this year I’m turning double-digits.

Mom says it’s a big year, because then I’ll have two numbers.

And she always does a little magic for me with the cake.

Last year, it was nine little lizards. This year, maybe it will be ten clouds. ”

My heart is in my throat, and I shake my head, forcing out a sound, anything so Sarina doesn’t catch onto the fact that my world is imploding right now.

She’s nine. Turning ten. Not eight, turning nine. Not turning eight.

She’s turning ten. Which, coincidentally, lines up perfectly with the timeline of that night. The night that Veva came to me to tell me she thought she might be pregnant.

The entire thing flashes through my mind, like I’m watching the movie of what happened. Veva climbing through my window that night. Going home, packing her things, leaving the territory. Finding that camp and having our daughter, alone. Raising her there, caring for her. Doing it all without me.

Without anyone.

But then, returning. Coming back, realizing this pack could be a home. And still, keeping this information from me. Lying right to my face when I asked.

I get the first time, in the hospital. I even understand the lying before her heat. Before we had each other and held each other for nine straight days.

When I lift my head, I see Veva across the roof from me, her eyes locked on mine. There’s something strange there in her expression. Ash stands in front of her, trying to have a conversation, and I watch as Veva excuses herself, starts making her way toward me.

“Oh, look,” Sarina says. “Mom is coming!”

I want to stand up out of this chair, confront Veva about this. But it’s not the right time, not the right place. This is private, and not something I want to talk about in front of half the pack. Not something I want to talk about in front of Sarina.

So I stick it out through the rest of the party, anger and disbelief churning, hot and sticky, in my stomach. I can’t believe she lied to me.

I can’t believe I fell for it.