I concentrate on putting one foot in front of another, avoiding as many of the brittle twigs as possible, which make too much noise when they snap in the quiet.
I know how to move silently, especially when being followed.
Unfortunately, Bird doesn’t.
He sounds like a wild boar rampaging through the undergrowth.
I am at least making sure that we are traveling upwind to mask our scents from pursuers.
I glance at Bird.
He is staggering next to me. He’s shivering and hugging his arms around his middle over his thin top.
His lips are blue, and his eyes are glazed with pain.
My expression becomes tight.
I glance down at Bird’s feet. Blood is seeping through the cloth that is wrapped over his bare feet.
He must have stepped on a sharp rock. I should have warned him to look down, even when running.
My Omega’s survival instincts suck.
Better not to tell him that. Omegas prefer praise, right?
By the time that I’d helped Bird to climb the fence and we’d reached the edge of the forest, he was hopping from foot to foot in agony.
The earth was freezing and only going to grow colder.
Frostbite was no joke.
I ripped off the central portion of my top, revealing my stomach.
“Hey, what are you doing?” Bird protested.
“Saving your feet.” When I knelt in front of him, he flushed.
Then I wrapped the cloth around his feet as improvised shoes.
I jolted, when I heard a rip above me.
“Your turn.” Bird knelt next to me, holding up the material that he’d torn from his own shirt.
I stared at Bird in shock.
“What?” Bird challenged. “Aren’t I also allowed to protect my Alpha?”
When Bird stumbles against me, I steady him.
His breathing is dangerously labored. He hasn’t been harshly trained like I have. He isn’t used to being pushed like this. Plus, he’s only just recovered from his coma.
Yet he hasn’t complained.
I’m impressed.
Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
Is someone watching us?