Page 23

23

TILDA

I t feels different to walk the corridors of the den as I leave the bathing spring that morning. People nod to me as I pass, their glances lingering just a little longer. Some are warm, some neutral, and a few—like Frankie’s—still hold suspicion. But no one challenges me.

I’m Reyes’ mate now.

For the first time since arriving here, I don’t feel like an intruder or a prisoner. I don’t flinch at shadows or balk at walking the halls alone. There’s a strange comfort in knowing that I belong here now—at least to him.

Reyes isn’t at breakfast–still talking with the other alphas, I think–when I head to the community center to grab a bite. The room is quieter than usual for this hour, the echoes of last night’s wedding celebration still lingering in the air. Hungover pack member’s stagger out of the den in twos and threes, rubbing their eyes and muttering greetings.

Peaches joins me a second later, sliding into the seat across from mine with a mug of tea in hand. “Well, if it isn’t the Prime’s mate,” she teases, a grin tugging at her lips. “You’re practically glowing.”

“Don’t start,” I say, though I can’t help the smile that creeps onto my face.

She leans forward, resting her chin in her hand. “So, what’s the plan for today, First Lady of the Den? More wedding night antics, or are you going to grace the rest of us with your presence?”

I snort, rolling my eyes. “I’m heading to the garden. Gotta keep pulling weeds before the plants start to choke.”

“You’re so romantic,” she says, deadpan. “Don’t work too hard—Reyes might think I’m puttin’ you to use as free labor.”

I shake my head with a grin and finish the last few bites of my breakfast. Peaches chatters on about some drama involving Mateo and a busted wheelbarrow, her voice a bright counterpoint to the sleepy quiet of the morning. I let her words wash over me as I gather my things and head out, the lingering smell of coffee and fresh bread fading as I step into the corridor.

The garden is quiet when I arrive, and I find solace in the familiar rhythm of work. The sun is high and warm, the late summer heat lingering in the air. The plants are starting to grow—tiny green shoots breaking through the soil—but it’ll still be weeks before we see any real yield. I crouch down, fingers sinking into the earth as I pull weeds, the scent of dirt and wildflowers filling my nose.

I fall into a trance, my hands moving on autopilot as my thoughts wander. I grab the tiller and loosen the soil around the bases of the plants, letting my muscles carry the work while my mind turns over more complicated problems.

We need a better irrigation system. Dragging buckets of water from the well every day won’t cut it much longer, not as the garden grows. Maybe I could go back to Homestead to trade for some soaker hoses. I can almost picture the neat rows of black tubing snaking through the soil, the relief of knowing the plants are watered without hauling heavy buckets in the sun.

Homestead.

The word catches in my chest, frays at the edges of my mind. I left that place with every intention of killing Reyes. Now I’m in love with him.

What the hell am I supposed to say to the people back home?

I picture Enid’s face, soft and full of hope, and David’s sharp features twisting with anger. They probably think I’m dead. It’s been weeks—long enough for everything to change. But even if they still see me as one of them, how could they understand this? They wouldn’t.

They’ll call me a traitor. Worse.

I shove the tiller into the soil a little too hard, the force jolting up my arms.

If they have a problem with it, fuck ‘em.

I don’t owe them anything—not after what David did. And Enid? I’ll bring her here, away from all that. She deserves a life where she doesn’t have to worry about medicine running out or the Heavenly Host breathing down her neck.

The afternoon sun beats down as I grab the bucket and head to the well for water. Sweat drips down my temple, but it’s a small price to pay for the peace that working out here brings. My thoughts drift to Reyes—his hands, his voice, the way he looked at me under the stars. Beyond the bite, beyond the pack dynamics and the “wolfy stuff,” I think I’m falling in love with him.

No. I know I am.

It’s terrifying, exhilarating, and entirely unexpected. I’ve never been a romantic—I’ve always been practical, grounded. But Reyes? He’s different. He’s steady in a way I didn’t think anyone could be. And the way he looks at me makes me feel like I’m worth something more than just survival.

Maybe we can get a happy ending after all.

I’m elbow-deep in soil when I feel Reyes drawing closer, the smell of incense swallowing me up. I like this part of the bond—that I feel him before he’s even here, before I can hear his footsteps. A moment later, I hear the whisper of tall grass around his legs, and then I feel him kneeling next to me, his hand on my back.

I sit back on my heels, looking over at him with what I’m certain is a stupid smile. “Hi,” I say.

“Hi,” he smiles back. He’s putting on a good show, but I can feel the apprehension in him, the way his chest tightens.

“Something’s wrong,” I say. “What is it?”

“Well,” he says. “I heard back from the city this morning, and we can get your medical shipment—including insulin for Enid.”

My eyes widen. “That’s great news!”

“But that’s not all,” he says. “Apparently, your sister has been casing the den. Frankie saw her last night.”

I frown. “She’s not hurt, is she?”

“Enid? No,” Reyes shakes his head. “Frankie didn’t do anything to them. But she’s afraid they’re going to make another attack on the den now that they know you’re alive.”

I sigh, my eyes sliding shut. “Shit. If they’re still short medicine, they probably plan on trying another assassination attempt—and grabbing me in the process,” I say. “What do you want to do about it?”

“Well…” Reyes hums. “I thought we could go and talk to them.”

I gape at him. “You know they want to kill you, right?”

“The more I think about it, the more I feel like an alliance might be a good idea,” Reyes says, ignoring my skepticism completely. “The Heavenly Host abandoned your people. They need medical supplies from the city, we need food and allies in the country. If we took out the shield generator outside of town, we might even be able to destroy the Celestial Curtain and bring real sunlight back to Homestead.”

I fold my arms, narrowing my eyes at him. “I think you’re overestimating the people of Homestead’s rational thinking skills,” I mutter. “I was always a realist, but there are some true zealots there—people who believe this is a biblical apocalypse, that they’re real Angels and not…well, whatever they are.”

“Aliens,” Reyes offers without hesitation.

I hesitate, my mouth opening and closing before I manage to reply. “Right,” I say. “Still not sold on that.”

He sighs, leaning back against the edge of the table. “I know for a fact that it’s true; just talk to anyone from outside the U.S., or…well, anywhere but the south. But for now, we need to figure out what to do about Homestead. So do you think you could set up a meeting?”

His words hang in the air, but my mind drifts to the people I left behind in Homestead. The people who raised me, fought beside me, and buried their dead in the name of the Heavenly Host. The ones who still speak about the Boreans like they’re messengers of God, not invaders from the stars.

It’s not like I can blame them entirely. The Boreans look the part: radiant and otherworldly, glowing white, flying. They descended from the sky during the Convergence, bringing promises of salvation and blessings. Who wouldn’t want to believe in them? Especially in the chaos and horror of those first years, when it felt like the world really was ending? When things were already so fucked up?

But then there’s the other side of it. The factories. The blessings that left people half-machine, their flesh replaced with wires and steel, their minds stripped of anything but obedience…or the experimentation centers they described as Rapture, where people returned infected with lycanthropy.

The Heavenly Host calls it “perfecting the human body,” but it looks more like making people into tools—tools that break as easily as the rest of us.

How can anyone look at that and still see angels?

And yet…they do. The people of Homestead still pray to the Host, thanking them for shielding them from the “unclean” and from the Infernal Legion–which could be entirely made up or maybe not as evil as we think. They don’t see the cost of it, or they refuse to. They don’t see the way the Angels exploit us, the way they push us further into poverty and despair while claiming it’s all part of God’s plan.

Even I believed it once. It’s not an easy thing to admit, but when the Convergence first happened, I wanted so badly to believe in the Angels. I wanted to think they were here to save us, that their blessings were gifts. And maybe that’s why it hurts so much now, seeing how wrong I was. Seeing how the people I grew up with still cling to that hope, even when it’s killing them.

“Earth to Tilda,” Reyes says, gentle but insistent. “Do you think you can set up a meeting?”

I blink, forcing myself to focus. “Sorry,” I mutter. “Yeah, I can probably get a few people to listen. But I wouldn’t hold your breath on an alliance. Most of them still think the Host is coming back.”

“They’re not,” he says firmly. His voice doesn’t waver, the confidence in his words both reassuring and unsettling. “And the sooner they realize that, the better off we’ll all be.”

I cross my arms, thinking it over. “I would need a way to get there,” I say. “Preferably something that isn’t too loud.”

“How about horseback?”

The word hits me like a jolt, and I freeze. My mind immediately goes to Annie—my horse, the one steady thing I had in the chaos before I came here. My heart tightens, a knot forming in my chest as the unspoken question rises: Is she still alive? Did she make it out after I didn’t come back? Or did she get lost in the woods, caught in the crossfire, killed in the shuffle?

“I—” My voice catches, and I bite down hard on my lip to keep from showing too much. “You have horses here?”

Reyes’ brow furrows at my reaction, his eyes searching mine like he’s trying to figure out where this sudden tension is coming from. “We do,” he says slowly. “Just promise me you won’t be angry.”

That doesn’t bode well. My stomach twists, and a flicker of dread creeps in. “Why would I be angry?” I ask, though my voice is sharper than I mean it to be.

His expression softens, but there’s a wariness in his eyes now, like he’s bracing himself. “Because…” He pauses, raking a hand through his hair. “Your horse is here. She was still tied off when we found you, and…well, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you running off…”

I don’t even register the rest of his explanation. My heart lurches at the confirmation that she’s alive, the knot in my chest loosening just enough to make way for something else—relief, overwhelming and bittersweet.

“She’s here?” My voice cracks, and I don’t care. “She’s alive?”

Reyes nods, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Alive and well. A little skittish at first, but Peaches has been looking after her. She’s got a knack with animals.”

For a moment, I can’t speak. The relief washes over me in waves, followed by a pang of guilt for not thinking of her sooner. She trusted me, carried me through so much, and I left her behind without a second thought.

“Where is she now?” I ask. “Can I see her?”

Reyes grins. “Of course,” he says. “Come on—I think she’ll be just as happy to see you.”