He's so beautiful it hurts.
His hands rise in surrender, but the look on his face is anything but passive. The woman launches herself at him. I move without thinking—to protect her, or him, I can't say—but she passes right through me.
I flail in surprise, my knees buckling, but just before I meet the filthy, slick floor—I jolt upright, gasping. The sheets are knotted around my legs, cold sweat drips down my forehead, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Just a dream.
But nothing like the others I've had of him.
It takes me a second to realize where I am. And that I'm awake.
I take a deep breath.
Grape jelly and peanut butter overpower the underlying scent of fresh grass and cottonwood trees. The small boy standing at the door to the room, wearing a purple dinosaur t-shirt and a toothy smile smeared with jam, stares unabashedly.
The window at the top of the room, edged close to the ceiling, shines with bright sunlight, and I can tell by the rays it must be warm and high in the sky. Mid-morning.
I groan and stretch. It takes me a second to collect the puzzle pieces. I'm in a bed again. Or, still. The last thing I remember was waking up in the afternoon and findinghimstaring down at me like I was his precious.
I breathe through the rising panic. I'm alone—except for the strange little boy staring at me. The men aren't here. Beep is with me. Calm but alert. I'm safe. I'm okay.
I snuck onto their lands, got caught in the office. That woman, Andrea, kicked the shit out of me, nearly killed me. Stance stomped on my hand, then carried me to a cell with silver bars. And then there were…
Mates,Beep supplies unhelpfully. I ignore her and keep piecing the night together. Days? Has it been days?
Orion was his name. The calm one with blue eyes. I remember Andrea calling him on the phone. I can't remember the violent one's name.
I drag myself up to a seat, pleased to find the movement nearly pain-free.
The little boy cocks his head, watching me curiously. I narrow my eyes. He narrows his. I sniff. He sniffs.
Wolf. He must have been born like this, not bitten like me; he's so young. His eyes narrow further at my inspection, and I turn away from him to look around the room.
They brought me here and stitched me up. Why would they go through the effort of healing me if they just wanted me dead?
They don't want you dead, Beep says with a yawn, which tells me she's been resting, too. I'm surprised. We've been on the run for so long, unsafe in strange locations, she never really, fully rests when I do.
"They sure have a funny way of showing it," I mumble. "You still mad at me?" Beep was yelling at me, urging me to settle down, but I wouldn't listen. Then the old man knocked me out with drugs.
Depends. Will you do as I say from now on?
A woman's voice calls out, and the boy's eyes go wide before he scurries out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
Get up. Must find our mates.
"No, Beep. We need to get out of this place. These shifters are psycho." To remind her why, I gingerly crawl to the edge of the bed, then stretch out my feet, testing the once-shattered bones.
Then yes, I'm still mad.
Whatever.
I don't know where my shoes went. I'm still dressed in my torn, filthy, stolen pants, so that's something. They changed my shirt, but after lifting the hem and seeing the bandage, I appreciate that I'm even dressed and not stuck in a hospital gown.
Groaning, I get up, wobble a bit, then walk over to the door of the spartan hospital room. I follow the fresh grass scent of the little boy down a hallway.
"Oh! Good morning, Omega!" A woman smiles brightly when I approach the room at the end of the hall, the door propped open wide. She shifts toward me with her arms open, as if she's coming in for a hug. It catches me by surprise, and I must look panicked because she slows and backs away, her smile faltering.
My mouth opens, ready to tell her that's not my name—she saysomegawith the same deference Stance used, piling on to my long list of shifter-related questions. But the awkward moment passes quickly, and her smile reappears.
