Page 2 of Beasts of Mine

The travel itself could be exhausting. I had slept in too many airports, missed connections, dealt with damaged luggage, gotten food poisoning in countries where I barely spoke the language, and spent more nights than I cared to count in rooms where the mattress springs seemed personally offended by my existence.

None of that mattered once I reached the field.

I had photographed wolves moving through snow while my fingers went numb inside my gloves and spent twelve hours cramped inside a hide for a bird that eventually appeared for less than four minutes. I'd watched elephant calves follow their mothers across dry grasslands and sea turtles make their slow way toward the ocean beneath moonlight.

Every photograph had a story surrounding it that no one else would ever see.

People saw the finished image.

I remembered the hours that came before it.

Maybe that was part of why I kept traveling.

My apartment back home was technically my permanent address, although calling it home sometimes felt like a stretch. It was where my mail went, where I kept furniture I rarely used, and where I emptied one suitcase before eventually filling another.

Three plants sat on my kitchen windowsill, surviving almost entirely because my neighbor had accepted years ago that I couldn't be trusted to keep them alive myself.

My mother hated when I described my life that way. According to her, I was eventually supposed to get tired of traveling. One day, I'd wake up craving stability, meet a nice Alpha—or perhaps an established pack—and suddenly realize how wonderful it would be to have people waiting for me every time I came home.

She'd been waiting for that revelation since I was twenty-one.

At twenty-eight, I was beginning to think she might be waiting a while longer.

It wasn't that I disliked packs.

I understood the appeal. As an Omega, I knew how comforting familiar scents could be and how much easier certain instincts became around people you trusted. Bonds could offer emotional and physical stability, and I'd had more than one lonely night when the idea of returning to a warm, occupied home sounded nice.

But nice wasn't enough to make me build my life around people I hadn't found yet.

I liked the life I'd already made for myself.

Animals didn't question it either, which was another point in their favor. They didn't care whether an Omega should be traveling alone, whether I was getting too comfortable being independent, or if I planned to settle down before my mother lost all patience with me.

Mostly, animals wanted me to keep my distance and stop getting in their way.

That arrangement worked beautifully.

The sound of the motor changed beneath me, pulling my attention forward.

The research station had finally appeared. It blended into the forest so naturally that I might have missed it if I hadn't been searching for signs of human habitation. A narrow wooden dock extended from the muddy bank toward several weathered buildings raised slightly above the ground.

Tin roofs showed between the trees. Solar panels had been positioned wherever someone had managed to find reliable sunlight, and large rain barrels stood beneath gutters along two of the buildings.

Mud-covered boots crowded one porch.

Laundry hung beneath another covered area.

Behind the nearest building sat what I assumed had once been a respectable vegetable garden. Several plants had been eaten almost down to their stems, while one corner of the wire fencing sagged low enough that whatever had gotten inside probably hadn't needed much determination.

I smiled.

It wasn't fancy. It wasn't supposed to be.

I liked it already.

The boat bumped against the dock, and the driver cut the motor. The sudden quiet lasted only a second before insects, distant bird calls, and water moving against the wooden posts filled the space.

“Finally,” I murmured, stretching one stiff leg before carefully pushing myself to my feet. The driver secured the boat and hauled my oversized backpack onto the dock with considerably less effort than I'd managed that morning. When he reached toward the camera bag next, I instinctively pulled it closer.