I’m not much of an art-lover—I respect people who create art but rarely have time to appreciate it. This painting, however, is so vivid and encompassing that itdemandsmy attention.
“What are you doing in here?” Sierra’s voice snaps from behind me. I spin around, knowing that I’ve been caught, but not ashamed of that whatsoever.
Sierra stands in the doorway, her face red with indignation, arms crossed over her chest. I see movement from behind her, and guess that Leisel’s in the cabin, likely gathering last-minute items.
“Admiring your work,” I respond honestly, glancing back at the painting again. “You’re remarkably talented.”
“My work isn’t yours to admire,” she says through gritted teeth. “You have no right to be in here.”
It’s clear to see I struck a sore spot by invading her painting room—likely because artists often feel sentimental about their creations. The painter my family commissions for royal portraits tends to go off on prolonged rants if we move or even breathe too much during sittings.
“I have every right to be in here,” I respond calmly. “We’re mates. What’s yours is mine, and vice-versa.”
Her golden eyes blaze with anger. “Get. Out.”
Knowing I’ve pushed as far as I can for the moment, I stride past her. “We’re ready to leave when you are. The journey is long, and I’d like to make camp before sundown.”
With that, I leave the cabin, letting out a sigh of frustration, knowing that tearing down Sierra’s fury at my mere existence will be no easy task.
Chapter Thirteen
Sierra
By the time we make camp that evening, Leisel is so exhausted I fear she might fall off of Duchess. The night is chilly, so after helping her off her horse and tying their reigns to a tree I bundle her in a blanket I packed.
The pack members riding with us have given us space while we’ve journeyed through the day—whether that be on orders from their Alpha or not wanting to tempt my anger, which is so prevalent it’s palpable, I’m not sure.
I’m as tired as Leisel, if not more, considering I haven’t slept the last two nights, but I don’t let myself rest. While the shifters begin setting up tents and unpacking the food they brought, I set about starting a fire to keep Leisel and me warm.
It isn’t difficult—we stopped in a clearing in the midst of a heavily wooded area, so I assemble some sticks and logs from the forest floor as well as dead leaves, set them up in a teepee structure within a ring of rocks, and strike flint and steel a few times before the leaves catch fire. The flame quickly spreads to the rest of the sticks. After a minute, asthe fire begins to grow and heat up, I add some thicker pieces of wood, and then sit down next to Leisel, huddling close to keep her warm.
We only stopped once during the day for a brief lunch break, during which Leisel and I ate sandwiches I’d packed for the journey, while the others ate whatever they’d brought with them. Still, I’m absolutely starving, since trotting and cantering for an entire day is an exhaustive task.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Leisel.
I stand, walk over to Shadow, pluck the picnic basket of food I brought off his back, and take it back to her.
I break off a big chunk of a loaf of bread and hand it to her, before setting the pot of stew I brought on top of the fire to warm.
Leisel breaks off a smaller hunk of the bread and offers it to Chip, who’s sleeping in the folds of her shirt. He instantly wakes up, rubs his little cheek against her fingers in an affectionate gesture, and starts gobbling down the bread.
While I’m stirring the stew, Leisel quietly asks, “Can you read to me?”
I smile at her and pull Hamlet out of the picnic basket. I brought several books with me, including the old books on witchcraft passed down from my mother, wanting to ensure that my nightly ritual of reading to Leisel won’t die despite the humongous changes in our lives. At some point, I’ll have to ask Camden for access to a library, but I intend to put that off as long as possible.
As I’m turning to the page I left off on last night, I hear shuffling footsteps approaching that make me tense. Looking up, I see that Camden and Wyatt are crossing from a group of tents over to Leisel and me.
“There’ll be a warm tent set up for you two,” Camden says simply, seating himself on the forest ground not far from me.
Not wanting to accept anything from him, but also not wanting Leisel to freeze tonight, I simply say, “Thank you.”
Wyatt plops down not far from Leisel and gives her a fond look that makes her scoot closer to me. I wrap my arm around her shoulder, pulling her into my side.
When neither brother makes a move, I ask, “Is that all?”
I want them to move along so that Leisel and I can eat in relative peace, and I can read to her without disruption. That desire comes to an abrupt halt when Aspen also approaches, sitting across the fire from me. She’s followed by several other pack members until there are at least ten people crowded around.
Aspen, examining the fire, asks me politely, “Do you have experience camping?”
