Page 13 of Red Marked

“Me too,” I confess.

“We will soon see. I doubt it very much, but maybe they weren’t ferals and they can help us.” She turns to me, hope and doubt both showing on her face.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Scar,” I warn, trying to heed my own words.

“Don’t you worry, I won’t.”

“Has everyone practiced the different calls?”

She nods. “Two short calls for a single male. Ongoing short calls mean we’re in shit, and a group of them is coming. We’ll keep practicing the drills. From the calls to our attack to our fallback. Over and over. We’re ready, but we can always be better.”

“Good.” I squeeze her arm once. “I’m going to check on Koa.”

Scarlet’s face grows somber. Her eyes turn sad. “That would be a good idea.”

Koa shares the largest shelter with the other two Draig females, and I find her alone in it, knees drawn to her chest, a wooden bowl of food almost untouched at her feet.

I crouch a few feet off instead of closer, the way I’ve learned to since the day we managed to get her away from that feral male.

I wish we could have gotten to her sooner.

“You need to eat, Koa.” I nod at the bowl.

She nods. “I’m not hungry.” She shrugs.

“How are you today?”

She turns her large brown eyes on me. “I’m fine.”

I know she isn’t. I can tell by the dark smudges under her eyes and the pinched look on her face.

“You need to eat, hon,” I tell her. “You’re losing weight, and it isn’t good for the whelp.”

“I didn’t ask to be with child.” Her voice grows angry.

“No, you didn’t, but you are. This child didn’t ask to be here, either,” I say in a soft tone.

“I can’t help it; I still feel nauseous.”

“I know, but you are pregnant. You need to take care of yourself. The baby is an innocent.”

Her jaw tightens. She has told us several times that she doesn’t want this child. That she would sooner cut it from her growing belly than carry it to term.

I rub her arm. “Is the meat not to your liking? I can fetch fruit instead. I found some bananas earlier.”

She shrugs. Her eyes fix on some point past my shoulder.

It won’t be long before she won’t be able to shift anymore. Her body will put all its energy into growing the whelp.

“Has the little one moved yet?” I ask. “Your baby.”

“It isn’t mine.” A tear tracks down her cheek. “It isn’t.” She shakes her head, burying her face in her arms. Her chest hitches, and she gives a small sob. “I want my mother.” The words come out small, lost. “I want to go home. I don’t—” She curls a hand against her mouth, and it takes her a moment to get the rest out. “I can’t do this. I can’t, Star.”

I want to tell her that she has no choice, but I don’t.

She’s still so young. Only eighteen, and to have suffered through so much. Her eyes are haunted. I feel helpless just looking at her.

“I know, Koa. You’re not alone. We’re here.”