Salvation (Wild Heat)

Chapter 2 – B R O O K L Y N

I plungemy fingers into the creek bed. The icy water shocks my system, making me shudder. If I wasn’t feeling awake before, I definitely am now.

The weather will get balmy soon. If I work up enough of a sweat, I might even take a swim in the place where the creek turns into a small pool later. If I’m really lucky, maybe it’ll get sunny. Nothing feels better after a swim than lying out on the warm rocks, letting my body dry under the sun’s rays. Those bright afternoons are rare enough that when they happen, I let myself just be. Just enjoy the feeling of the heat against my skin.

If I use my imagination, I can almost pretend it’s the gentle touch of a friend. I can almost pretend I’m not alone.

But not right now. Right now the skies are gray, and I have work to do.

Flicking the water off my fingers, I grab a handful of cold, heavy mud from the banks. I smear it across my torso, causing me to shiver and pay special attention to my neck. Before the mud can dry, I pat on some pine needles and bits of old leaves until I’m covered with a turtleneck woven from the fabrics of the forest.

The mud serves a double purpose. It helps me camouflage into the tapestry of the park so I can track hikers, and it disguises my scent.

I’ve been out here too long without any suppressants or scent-blocking soap. Even without an approaching or active heat, I know my pheromones must be strong enough to alert even the weakest of Alphas who come downwind of me. Even though I didn’t present before mom died, I think she always knew I would be an Omega, like her.

It’s why I have to be smart. I only track Beta hikers, and I don’t get close to them until I’m damn sure I have their designation right.

I pull on the forest green bucket hat I snatched from a hiker a few months back and start on the trail. This close to my shelter, I can walk upright instead of creeping and hiding behind trees, like I usually do. I still try to keep my footsteps as quiet as possible. Clomping through the forest scares away the birds, and I like to hear them chirp and chatter to each other while I work.

As I pass the familiar landmarks—the giant fallen maple tree, the moss-covered boulder that looks like a man with a big nose—I press my hand against them in silent greeting and gratitude.

This forest is my home, and as far as I’m concerned, my only family, too.

Another quarter mile and my territory ends. Now, I have to be careful. I skulk from tree to tree. Alert. Watching. I pause as a couple of squirrels dash through the underbrush, but I listen, and figure they’re not running from anything. Just playing.

As I get close to one of the trails, I spot a huckleberry bush. It’s still June, if I’m counting right on the calendar I stole off a camper back in the fall. Huckleberries shouldn’t be ripe until July. Seems I’ve gotten lucky.

I find the darkest purple berries, picking them to put in the pouch I carry at my waist, but just enough to snack on. I’ll revisit the bush in a few days for more.

Finally, the worn footpath comes into view. It’s a remote one; I won’t see crowds of hikers, even on a nice summer day. The hikers who come through here will be trying to conquer something more challenging than a walk that can be done in a pair of good sandals.

Experienced hikers are good. They carry better gear, heartier snacks. If I’m lucky, a well-stocked first aid kid. I used the last of my aspirin when I had a fever a few weeks ago. I thought it was a heat coming on, but the universe still gives out tiny mercies, it seems. I’ve only had one out here since…

Since he…

I barely survived that heat out here in the wilderness. I thought I was dying. If it weren’t for the tea mom taught me how to make from scavenged herbs and tree barks—if it weren’t for the icy water of the stream—I might not have made it.

Checking out the trees near the path, I finally find one that suits my needs. It’s easy to climb, which means it’ll be easy to flee if I scent an Alpha. A breeze hits me when I climb to the wide branch, comfortable enough to sit on for a few hours. Good. The path of the wind will carry any Alpha pheromones my way.

After positioning myself so I’m blocked from the path’s view by a nearby fir, I settle down to enjoy my berries and wait.

The first berry is perfect, tart and juicy. The flavor explodes on my tongue, and I groan with happiness.

I’m lucky today. Which is appropriate. Because I’m pretty sure it’s my birthday.

There is no mountain of gifts here for me, but the Alphas who would’ve given them aren’t here, either, and that’s a gift all on its own.

My hand instinctively goes to the mark on my neck. The mark that gets fainter every day, but that still vibrates with the terrible truth; my stepbrother is still alive. And if I can feel him, then I know he can still feel me, too.

The berries turn in my stomach. The throb of the bond between us is enough to completely ruin any appetite I had. It feels like a physical thing, curling around my neck, pulling tight like a cord or a leash. The poisonous connection Grayson forged during my first heat will be written in silvery white flesh on my collar for the rest of my life. But the bond it carries is fading. The poison is dulled now. Muted. And it’s a small comfort to know that someday soon, I won’t have to feel him anymore.

When he forced me to accept his knot and sealed his claim with the tearing of teeth through flesh, I’d never felt more violated. More small and insignificant and helpless.

When I presented as an Omega, not long before my seventeenth birthday, I’d barely had time to think about what that would mean. How my life would change. Whether I could get into an Omega Academy. I never imagined myself with a Pack—I didn’t have the time to imagine what I wanted my life to be like.

I didn’t ask my stepbrother for his help. I didn’t want his help.

If he’d just knotted me, I might have been able to endure it. My body begged to be filled. The need was so strong. I used to feel his moods through the bond, like a thunderstorm that came on suddenly. Bringing me to my knees with the intensity of his feelings. The corruptive jealousy he felt when he didn’t get what he wanted. The repulsive joy I knew he felt when he forced himself on some poor Beta. And worst of all, the all-consuming rage he felt when he realized I’d escaped.

Even miles away, the rage shook my body, till I thought my ribs might break from the gasping breaths I took.

It wasn’t all Grayson, of course. It was my father, too.

The father I used to call Papa. Now, that nickname disgusts me.

Roger Castle could’ve stopped Grayson. My Omega status might have taken us by surprise, but he could have kept his son from going into a rut if he really wanted to. Called in a security team to protect me, or just driven me away by himself.

But he didn’t.

He just let Grayson do whatever he wanted to me. Like the years he spent raising me after he bonded to mom were nothing to him. Like I wasn’t even his child, just a sacrifice to throw to his beloved son.

“Stop it,” I whispered to myself. I refused to spend any more time thinking about them today. It was my birthday; it was a lucky day. I’d think about the good times.

I’d think about Momma.

Momma, who taught me what berries were safe to eat.

Momma, who showed me the constellations and the stars I could use to find my way.

Momma, who let me bandage my own injuries if I fell on a hike. “You should know how to keep yourself safe, Bee,” she’d tell me.

She and Daddy—my other Alpha father, my real father—used to take me to Olympic on the weekends. While Papa worked, they brought me here. When I was little, they’d each take one of my hands and swing me between them. When I got older, I loved how they talked to me like I was a grown-up. Sharing everything they knew about nature.

Little lessons that added up over the years.

I don’t think Papa ever realized how much I knew about surviving. He didn’t ask questions about my trips with Momma and Daddy. So he probably had no idea that I knew how to start a fire, to catch and clean fish, to create a basic shelter.

He never expected that I had anywhere to go. But thanks to Momma, I did.

She must have known that I might need to escape. She trained me to survive out here, just in case. Who knows what she suspected or maybe already knew about Papa’s true self? I wonder sometimes if he hurt her. It would have been hard to hide from me and Daddy, but not impossible.

I hope I’m wrong. I hope everything changed only after she died. That Papa turned into a cold monster suddenly. Because it’s so much worse to think he’d been a monster all along.

More negative thoughts. I pinch my arm, hard, and sniffle through the burn in my nose. I have to snap out of it. If I sit here contemplating every bad thing that ever happened to me, I could miss the scent of hikers coming.

“Good thoughts,” I whisper to myself. My voice sounds rusty to my ears; I barely use it.

When I bite on another sweet berry, I just think about Momma. I can picture her gap-toothed smile, which I wish I’d inherited. At least I got her eyes. One ice blue, one brown, turned down a little at the sides.

“We’re like huskies,” Momma used to joke. Then she’d bark at me, which made me giggle.

My body looks like hers now, too. I’ve always been small, but my body has filled out since I escaped. My arms and legs are thin, but strong, thanks to the work I do to build my shelter and forage for food. But I’ve got soft curves now, too.

I wish Mom could have seen the woman I’ve grown up to be.

I can still feel her ghost in the woods with me. I feel her when I find patches of foxglove flowers, or spot a sandpiper by the lake. Maybe Momma even guided me to that berry bush today, to make sure I had a birthday treat.

It’s hard to feel really alone with her spirit still so loud in the wind.

My luck stays goodall day. I was only perched in the tree for twenty minutes before I caught a whiff of a Beta family, headed my way. I crept down the tree, out of sight as they got closer.

The parents were an athletic, cheerful couple. The two teen daughters they’d dragged out for a hike seemed less enthusiastic. They kept loudly complaining to each other about the lack of cell service, which was great. Loud complaining meant they couldn’t hear my footsteps as I trailed behind them.

Finally, they stopped at a lookout. Both girls dropped their packs near a thicket of brush and took their phones to the trail edge to shoot some selfies. It was easy to sneak up and raid their supplies. I got a big Ziploc bag of trail mix with plenty of MMs, a travel bottle of pain reliever, and best of all, a bottle of electric purple nail polish. Perfect for a project I was working on back at the shelter.

The girls were still taking photos when I snuck away.

I tap the fallen tree and the big nose boulder on my walk back.

Momma would be proud of the shelter I built. It’s covered in evergreen boughs, to insulate me in the cold months and disguise me from anyone who might stumble on it. I’d snagged a big tarp from a truck at a camping site, which made sure I stayed dry. It’d been tough in the winter, but I survived the brutal cold. I don’t know how I’m going to manage this year—if the snow’s worse and I can’t go out to scavenge, I’ll have to pray I saved up enough supplies.

Long term, I’d love to build a sturdier structure, one with walls. But that would be almost impossible without an ax, and I haven’t been lucky enough to get my hands on one.

I try not to spend too much time dwelling on what I don’t have. Because I can always be creative with all the things I do.

The forest has everything you need, little Bee. You just have to know where to look.

I’ve been working on finding ways to bring color into my shelter. Color more than what nature can provide.

I’ve always had a crafty side, but surprisingly, I’m even more creative when I’m miles away from a hot glue gun. I started by using crushed berries to paint designs on birch bark, propping the little drawings up against the wall of the shelter. After that, I moved on to making a quilt from the sewing kit and all the sweatshirts I’ve found or stolen. I rely on my sleeping bag to keep me really warm, but the quilt helps make the shelter look a little homier and blocks out the breeze when it gets too cold at night.

Recently, I’ve been collecting mirrors to build a mini disco ball, using clay to stick the broken pieces on a round basket I wove from reeds. It reflects the firelight from my campfire, sending little diamonds of amber to the shelter roof.

The clay sticks out between the mirror pieces, though, and it’s always bugged me. The electric purple nail polish will be perfect to cover the cracks.

I store the stolen goods in my shelter then bring my water purifier and canteen to the stream to collect what I’ll need for the rest of the night.

A small smile tugs at my lips as I allow myself a rare moment of pride. It’s easy to forget that I came out here with almost nothing. Just the clothes on my back and one of Mama’s old hiking packs from the hall closet. It didn’t have much in it, but it was enough to make a start. Everything else I have now has been foraged, stolen, or built from nature’s bounty.

While I wait for the filter to do its work, I plan the rest of my day. Since I caught those hikers in the early afternoon, I can afford to spend some time for myself. Even if it’s not sunny, it should be warm enough to swim. I can wash off the mud from my hunt, then enjoy at least a palmful of the trail mix while I stargaze. Not the worst birthday I’ve ever had.

Then I scent it.

Mountain pine and wild mint. Sweet clover and a salty sea. Warm steel and spicy peppercorn.

It’s delicious. Captivating. An irresistible lure. I’m practically salivating at the delectable blend of scents, interweaving with each other so each flavor is heightened and complemented. Like an expensive designer cologne, custom-made for my nose.

There’s only one thing that could smell that unbearably good to an Omega.

Alphas. More than one. Close.

Way too close. But they’re downwind. As long as they keep moving and the wind doesn’t shift, they shouldn’t scent me.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m stumbling in their direction, my body moving halfway across the tiny clearing. I physically stop myself, throwing my arms around the trunk of a birch tree. The bark feels rough against my cheek, and I nuzzle against it. Trying to bring myself back to earth.

I’ve avoided my heat for months. Being this deep in the woods, far from any contact with others, is the only way I’ve managed to keep it from coming on again.

My first heat turned me into someone I barely recognized. The pain overwhelmed me so badly that all I cared about was making it all end. I was so desperate for someone—anyone—to knot me, that I let it happen. I didn’t stop him.

Even now, now that I’ve lived with this goddamn mark on my neck for a year, I don’t know if I could trust myself to fight off an Alpha.

I should be running right back to my shelter, huddling in the back until those Alphas are miles away from me.

But my heart thuds audibly in my ears, my breaths push hot through my parted lips, and I can’t seem to make myself turn around. I can’t stop imagining the men those scents belong to. They’ll be tall and broad, but almost all Alphas are. And they must be fit if they made it this far into the woods. My shelter’s placed far from any of the easy trails. The Alphas coming toward me are nothing like the casual hikers I’ve encountered so far.

They’ll protect me. They’ll keep me safe. I can finally stop running.

I bang my forehead against the birch tree, digging my nails into the grooves on its trunk, trying to overpower instinct with logic. Biology with the ugly truth. I’ve not only experienced an Alpha’s violence before, I’ve seen the fruit of it with my own eyes, right here in the park. I shudder at the memory, shaking it out of my mind before it can sink its claws in and ruin the day.

No. I can wish for it all I want, but nobody’s coming to save me. Especially not an Alpha. Everyone thinks that Alphas would do anything to protect their Omegas. That they’d rather die than let their beloved feel a moment of pain.

I know now that’s a lie. Grayson proved that to me. Daddy was the exception, not the rule. Alphas are just as selfish as the rest of us—more, even. Because they know they’re strong enough to take whatever they want. Alphas are just predators, no matter how good they smell.

But I refuse to be their prey. These woods are my home turf, my family. Here, I rule.

If they’ve stumbled onto my territory, I can be the hunter. I know how to be careful. I’ll go back to the creek, covering my scent over again. Staying downwind is second nature to me now.

Knowledge is power. They don’t know the forest like I do. It’ll be easy for me to track them, to find out who they are and what supplies they’re carrying.

I can do it without them ever realizing I was there.

I can.

Now, I know what it feels like to have a heat come on. The minute I feel the symptoms, I can come back. I’m stronger now. I’ve survived a heat on my own. And I’ll prove to myself, once and for all, that I’m stronger than my worst instincts.

The clouds part, letting some sunshine filter down to me as I march toward the creek. Sunny, just like I hoped.

This is my lucky day. I’ll use that luck to track down the Alphas intruding on my land. Threatening my home.

And I’ll take everything they’ve got and give them nothing in return.