Page 43 of In Deep
“Five thirty. We have to be there for six. Come on, we have to get moving.”
We walk down to the kitchen where Duncan has buttered toast waiting for each of us. I nibble on my piece as they lead me into the back garden and wheel bicycles out of the shed.
“We’re cycling?” I ask.
“Yes, it’s the quickest way,” Zane says.
“Is there a bike for me?”
He shakes his head, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
“Oh god, what?” He climbs onto his bike and motions to the handlebars. “Is it safe?”
“I won’t let you fall. Come on, we’re going to be late and we’re in enough shit after yesterday.”
I roll my eyes and fold my toast in half, slipping it inside the pocket of the hoodie. Then I turn, grip the handlebars and haul my bottom up to rest on the bar.
“Lean into me, Rosie,” Zane instructs and, as I do, his arms cage around me.
At first, we wobble as he weaves us down the garden path and out the back gate, but once we’re on the lane and moving fast, the ride is smooth if a little harsh against my backside. A backside that’s a tad sore from yesterday’s exertions.
The lane takes us around the back gardens of the large town houses and then out into the countryside, fences and trimmed bushes giving way to untamed trees and fields. The birds continue their song as we pass under the boughs of trees dressed in full leaf and down towards the river glinting in the distance.
Zane hums as he cycles and occasionally peppers me with kisses, the bike swerving every time he does and causing me to scream.
“Have some faith, will you? I’m not going to let us crash,” he says.
“Just keep your eyes on the path,” I tell him and he huffs, pedalling hard to catch up with Duncan. We follow him through a gate and onto a path leading into thick water rushes that sway as high as our heads, and then the river bank comes into sight lined with boathouses. Some are worn, paint peeling, doors hanging from their hinges. Others are large and newly varnished with impressive balconies overlooking the water.
Zane follows the path along the river and slows up as we come to the largest of the boathouses. The wide double doors are pulled back to show a lower room full of boats and oars of every size.
He slows the bike and then holds it steady as I slide off the handlebars, my feet landing on grass damp with dew, a slight morning haze skimming above the water. As he wheels the bike up to the house, two men appear, balancing a long, polished boat between their shoulders.
“Morning,” Zane calls as we step aside to let them pass on the path. The man at the front holds up a hand in salute and the other grunts. I can’t see their faces, but their builds are as big as Zane and Duncan’s and their scents familiar. It’s their other pack mates.
I twist to watch them continue down to the water and lower the boat to rest on the surface.
Zane locks his bike against a stand and takes my hand.
“Come on, let me introduce you.”
I squeeze his hand and take a deep inhale, suddenly nervous again. Then I run my fingers through my hair, sure it must be a tangle around my head.
The man at the front of the boat stands first and, catching sight of us approaching, smiles. He’s breathtakingly beautiful, all chiselled cheekbones, full lips, and thick golden hair that brushes his shoulders. His eyes, I see as we draw closer, are a honey brown colour and his skin a similar tone. He looks like a muse you’d find in a painting, draped in robes with flowers twined in his hair. But as beautiful as he is, there is something distinctly masculine about him too. His shoulders powerful, his arms strong and his scent predatory. A mixture of leather and blood orange.
He beams straight at me, those honey eyes dancing over my face.
“Ollie, this is Rosie,” Zane tells him.
“Rosie,” Ollie purrs, holding out his hand to me. “You’re the one who’s been capturing all Zane’s attention.”
I let him take my hand and he wraps it between both of his, his hold warm.
“Duncan’s too, actually,” Zane says, and I try hard not to blush as the alpha’s lips twitch.
As if summoned by his name, Duncan arrives at my side and drapes an arm casually around my shoulder.
“She’s come to watch us practise,” Duncan tells Oliver.
