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6

TILDA

H ow did I miss that they have kids here?

It hits me like a ton of bricks. All the little details I’ve picked up surveilling this place over the last couple of weeks—the guards, the weapons, the tight-knit structure—those were just the surface. A mask.

Reyes has been careful, hiding the most vulnerable parts of his pack from anyone who might do them harm.

I get it. I’ve done the same for Homestead.

But man, do I feel like an idiot. Not because I didn’t know about the kids, but because I truly believed what the Heavenly Host told us. They said feral wolves were monsters—wild animals that hunt raw meat, screw anything that moves during the full moon, and live without rules. I bought it.

Now I’m sitting here staring at crayon drawings on the wall and thinking about how Reyes—the Alpha Prime, the so-called monster —is not only a priest but someone who’s been nothing but decent to me since I got here.

And then two people walk in from the kitchen, chatting like it’s a lazy Sunday. One of them looks like he hasn’t slept in days, smiling and shaking his head, while the other is a redhead with a loud laugh and a wild mane of red curls piled on top of her head.

“Mornin’, Father!” the redhead says in a thick southern accent with a grin big enough to light up the room. Her eyes flick to me. “I see you brought your ladyfr?—”

“Her name is Tilda,” Reyes cuts in, his voice firm but not sharp. He doesn’t even look at me. “We were just discussing the rations issue…you know, with the fresh fruit and vegetables?”

The redhead’s eyebrows shoot up like they’re trying to escape her face. “Oh, is that so?” she says, clearly amused. “Been dyin’ to get a garden goin’ here, but, uh…” She shrugs, holding up her hands. “I don’t have a green thumb.”

“I thought you might be willing to work with Tilda on that,” Reyes says, glancing between us. “She’s got farming experience. And didn’t you mention finding seeds in storage?”

The redhead lights up. “Yeah! Tomatoes, beans, maybe some corn. Not much, though. But it’s a start!”

“I could help with that,” I start, but the words falter when the redhead’s nose wrinkles. “...Is there something wrong?”

She winces, giving me an awkward, apologetic smile. “It’s just... a wolf thing. You still smell like blood. Sorry, I didn’t mean to?—”

Mateo snorts, cutting her off, and Reyes lets out the longest sigh I’ve ever heard. “Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he mutters.

“I assume you’re taking her to the springs next?” she asks.

“Actually, I was hoping to run into you,” he says. “Will you take her? I can’t exactly go in.”

The girl grins, clearly enjoying this far more than Reyes is. “Ah…just relying on me to be the welcoming committee, huh?” She shakes her head, already stepping toward me. “Come on, farm girl. Let’s get you rinsed off before my nose gives out.”

She goes to take my arm, but Reyes stops me–and when he touches me, I feel that familiar pull toward him once again. He meets my eyes, amber glimmering in the depths of his irises. “Tilda, you know I still can’t trust you. Right?”

I raise an eyebrow. “So the blindfold’s going back on, huh?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he says, and there’s a hint of regret in his voice. “Turn around?”

For a second, I think about arguing…but what’s the point? I’ve got leverage now—an offer they can’t refuse. I’ve also got a sister back home waiting for insulin, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get it. Even play along.

I need to be adaptable for Enid’s sake.

I turn around, letting him tie the blindfold over my eyes. His fingers brush my skin, lingering just long enough to make me hyper aware of the warmth of his touch.

And then a new hand slips into mine, smaller and lighter, but still firm. “Hey, darlin’,” says the redhead. “You can call me Peaches. I’m gonna get you all cleaned up.”

Before she can lead me away, a low growl rumbles behind us, stopping us both in our tracks.

“Tilda,” Reyes says, his voice cold and unyielding. “Don’t try anything. If you hurt anyone here…”

“Let me guess,” I interrupt. “You’ll kill me?”

A beat of silence stretches between us. Then, finally, he exhales, his tone dropping lower.

“Yes,” he says. “And I won’t hesitate next time.”

* * *

Peaches has made it her personal mission to convince me that Reyes is just a big softie in a broody priest disguise.

She talks nonstop as we walk, her arm looped through mine like we’re old friends. It’s kind of disarming, honestly. I could pull off the blindfold if I wanted—she’s not stopping me—but there’s a steady hum of life around us. Footsteps, murmured voices, the occasional bark of laughter. At one point, I even hear kids giggling.

Kids.

The sound trips me up. What are they laughing about? Are they playing games? It doesn’t match the image I had in my head of this place—of them.

No wild animals growling, no gruesome feasts on raw meat. No howling or frenzied…other things. Just people.

Families.

It’s unsettling in a way I didn’t expect. I’m not sure what’s worse: the idea that I might’ve been wrong about them, or the nagging doubt creeping into the back of my mind about the Heavenly Host. They’ve protected Homestead for years, always delivered insulin for Enid. I believed in them because they seemed like they were doing the right thing, even I stopped believing in their divinity a long time ago. But now…

Now I don’t know what to think.

“Everyone here’s pretty friendly,” Peaches says cheerfully, her voice snapping me back to the moment. Her grip on my arm is light but steady. “They can be standoffish at first, but I think that’s just a wolf thing.”

“Reyes keeps saying stuff like that—‘wolf things,’” I say, my voice low. “I still don’t get it. I mean, yeah, I’m technically trespassing, so I get why people aren’t thrilled, but it feels like there’s more to it.”

“They’ll get used to you,” she chirps. “They’re a little hostile in the beginning, wolves always are–just haven’t been able to trust a lot of people, y’know? But they will. I mean, nobody would even talk to me when I first got here, but now we’re all one big happy family.”

“You weren’t with the pack from the beginning?” I ask. They seem so insular–I figured they hadn’t really grown since they rebelled against the Heavenly Host.

“Nope,” Peaches says. “I’m from out of town.”

I try to place her accent. “Alabama?”

She laughs, and it’s like I can hear her smiling. “Bingo! Most people guess Georgia ‘cause of the name.”

“Peaches?” I ask. “Is that your real name?”

“Oh, God no,” she says, still laughing. “But trust me, it’s better than anything my mama came up with.”

I smirk despite myself. “Let me guess. Something old-fashioned?”

She groans. “ Esther. Awful, right?”

“It’s not so bad,” I tease. She reminds me of Enid–who’s also always hated her name.

“Don’t make me regret telling you,” she says, bumping my elbow lightly. “Anyway, the Gulf Pack wasn’t exactly into individuality. It’s all about the Prime’s rules there.”

I hesitate, processing that. “You were born into a pack?”

“Yep,” she says. “Twenty years old, born and raised lycan. Never known anything else.”

Something about the way she says it makes me pause. “You didn’t like it there?”

She’s not laughing. Not anymore. “Let’s just say omegas like me don’t get a lot of choice in the Gulf Pack. The Prime decides who we mate with, and that’s the end of it.”

“But I thought Alabama was under Heavenly Host control,” I say, frowning. “Wouldn’t they crack down on stuff like that?”

Peaches shrugs, her hand tightening on my arm for a second. “Guess they had bigger problems. All I know is, I couldn’t wait to get the hell out.”

Her words sit heavy between us, and I don’t press. The faint scent of soap reaches me, mingling with the damp, earthy smell of the cavern.

“We’re here,” Peaches says, pausing. Her hands move to the back of my head, untying the blindfold. The knot comes loose, and light floods my vision.

I blink a few times, taking in what she’s brought me to. A natural spring sprawls out in front of us, pools of clear blue water reflecting sunlight streaming through a hole in the cavern ceiling. A thin waterfall pours down, its sound soothing against the backdrop of birdsong and rustling leaves. The edges of the cavern are lined with moss and wildflowers, glowing in the dappled light.

It’s…breathtaking.

Peaches nudges me gently. “Towels are over there,” she says, pointing to a cabinet tucked against the stone wall. “I’d grab one before you hop in.”

I glance toward the pool, then back at her. “Is it warm?”

“Nope,” she says, “but it’s clean. Takes a minute to get used to, but you’ll feel like a person again.”

“So I just…strip?” I ask, feeling more than a little out of my element.

“Yep,” she says, unbothered. “This is one of the springs for just women, though, so don’t worry too much. Plus…when you’re a shifter, you kinda get used to seein’ naked people.”

Of course. Makes sense.

With a shrug, Peaches grabs a towel and starts stripping, her movements casual and unselfconscious. She doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that she’s completely naked as she steps into the water, hissing at the cold.

“It’s fine, Tilda,” she says. “Cross my heart, hope to die.”

I glance over my shoulder toward the path we came from. This would be the perfect time to run. But Reyes’ warning echoes in my head: Don’t try anything.

It’s smarter to stay here. Time to reevaluate my plans.

I avert my eyes and tug at my tank top, catching a whiff of the metallic scent of blood Peaches mentioned. I’m glad to be parted from it and from my sweats when I wiggle out of them. I leave the clothes in a heap by the edge of the pool and step toward the water.

The first touch of the spring hits like ice, and I draw in a sharp breath, the cold zipping up my legs. Without giving myself time to chicken out, I take the plunge, sinking into the water until it’s up to my shoulders. It shocks my system, stealing my breath for a moment.

“Whoa,” I mutter, shivering as I tread deeper. “That’s…bracing.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Peaches calls over her shoulder, already halfway to the waterfall. She glances back, her freckles standing out against her pale skin. “Guess I’m just used to it by now. The den can get kinda stuffy, so this feels nice after a while.”

I watch her for a moment, trying to process how effortlessly she seems to glide through this place—this life. She moves like she belongs here, like nothing about any of this is strange to her.

Meanwhile, I’m huddled at the edge of the pool, the water stinging every inch of my battered body.

The wound on my hip throbs angrily, and I grimace, second-guessing this whole idea. “Are you sure this is safe?” I ask. “I mean, I don’t want this to get infected.”

Peaches pauses, floating on her back with a lazy grin. “It won’t,” she says, her tone breezy. “You’re fine. Lycan—uh, never mind.”

I narrow my eyes. “Lycan what?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly, flipping upright again. “Trust me. This spring is clean—no infections, no weird diseases. The water drains out into a creek down the hill, and the spring keeps it fresh.”

Her explanation doesn’t put me entirely at ease, but what choice do I have? It’s not like I’m in a position to argue. Plus, I’ve made do with worse during the Crusades. With a resigned sigh, I let myself sink deeper into the pool, the cold finally settling into something tolerable. I dunk my head under, running my fingers through my hair to rinse out the blood and grime. For the first time in what feels like days, I feel…almost normal.

Almost.

When I resurface, the wound on my hip tugs at my focus. My fingers drift to it, brushing lightly over the stitches. The area feels rough and uneven, the kind of jagged mess you’d expect from a panicked, last-ditch effort to save a life. But as I keep feeling around, something else catches my attention.

Something wrong .

I trace a faint circle on my skin, my fingers brushing over four distinct punctures spaced evenly around it. My breath catches, and a sharp tremor shoots through me, like lightning sparking from the wound straight to my heart. My stomach tightens, and an embarrassing heat coils low in my belly.

“What the hell?” I whisper, my pulse pounding.

This is not a gunshot wound.

Panic overtakes curiosity, and I scramble backward, pushing myself out of the water with a clumsy splash. My heart races as I stare down at my side, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. The stitched-up gash is still there, but just above it, the red circle and those deep purple punctures stand out starkly against my skin.

It’s a bite mark.

Clear as day.

“Oh my God,” I breathe, every memory of the attack crashing back at once—the wolf’s hot breath on my skin, its muzzle brushing my hip. My hands shake as I turn my gaze to Peaches.

She’s watching me, her expression a mix of guilt and hesitation. Her mouth opens, probably to start rambling about how nice everyone is again, but I cut her off, pointing furiously at the mark.

“This,” I say, my voice sharp and rising. “Reyes did this, didn’t he?”

Peaches bites her lip, her brown eyes glinting with something I can’t place—sympathy, maybe? Regret?

She nods, barely.

“You’d be dead without it,” she whispers.

The words hit me like a punch to the chest. My heart pounds, anger and confusion bubbling to the surface.

“I didn’t ask for it!” I snap, the weight of the truth settling hard in my chest. “I didn’t agree to this. I don’t even know what the hell this is!”

Peaches flinches but doesn’t look away. She’s moving toward the edge of the pool now, climbing out–and I realize she thinks she’ll have to stop me from bolting.

“You were dying,” she says, her voice almost pleading. “You had minutes, maybe less. The bite…it’s the only thing that could’ve saved you.”

“That doesn’t make it okay!” My voice cracks, the anger warring with confusion and a sickening sense of helplessness. “I don’t understand. What does this mean? What did he do to me?”

Peaches exhales shakily, running a hand through her damp hair. “I think you should talk to Reyes,” she says, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around herself. “He’ll explain it better than I can.”

She moves toward her clothes, avoiding my eyes, and something inside me twists painfully.

“Peaches,” I say, my voice quieter now, almost desperate. “Will you help me? Help me escape?”

She freezes, her back to me, and for a moment, I think she’s going to say yes.

But when she turns, her face is drawn tight with guilt.

“I can’t,” she says. “Even if I wanted to, it wouldn’t matter.”

“Why not?” I demand, stepping toward her, my fists clenched at my sides.

Her eyes meet mine, steady and serious. “Because now that he’s marked you, he’ll always know where you are. No matter where you run, he’ll find you.”