Chapter Seven
Andrew
I've been running for an hour when she finds me.
I'm deep in the forest on the eastern edge of pack lands, pushing hard through the underbrush, and my wolf is finally starting to settle.Four paws on earth, the rhythm of breath and steady thudding motion, the smell of pine and turned soil and the creek half a mile north.
Then I catch her scent on the wind and my wolf perks up immediately.She’s in wolf form.Here in the forest.With me.
She comes through the trees at a dead sprint, her coat silver-gray in the dappled sunlight.She doesn't slow down.She just falls into stride beside me, matching my pace, and we run.
The woods are green and alive.April in Arkansas means everything blooming at once — dogwood flowers in the clearings, wild violets underfoot, the canopy overhead just thick enough to keep the forest floor cool.The air is warm on my fur.Somewhere a woodpecker is working on a dead oak.
We run until the trees open up into a small clearing I've known my entire life.There's a fallen log at the edge, soft moss covering the ground, and the light coming through the canopy in long golden bars.
I shift first.The change rolls through me fast, my bones reshaping, and then I'm standing on two legs in the clearing, naked and already regretting the decision to stop running.
She shifts a second later.
And there she is.Naked.Right there.About six feet away from me in a patch of sunlight.Slender, pale, the perfect globes of her breasts tipped with pink.
I tear my gaze away and look at the trees.Very interesting trees.Extremely compelling bark patterns.
"How many?"she says.
I risk a glance at her.She's looking right at me, her gaze burning through me.
My mouth quirks up in a smile."How many what?Trees in the forest?A whole bunch.More than ten, definitely."
She lets out a sharp breath of exasperation."How many times did you pay for my food?"
Oh.That.
I look back at the trees."Does it matter?"
"Yes."
I exhale."I don't know.A lot."
"Why did you do it?"
I shrug uncomfortably.This conversation would be easier if we were both wearing clothes.
"You just seemed hungry."
She's quiet for a moment.Then: "Not because you cared about me at all?"
"Maybe a little,” I mutter.
Maybe a lot, I think.Maybe my heart ached for the scrappy little pest who followed me around like I was there to save her.Maybe I wanted to protect her even back then, before I understood what that meant.Maybe when I saw her standing in that cornfield two weeks ago, something in me recognized her before my brain caught up.
I don't say any of that.
Instead I look at her properly, and I catch a new undercurrent of worry in her expression.She's hiding it, but I've been around her long enough now to pick up on her moods, or maybe it’s the fated mate thing.Or both.
"Is anything bothering you?"I ask."Other than me, that is?"
She shrugs and looks away."Oh, you're not that awful, I guess."