“Let’s get moving. We need to go see if we can find our packs and more of the paddles.”
She pushes the raft back into the water and looks back, waiting for us to get in.
I surge forward, leaping in and landing in a crouch up the front of the boat. The pack doesn’t hesitate, but the rest of them do. Still, in minutes, we’re off, and an hour later, we’ve got almost everybody's pack back.
Hers is missing, though, and I’m not sure why her smile has turned brittle or desperate. The thread of panic in the air has me tense and ready to kill anything that moves. Okay, sure, these last couple of days have been awkward, but I never thought I would see her again, let alone when we were out murdering people.
Strangely, the perverse enjoyment I get from people’s fear doesn’t come when she is afraid. No, it’s making me homicidal, more than normal. I just want to eliminate whatever is causing her fear.
Now, I know I’m in trouble.
We paddle the boat to the bank and drag it up. She pulls out a cover and fits it over the raft before securing the whole thing to the ground using rope and pegs.
“Set up camp up there,” she points. “I need to check something out. We need a fire, and get some of the jerky and veggies going. You should all be carrying small amounts of food as per the instructions I sent you.”
She walks away without saying anything else.
I follow her immediately.
She curses when she hears me but doesn’t bother to tell me to go back. We walk downstream, and I realise she’s looking for her pack, but it’s the frantic energy and the way she’s worrying her bottom lip, how she is in and out of the river, standing on boulders, peering into the depths that really raises my suspicion.
“Okay, what’s in the pack?” I ask.
She stops and lets out a tiny scream of pure frustration. It’s adorable.
“Do not smile at me like that, Cyn.”
“I’m not,” I say, not even trying to fight the smile.
She hisses, a sound that is adorably cute and feline that it just makes me want her even more.
“What have you lost?”
“The suppressant patches.”
I freeze, my smile falling away.
“Not funny now, is it?” she growls.
No, it’s not funny at all. There are three very incredibly dangerous alphas out here that will start coming off their patches. Tempers will get wild.
Wait, the expression on her face, what does that mean? Oh, you can’t be serious?
“Yours as well?” I yelp.
She hisses and snarls at me, but I grab her wrist, pulling her up close, staring down at her. Peanut butter cookies turn the world to silence; they blind me to everything but her. I edge closer, needing to inhale more of her intoxicating scent. I fight to focus my thoughts.
“Are you telling me you’re going to be out here in the wilderness with seven alphas and three betas, and you’re going to start smelling like the damn delicious omega you are?”
“Will you lower your voice!” She yanks her arm, trying to get free.
“Don’t you have any backups? Like a spare one left somewhere? Anything?”
“Yeah, I keep them tucked up inside my vagina pouch for emergencies,” she growls and flicks me in the forehead.
“Did you…flick me?”
It takes me a long second to figure out what she’s saying before I can brush it aside. Except I have this terrible urge to giggle. Very unalpha-like behaviour. And somehow, she’s escaped my hold and is back to scanning the riverbank.
