Qinnu nods, recalling the feeling all too well. To this day, I can’t believe that a burly man like him has a drop of patience in his body, let alone the capability to resist answering the Beckoning for almost a year. That’s what Vessa doesn’t understand. Males get to lay down our mark, but we are at the mercy of the female to initiate. Until then, we follow them around helplessly, breathing in as much of her scent as she allows.
Begrudgingly, I clear my throat. “How did you push through it?”
He shuffles his feet, staring off into the trees. “Well, at first, it was painfully obvious that she wasn’t the slightest bit interested. That was a hard pill to swallow, but given what she went through, I had to give her some space. It was a miracle that she was even alive.”
I shudder, remembering what I witnessed six years ago in the previous medic’s office. Eight rolls of bandages were used to cover all the slashes on Cora’s blue-tinted skin, the jagged bites on her arms. I’ll never forget the screams that tore through her when she woke. How they sounded identical to my mother’s.
When I heard them, I couldn’t breathe. I was pressing myself against the steaming brick walls, sobbing and choking on smoke all over again. Listening to Mother’s last moments as she watched the vampires snatch her baby away.
Qinnu grits his teeth. “I told myself that all those months of waiting in agony were far better than if I had found her dead in that village. All it took was imagining the alternative—if I hadnever gotten the chance to get to know her, to watch her reclaim her strength.”
The heavy weight of that realization sifts through me. What it would mean to go through the rest of his life without having another soul to latch onto.
“I will say, later, as we gravitated closer to each other, I did have to use a prick of silver to calm myself down. Or force myself to swallow a shot of pickle juice.”
“Yeah right,” I scoff. Pickles were the bane of his existence.
Worse comes to worst, I guess I’ll have to give black licorice a try.
He tosses a stone over the cliff, watching it smash against the sharp rocks below, where water winds through a shady creek. Qinnu squares his shoulders to match mine and slips off his thick jacket and holster.
“C’mon. Obviously, brawling with grunts earlier didn’t blow off enough steam. How about we go a couple rounds?”
If anyone can take it as well as they dish it, it’s this guy. Tesni can hold her own as well, though I’ve learned to think carefully before initiating a sparring match with her. Facing off against the Norgsik means no boundaries, no mercy. Only once have I ever walked away without blades protruding from my body. Always in places where I can’t reach.
Not that Qinnu’s left hook hurts any less.
I channel my rage into wolf form, shredding the shorts. Staring back at me is another black wolf, an equally matched opponent ready to spring into action. Ears are jetted outwards, daring me to strike. Kicking both paws back, I lower my stance. And then I unleash myself.
Chapter 20
VESSA
In the foyer window’s reflection, Nell mutters a swear at the sight of her bobbed hair now sopping and flat. Jabir takes her coat. “Someone please remind me why I choose to stay in this dreadful town. I think the sun has forsaken us.”
Indeed, the skies haven’t shown a glimpse of hope that these heavy rain clouds might soon disperse. We gather in the warm den, where Cora examines the small cuts on my hand before wrapping it up in a fresh bandage. The wounds are healing over nicely. Even better, my concussion has been officially cleared.
The Betas are just as pleased at the news. From his corduroy jacket, Jabir retrieves a small smartphone and places it on the walnut coffee table.
“The Alpha requested this for you.”
“Actually, I did.” Nell leans against the sofa cushion, stroking her baby bump. “Being Axe’s messenger pigeon isn’t really part of my job description.”
My stomach flutters when I see a notification illuminate the screen.
Axe Skornokovy
Tomorrow, I’d like you to meet me at the outdoor shooting range. Let’s say 1:00.
I type my response out four different times before finally settling on a satisfactory reply.
I’ll be there.
Zipping up my new sweatsuit,I make my way towards the shooting field behind the training complex. Dressed in a faded t-shirt, cargo pants, and his usual combat boots, Axe is there, stacking cans on stumps. To the left stands what must be an easel papered with practice targets. The gun rests on a picnic table next to a box of small ammunition. As I cautiously smooth my fingers over the long barrel, Axe jogs over to meet me. Something about the way his backwards hat pairs with the dirtied clothes is disconcertingly attractive.
When he hauls the weapon into my arms, relief washes over me. The weight is hardly anything worth fussing about, but I’m not going to stand here and pretend it’s light as a stick.
“This shoots projectiles designed to hit small mammals like rabbits and squirrels. Today, your target is aluminum,” he explains.
