Page 13

13

TILDA

I ’ve got to get the fuck out of here.

My eyes snap open on Sunday morning with that as the only thought in my mind. I’m getting in too deep. I’m forming friendships with these people, getting attached, becoming invested in the success of their little garden plot. I may as well be sleeping with the enemy at this point, given how much I’m starting to think the pack isn’t all bad.

And, if I’m being honest with myself, I kind of want to be sleeping with the enemy.

Reyes isn’t nearly as bad as I thought he was. Gentler, calmer, maybe even thoughtful in his own gruff way. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, that first night with him. In fact, I’ve been dreaming about it.

Fragments come back to me at night, vivid and disjointed. Finding me in his wolf form, shifting, crouching over me and snarling at whoever tried to come close. His whispered words stand out: “Stay with me, stay with me…”

And then…arriving at the den, Suyin treating me, Reyes waiting. Crawling into bed with me afterward and holding me to his chest, lips barely brushing against my pulse. He kissed me–that much I remember–but it feels more like he was trying to snatch whatever time he could with me than transgress on my boundaries.

I’m still angry that he turned me. That part hasn’t gone away. But some irrational, messy part of me is…flattered?

I wonder if he’s dreaming about me too.

Peaches stirs in her bed across the room, pulling me out of my thoughts. Light slips under the door, and I know I won’t be able to lie here much longer without going completely stir-crazy. Sundays are the only day we take off, and she takes full advantage of it, groaning about early mornings every other day of the week. I don’t want to wake her, but I also don’t feel like going out alone.

Peaches rolls over and sinks deeper into her pillow. I could wait for her to wake up—but I really don’t want to.

It’ll just be a quick trip–no harm in stretching my legs. It’s not like this is a recon mission at this point.

I push the blanket off and put my feet on the floor. The gym shorts and tank top Peaches loaned me stick to my skin; it’s already sweltering, one of those last-gasp summer days that clings even underground. I’d kill for a window I could leave open to catch a breeze—back in Homestead, I always sleep with the windows open unless the weather’s horrendous.

The den is still and humid this morning, the kind of silence that comes after a late night. Saturdays tend to end with music and laughter in the common area, a way for everyone to wind down after the week. I heard the fiddle last night, Charlotte’s mournful notes echoing through the halls, followed by a mix of voices talking over each other until they eventually faded into quiet.

I crack the door open and peek out. The corridor is dim, lit by warm overhead bulbs that flicker occasionally, probably salvaged and jury-rigged to whatever generator powers the place. Voices echo faintly from the common area up the hall—a low murmur of conversation I can’t quite make out. The bathrooms are in the opposite direction, and no one seems to be around.

I pad toward them, relishing the stretch of my legs after lying still too long. The air feels cooler in the hallway, the faint hum of fluorescent lights above a reminder of just how far we are from anything resembling normal. The walls are carved into rough stone, reinforced here and there with salvaged wood panels. A few faded posters hang unevenly, relics from before the Convergence—travel ads for Texas Hill Country, complete with rolling green fields and happy families posing in front of wildflowers.

The den has a strange mix of the old world and whatever this new one is. For all the talk of wolves and alphas, it’s not as feral as I imagined. They’ve managed to make a life here—something structured, almost civilized. Even now, the faint smell of coffee wafts through the corridor, probably from the common area. Someone’s always brewing a pot in the mornings, rationing beans like they’re liquid gold. It’s one of the little comforts they cling to, one of the things that makes this place feel like a home.

I turn the corner, thinking about how these people have built all this while I’ve spent years just surviving. It’s unsettling, how easy it is to picture myself fitting in here, settling into this routine. I tell myself it’s just the heat and the smell of coffee getting to me, clouding my judgment.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The voice stops me cold.

Frankie is standing at the far end of the corridor, her blonde hair messy like she crawled out of bed just to ruin my morning. The girl looks like she was someone who was born to scowl–and I would know, given I’m that same type. Her arms are crossed, dark eyes locked on me like a bug she’s deciding whether or not to squash.

“I’m just going to the bathroom,” I say, raising my hands in a gesture of surrender. “Didn’t want to wake Peaches.”

“You’re not supposed to roam the den without an escort,” she says, stepping closer.

“I mean, you’re here,” I say before I can stop myself.

Her growl is low and warning. She takes a deliberate step into my space. “Don’t get feisty with me,” she snaps. “I don’t trust people like you.”

“I’m not a crusader anymore,” I tell her. “I swear, I’m just trying to help your pack with their farm. You need to get the hell off my case.”

I square up with her, trying to use my height to intimidate her…but she’s tall, too, and an alpha. I can feel the lycan hierarchy putting force on me, pushing me down–

“Frankie!”

Reyes’ voice is a relief, snapping the tension between Frankie and I. We both look toward him, and I find him stepping out of the shadows, amber eyes brighter than usual.

“Leave her alone,” he growls.

“She—”

“Leave it,” Reyes repeats, his voice sharper now. The tension in his jaw, the set of his shoulders—it’s enough to make even Frankie think better of challenging him. She backs off with a hiss, her eyes darting between us before she retreats down the hall.

I glance up at him, trying to shake the tension out of my shoulders, but my heart’s still pounding. There’s something about him—his size, his certainty, the way he can bring Frankie to heel with a single look—that leaves me feeling unsteady.

Swoony, even.

“I was actually just trying to go to the bathroom,” I mutter.

“Figured,” he says, his lips twitching in amusement. “Go ahead.”

“Wow, thank you,” I say, rolling my eyes, and he snorts at the sarcasm in my voice.

“I’ll stay here and make sure she doesn’t come back,” he says.

I make it quick, relieving myself and washing my hands before re-joining him in the corridor. Reyes is standing and looking down at a little piece of paper when I come back out, muttering to himself.

“What’s that?” I ask, nodding at the paper.

“My homily for the morning meeting,” he says, folding it and tucking it into his pocket.

“Morning meeting?”

“It’s what we call church,” he says. “Not everyone’s comfortable calling it that. But it’s a way to share news, talk about the week, make plans.”

“Okay,” I say. “I didn’t even know y’all did that here.”

Reyes chuckles. “I may be the Prime, but I’m still a priest. And there’s a lot more a priest can do than talk about God.”

“I get that,” I say. “We just…we stopped holding services a long time ago in Homestead.”

He cocks his head. “Mind me asking why?”

I shrug. “Once the Heavenly Host arrived, I guess it just seemed like there was no point in trying to talk to God. We had a direct line, after all.”

Reyes frowns like he’s going to argue, his mouth opening slightly. His hand moves in his pocket, his homily crinkling in his fingers.

But he doesn’t argue with me; instead, he schools his expression and meets my eyes. “Would you like to come to the meeting this morning?”

My voice comes out in a little croak as I wonder how I’m supposed to respond, then I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

“No pressure,” he says. “Just… if you wanted to. Might be refreshing, and the chapel is beautiful this time of year.”

“It’s not that,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. The words feel clumsy on my tongue, and I can’t quite meet his gaze. “I just, um… I don’t think I’d be welcome.”

Reyes tilts his head, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, like he’s weighing my words. “You know a few people here now,” he says. “Suyin, Charlotte, Elijah, Grant… They’d welcome you.”

“They’d be more than justified in telling me to stay out,” I say quietly, my arms crossing as if I can shield myself from the thought. I can feel my cheeks flush, not from embarrassment but from a twinge of guilt. After all, I came here to harm these people—not to share coffee and morning pleasantries with them.

“But they won’t,” Reyes says, his voice firm, almost daring me to argue. His tone softens as he continues, “And, well, I want you to come, and I’m running the whole thing.”

“Why?”

He hesitates. For a moment, his confidence falters, and I catch a glimpse of something more vulnerable in his face. “Because you’re going to be here for a couple more weeks at least, and I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner.”

I raise an eyebrow at that. “Even though I am.”

Reyes sighs, his shoulders sinking just a fraction, and crosses his arms over his broad chest. His jaw tightens, the muscles flexing under his beard as he looks down at me. “Look, Tilda, you don’t have to do anything, but…”

“Sorry,” I blurt out, cutting him off. My voice is sharper than I mean it to be, and I wince as soon as the word is out. “I’m… kind of a jerk. My sister tells me that all the time.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and his posture eases. “And I’m sure you miss her,” he says, his tone gentle.

“Yeah, I do.” I take a deep breath, shrugging my shoulders as if I can shake off the weight of the admission. “I’m just going to change, and then I’ll go to your meeting or service or… whatever it is. I presume I shouldn’t show up in PJs?”

The smile spreads into something warmer, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Maybe, but Grant will probably do worse.”

I laugh, caught off guard by his response. “I don’t know what that could possibly mean, but I’m not sure if I want to find out.”

“You’ll see,” Reyes says, his voice carrying a note of amusement. He steps back slightly, giving me space to move past him. For a moment, the two of us just stand there, the air between us charged but not uncomfortable. There’s something unspoken in his gaze, something that lingers even after he looks away.

“Well–I’m gonna go change,” I say.

He smiles. “I’ll save you a seat.”

I nod, turning back toward Peaches’ room to get dressed. As I close the door behind me, I let out a long breath, my chest tight for reasons I can’t quite explain. She’s still sleeping, and I want to ask her everything, tell her everything…but I can’t.

Because I don’t even know what I’m feeling–and telling her would make it real.