Page 23 of Secrets and S'mores
“What do you like to do?” Slate asks.
“Um, not much. I listen to music, I guess.”
“Oh, like what kind of music?” Hazel’s voice brightens.
“All kinds. Two thousands rock is good. Nineties rap. Anything with a good beat. I’m not picky.”
“I love that,” she says. “It would be fun to trade some music. Do you ever read? Marigold and I have a little book club.”
“Not really.”
“Okay, well if you want to join us, you don’t even have to finish the book. We’d still like you to hang out with us.”
“I don’t think there will be time before I go home,” I say with a tight shrug.
“Of course. But you could always drive over for the day,” she suggests.
“My mom wouldn’t like that.”
After a minute of silence, Hazel runs her hand along Slate’s forearms and squeezes his wrist. They exchange looks.
Slate clears his throat. “Look, Ember, I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I know the conflict between our packs was difficult for all of us, and I’m really sorry you lost your dad.”
I could have choked on the bite of meat in my mouth. Swallowing forcibly, I dab my mouth with my napkin, desperately sorting through the conflicting emotions caused by his confession.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I settle on. It’s tempting to blame him. I have for a long time. But after spending time here, I’m questioning the truth of it.
Slate’s voice drops. “I honestly don’t know what possessed her to do that.”
It’s painful to meet his gaze. “You’re her child too.”
His mouth curves into a grimace. “She picked him over me a long time ago.”
It feels too close to bonding, having a vulnerable conversation, sibling to sibling. I don’t want to be close with him. Some day we will be Alphas of separate territories and may have to face off.
“Well, I hope you feel special now.” The words are ice daggers.
Hazel sighs, her mouth turning down at the corners. Good. I’m their political hostage, not a long lost sister to embrace. So why do I feel so wretched?
Hazel fills the rest of dinner with small anecdotes about Jasper’s time with their pack over the eighteen months. It sounds like he’s had a lovely time building a life with them and his new mate. Without me.
It’s a relief when they wish me goodnight. Probably a relief for them too, since I wasn’t contributing anything to our conversation. They even trust me enough to allow me to walk back to Onyx’s cabin unsupervised after I assure them I know the way.
The moon illuminates the leaf-strewn pathway from their cabin to the central clearing, and it’s not hard to find a smaller trail from the underbrush leading south toward the Delta’s cabin.
It’s cool and quiet, and I feel my tension unwinding. Drawing in a lung full of pine air, I let the stress of that dinner trickle away. Starlight illuminates the boughs of fir and maple trees as I wind my way toward my temporary home. The forest is lush south of the river, and my territory seems dry and devoid of life in comparison.
It’s not far to the two-story cabin I’m staying in. The evening is so quiet and lovely, I sink into a chair at the fire pit to decompress.
A dark gray shape moves through the trees ahead. My hand goes to my blade, just in case. A wolf approaches, walking with his tail curled upward and his gait friendly. That citrus scent hits me.
“Onyx,” I say. He rests his muzzle on my knee and my hand goes to his head without thought. The fur around his ears is silken and I can’t help but dig my fingers in. A low rumble emanates from his chest.
Too soon, he pulls away and trots a few feet away into the forest. “Did you even go home? Or have you been hanging around this whole time?” I ask, even though he can’t answer me right now.
His dark eyes watch me reproachfully over his shoulder.
“What are you waiting for? Go run. I’ll head back to the cabin. I can make it on my own.”
