Page 34

Just like a stupid woman in a horror movie. The exact woman I’d be cursing on my screen, saying through a mouth full of popcorn, you really can’t watch the ground when you’re running for your life?

Well, now I’m the stupid woman on the ground, ankle throbbing, heart in her throat, turning around onto her back just as mama bear gets close enough to rip out my innards.

Except she doesn’t rip out my innards, because she’s suddenly flying to the side, landing on the ground, her entire body snapping against a tree like a rag doll. I actually gasp at the sight of it, at how quickly such a large creature was moved, taken out of the air like a fly.

And then I register the huge white wolf getting to his feet beside her, snarling and snapping and going straight for her throat.

Orange and citrus are all around me, and I know it’s him, even though I’ve never seen his wolf before. His hair is so dark, I would have thought his wolf would be the same. Instead, it’s a brilliant, arctic white.

I’m moving before I’m thinking, jumping between the wolf and the bear, throwing my hands up to stop him from killing her right in front of her baby.

“Stop! Augustus, stop!”

He snarls, snaps, looks first at me, then at the bear, his pupils narrowing when he sees the bear. He lunges for her and—in a sight that must seem absolutely mental from the outside—I throw my arms around his neck and hug him as tightly as I can.

Me hugging him doesn’t restrain him. I can barely even get my arms wrapped around his neck, so me being here won’t stop him at all if he really wants to move forward. He threw that bear to the ground like it was nothing—I’d be even less trouble than that.

But I don’t have to stop him with force.

He seems to recognize that it’s me, arms around him, holding him, and I feel his breath slow, his chest under all that white fur gradually calming. It’s almost like he takes a deep breath of me, but that can’t be right.

I can’t believe this is working. I can’t believe the alpha king of the Northern Kault pack is halting in his tracks because of me. Into the fur near his ear, I say urgently, “It’s not her fault. She was just protecting her baby. Please—let her go, Augustus.”

On the ground beside us, the bear is scrambling to her feet, away from Augustus and back toward her cub. Probably to tell the kid it’s time for them to get the hell out of here.

If I weren’t still shaking from fear and impending doom, I might actually laugh at this turn of events. The bear thought I was enough of a threat to attack, and that she could take me. But Augustus is so much of a threat that she’s decided her only real option is retreating and hoping he doesn’t hunt her down.

Augustus rocks forward, as though he’s still thinking about fighting the bear, but when I tighten my hold around his neck, he relaxes, sinking back.

The trees and brush rustle as cub and mother take off from here, moving quickly, as though they understand the fact that Augustus might change his mind. Slowly, I unwind my arms from around his neck, feeling a little dizzy from his scent being everywhere. It’s even stronger now that he’s shifted to his wolf form.

I just want to keep touching him. I want to pet his soft coat and sit on the forest floor, curl against him and take a nap. He’s so warm. So safe.

Augustus, clearly, isn’t thinking about a nap at all.

My father hardly ever shifted, and never in my presence. I’ve seen it portrayed on television before, but it’s another thing entirely to watch it happen, the blur of something—what, magic?—veiling over Augustus as he turns back, completely clothed in what he was wearing before his wolf took over.

Him shifting is both good and bad. Good because I am happy to see him in a form where he can’t chase that bear down anymore. Bad because now that he’s standing on two legs again, he can cross his arms and glare me down.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he asks, stepping toward me.

This is just like the bear, except now I’m not in danger of having my innards ripped out. Now, I’m backing up, heart rising up into my throat, core clenching dangerously. If I thought it was hard before not to let myself slip into a heat, it’s damn near impossible now. He’s in front of me, his scent rolling off him in waves, having just saved me from certain death.

For the second time.

Maybe just this once, I should defer to him. Should give in to the weight on the crown of my head, on my chest, the invisible hand pushing me down, insisting I bow my head and cower and let him do what he wants.

But I can’t. I guess it’s just not who I am.

Crossing my arms, I say, “I told you I was going to escape.”

His jaw ticks, like maybe he’s thinking our visits would have changed that fact. The guilt flickers up inside me again. “Well, you’ve yet to prove that.”

“I’m not locked up in that room, so I’d call that a pretty good escape—”

“You could have been killed!” he says it fast, angry, the words roaring out of him.

“And why does that matter?” I snap, trying to take another step away from him, but I’m backed up against a tree. Instead of letting him see how cornered I feel, I just mirror him by crossing my arms and staring him down. “Why does it matter? I’m a lowly, whore Omega. You should have let me die at the festival, and you could have let me die now, and I don’t understand why you insist on keeping me alive just to lock me up in some room!”