Page 13

13

F aye

The forest is positively gorgeous, the golden late morning light slanting through the trees, small animals running underfoot, and the soft chirping of birds from above floating through the air all creating an ethereal, timeless quality to the place. But I’m not calm or enjoying this walk, because two more men have claimed me as their omega, leaving me unnerved. How do I even go about explaining to these ferals that I’m not in the market for mates? I truly don’t know where to begin. Not only are my treacherous feelings bothering me, it’s the men walking with me that shatter the calm morning, their disdain for one another coming through clearly, now that the ultimas aren’t here to pacify them.

Cayson moves closer to me and flicks his gaze toward the ferals. “Riding up like a bunch of war heroes,” he says with a laugh, shaking his head. “Ridiculous.”

One of Maverick’s bright green eyes twitches. “We didn’t choose when we were permitted to join The Selection,” he says. “Unlike you, they didn’t care to schedule us to come here. We were given next to no time for preparation. They told us to come, and we took off. Just the way it is every year, for ferals.”

“Well, whose fault is that?” Ezra mutters, which earns him a sharp look from Xander, the other feral.

I can’t keep my eyes from trailing to the two of them, Xander and Maverick, so wild-looking. Their long hair and rough skin is a contrast to Cayson and Ezra’s refined features and sharp attention to their appearances. Looking at the two new men, I truly understand why they’re called “ferals.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Maverick asks, his tone light, but a warning underneath it.

“I’m just saying,” Ezra says, turning to the side as he steps over a fallen log, “either you were never in a pack to begin with, or you were thrown out…”

“I was never in a pack,” Maverick says with a wry, easy grin he aims at Ezra, “so I had the unique experience of growing up with humans.”

“You don’t look like you grew up with humans,” Cayson remarks, and it sounds like an insult.

Maverick stares down at his clothes. Or at his lack of a shirt. “These are basically our uniforms for The Selection. The council has us dress this way, because of tradition, but only half of us grew up on the outskirts of the cities and had to fight to survive. The rest of us grew up amongst humans.”

“Interesting,” Ezra says, but the word is tight.

The feral smiles. “Growing up amongst humans has its benefits. You ever played football against a human? Like playing with babies. I was the captain of the football team, even had a Division I scholarship.”

He glances over at me, and even though I have no idea what that means, it does spark a feeling of pride. Whatever he did, it must be good. And as our eyes lock, it’s impossible to look away. He’s incredibly handsome, his green eyes sharp and piercing. His pale auburn hair is long, but clean and untangled. Some part of me can’t imagine something as wild as him growing up with humans. I feel like he’d stand out like a sore thumb. Or is there some other side of him?

“Surviving in a human world sounds easy,” Cayson mutters. “You like taking the easy route?”

“Not sure anyone would call being born to ferals easy,” Maverick says, his voice never losing that easy, charismatic edge, but there’s something underneath now, a sort of bitterness emanating from him that I didn’t sense before. “But there were definitely perks to it.”

It’s weird. I kind of want to ask more. Know more. But when I see Xander watching me, his expression so openly fascinated by me, I speak without thinking. “What about you?” I say, turning to face Xander, who looks startled.

He seems surprised that I’ve addressed him directly, and his eyes meet mine for only a second before darting back to the others. He clears his throat, runs a hand through his hair, then kicks at a rock, sending it out into the forest. We all watch it hit a tree with a resounding thunk .

“I was thrown out,” he grunts, finally, his eyes meeting mine.

I feel something tug in my chest, something telling me that he and I have something in common. There’s a depth of sadness in his eyes that I recognize. I see it in Ezra, and I see it in myself every time I look in the mirror.

It’s the kind of look you can only get when you’ve lost something. When you’re grieving. Is that why I feel so drawn to him?

“Why were you thrown out?” I ask, swinging my basket at my side nervously.

The other men have all turned their eyes to Xander as well, clearly interested in what he has to say. A part of me feels bad. Maybe this isn’t something he wants to talk about. But, as much as my heart plans to find a way out of our connection, I also have an unexplainable need to get to know these two men. If only to be sure that this mating bond they claim to have with me is wrong.

Xander looks at me, opening his mouth like he might answer, but then his eyes move to the rest of the men and he presses his lips together, shaking his head. It isn’t stubbornness that fills his expression, it’s reluctance. Maybe even fear. Even though I get the sense he’d tell me the truth if we were alone.

“There are only a few reasons a wolf might be ex-communicated,” Ezra says, his tone sharp. I see the careful calculation in his eyes, measuring the distance between Xander and I, like he might need to intercept Xander if he moves in my direction. “And none of them are good.”

We fall silent after that, and I notice the way Xander draws into himself, moving through the forest more quietly than the rest of us, taking care where he places his feet. My heart aches for him. Whatever got him thrown out of his pack, it’s troubling him.

Ezra might be worried that Xander is dangerous, but that’s not the feeling I get. When I look at Xander, I see pieces of myself. I see someone broken and trying to pull himself back together.

But maybe my instincts are wrong. I don’t know.

“Oh!” I say, jumping back, and all the men immediately go on high alert, Cayson’s hand coming to my shoulder as he assesses the scene. I look at him and smile, “Look! Mulberries!”

Hurrying forward excitedly, I reach up and pluck one off of a tree.

“These ones are perfectly ripe,” I say, popping one in my mouth and chewing. The warm, sweet berry bursts juicily and I bring a hand to my mouth, closing my eyes.

“Wow,” I say, moaning a bit. “That’s amazing.”

The images come back to me all at once: my brother and I gathering these berries, making pies and squeezing them between our hands to make our skin turn purple. This berry tastes like summer, like a silky cool breeze moving through your hair, lifting it from the nape of your neck, the soft rustling of the leaves all around you. It’s childhood, laughter, and the innocence of youth.

I let out a sigh at the feeling, and when I open my eyes, it’s to four pairs of eyes looking right back at me. Intently. Far too intently. And I have no idea why.

Glancing down, I realize some of the berry juice has dripped onto my cleavage, and I swipe at it clumsily, only managing to smear it around further.

“Oops,” I say, embarrassed, and when I look up, they’re still watching me.

I look at each of the guys, my heart racing as I realize their eyes have locked on my cleavage. There’s a tension in the air, just like the tension that was there last night when I slept with Ezra and Cayson. Sexual tension. Uh oh. Ezra and Cayson, at least, understand this arrangement. But what am I going to do if Xander and Maverick truly think there’s some sort of bond between us?

I drop my hand back down to my side, giving up on the berry juice and clearing my throat.

“I, uh,” I say, and Ezra meets my eyes, raising his brow in question. “I should tell you two,” I direct my attention to Xander and Maverick, who are still looking at me with dark eyes, like they could eat me alive, right here, “I’m not actually in the market for a mate.”

“What does that mean?” Maverick asks, his gaze darting between me, Cayson, and Ezra. “You’re not in the market for a mate, or you have reservations because we’re feral?”

“No—” I say, laughing and holding my hands up before he can get the wrong idea. “It’s not that. I mean, my experiences with men in general hasn’t been great, so I have nothing against ferals, but, if I’m honest, I just—I came to The Selection because I had to, not because I wanted to.”

There. Was that enough? Do they understand why we could never work?

“You are my mate,” Xander says, his voice low and rough, his eyes boring into mine.

“The mating bond can’t be denied,” Maverick says, putting his hand on Xander’s arm and shaking his head. “That’s the rule.”

My heart drops. The both of them… they seem so certain. If I can’t get them to see my point-of-view, there’s going to be a problem, and I already have enough problems.

“I thought you ferals don’t care about rules,” Ezra challenges, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“We care,” Xander says simply, his expression fierce.

I swallow hard, feeling that odd pull to the two ferals. The one that makes me feel vulnerable and uncertain.

“Sure,” I say, “I understand that you want to follow the rules when it comes to choosing a mate, but the truth is that I’m not even sure that there is a mating bond between us,” I say, gesturing between myself and the ferals.

My heart is beating double-time, my body denying that, trying to tell me that I can feel the pull, clear as day. Except, there may be a pull. It doesn’t have to be a mating pull. It doesn’t have to be something that completely changes my life forever.

“I’m sure enough for all of us,” Maverick says, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that mirrors Ezra, the tattoos on his arms and chest moving as he does so, in a way that’s hard to look away from.

“How can you be, if you’ve never felt the mating bond before?” I ask, nervously shifting from one foot to another.

“A man just knows,” Maverick says, winking at me.

“I know,” Xander asserts, looking ready to fight.

I glance around, searching for help, and discover Cayson is gone.

Frowning, I say, “Where did Cayson go?”

Everyone starts looking around.

“Cayson!” I shout, feeling a flash of worry.

“Here, Faye,” Cayson says, startling us all by coming out of the woods. He has his hands cupped, full of berries, the juice smeared on his skin. He smirks at the others victoriously as he dumps them into my basket. I blink. I’d forgotten that’s what we were supposed to be doing here in the first place. “I got these for you.” Then, he presses a kiss to my cheek.

“If she wants berries, she’ll get lots of berries,” Xander says.

“I’ll get the most,” Maverick challenges.

Ezra glares at both of them.

Immediately, they turn, tromping off into the brush while I’m left, mouth gaping, as I stare after them.