Just a little.
Chapter 7
Zaden
My phone buzzedon the nightstand as I walked out of the bathroom connected to my bedroom. I snatched it up, knowing it was Krystal. I'd texted her as soon as I woke, like I’d done every day for the past week. She wasn’t a morning person except for getting her son off to school. I’d text, then go shower and wait for her reply. This time, there were a few missed texts from her. I grinned so wide my jaw popped.
She'd sent a meme, then a message.
Morning. I just sent Bryce off to play baseball with his friends, which usually ends up being an all day thing.
So she was kidless today. An idea formed and I replied to her text.
If Bryce is occupied, maybe I could lure you out for a day hike. I’ve been itching to get back on the trails above Stock Creek, and the weather is perfect. Sunny, no rain in the forecast, and the leaves in the mountains are starting to change.
The reply came almost instantly.
Sounds great. Meet at the trailhead in an hour?
The anticipation jolted through me.
It’s a date.
She replied with:
I sent her the exact location, got dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and the boots I’d broken in over a hundred-odd miles of Appalachian mud. I packed us a day bag. Water bottles, trail mix, protein bars, and a first aid kit that I’d never needed but always brought anyway.
My dragon was restless, pacing behind my ribs. He wanted to show off, to impress her, maybe even scare her a little with how easily I could carry her up a mountain or light a fire. But wolvesdidn’t want to be tamed or rescued. They wanted partnership. Mutual respect. I could deal with that, but my dragon wanted to show off.
Still, the mate-bond was a stubborn bastard. Even with the curse broken, it pulled at me, demanding more. More time, more connection, more of her. I let myself feel it but kept the reins tight.
I double-checked the pack, then double-checked the weather. I scanned through my phone for any last-minute messages, but there were none.
Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I exited my apartment and locked the door behind me. The stairwell echoed with my footsteps, and for a second, I remembered the days when every step felt like a countdown to the next decade of hibernation. Now the world was open, the future unwritten. I’d earned this freedom, and I wasn’t going to waste it.
I hopped onto my bike and cranked the engine, anticipation building. By the time I reached the trailhead, I was almost vibrating. I parked and waited. The air was crisp, the sky cloudless, and the mountain stretched above me.
I watched the entrance for her car, already rehearsing what I’d say when she arrived. I wanted to play it cool, but who was I kidding? I was hooked, and she knew it.
She arrived five minutes late. Her car was a battered Jeep, the rear window plastered with wolf paw stickers and a faded local radio station decal. She hopped out, sunglasses perched on top of her head and hair pulled into a high ponytail. The leather jacket I'd bought her was zipped up halfway. There was no hiding the smile when she spotted me waiting.
"You look like a park ranger," she said, eyeing my boots and the pack.
"I’m just here to arrest anyone caught littering," I replied, unable to keep the grin off my face. "You ready?"
She glanced at the sky. "Will you carry me back if I can’t make it? Or is this one of those dates where you leave the weak behind for the bears?"
"I would never let you get eaten by a bear," I promised. "Unless it was a really small, adorable bear. And only if you asked nicely."
She snorted and fell into step beside me. I playfully nudged her with my elbow. "I bet your wolf could take a bear."
Shaking her head, she said, "Not me. My uncle Nathan could take a bear. I think the alpha genes skipped over me."
The trail started easily with packed dirt, switchbacks under a green canopy, and birds shouting over each other in the treetops. The path was empty except for us. I adjusted my pace to match hers. She moved with the confidence of someone used to covering ground, but her stride was shorter than mine, and her shoes left a shallower print in the occasional mud.
We talked about our weeks and the new gossip currently running through Stock Creek. I told her about the time Drake tried to deep-fry a whole turkey and nearly took out half of the supposedly fireproof Beck clan with the resulting explosion. She countered with a story about Bryce supergluing his hand to a science project and trying to hide it for two days.
Every time the path dipped or rose, I offered a hand, and every time, she took it. Her grip was strong. There wasno awkwardness in the touch, just a steadying pressure that lingered even after she let go.
