Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Lyra
Wren and I paint the chicken coop together in shades of purple.
That’s right. Purple.
When he said he had a surprise color in mind, purple was the least I expected. And when I teased him a little about it, too—not in a flirtatious manner, of course— he’d blushed, burning bright red. And then he told me it was because he wanted a shade that matched the violet of my eyes.
I’m still in shock. I don’t think an Alpha has ever commented on my eyes before, let alone noticed the shade of them. He said my eyes didn’t just have shades of violet, but lilac and lavender, too.
I was as red as Fidget’s coat by the end of that conversation.
Now, we paint in tandem, reserving a shade of purple for each plank of wood. We alternate, violet on the outside, then lilac, lavender, and so on.
Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever given the color of my own eyes much thought, but I was always quick to take note of the shade of other people’s eyes.
For one, I have already picked out every shade of green I’ve found in Wren’s gaze. Sage, emerald, light jade...
We fall into a quiet trance, the soothing sounds of our paintbrushes going back and forth, over and over.
I allow myself to relax, closing my eyes as I enjoy the moment.
Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps Eden wasn’t on the edge of the desert, after all.
Perhaps I have already found it.
I’m quick to check myself then, painting more fervently. I cannot afford to be complacent. This is only temporary.
I’m surprised I’ve even managed this long without trying to escape again, but Wren just made me feel safe.
Gage still makes me wary, but I don’t feel as intimidated by him as I do Malakai.
Now that Alpha… he always has me gazing over my shoulder. Even now, as I paint the coop in purple tones, I spy the gate in my peripheral vision.
When I don’t find his ominous, dark presence, I sigh, returning to my task.
I jump suddenly next when purple paint splatters my face, and I turn to face the culprit, staring at him aghast.
Wren gives a shit-eating grin, raising a brow at me in challenge. His grin makes his dimples appear, and my heart thuds at the sight of them.
I wipe the paint from my cheek, gazing down at my fingertips. They’re stained purple now (but I suppose it beats red).
I purse my lips, shaking my head at him.
Wren flicks his wrist ever so slightly, and then I’m splotched with paint again. Standing my ground, I take several calming breaths, reorienting myself.
I’m not sure why I do it. But I find myself flicking my own wrist, sending paint Wren’s way. Now purple dots his face, and his deep chuckle vibrates through my veins.
“I knew you had a playful side, little sparrow. Go on. Splash me with paint again. I won’t mind.”
I can’t stop shaking my head at him, returning to my task. “No. We have chores to do. Besides, what would Gage think when he looks out the window and sees us wasting paint?”
Wren laughs. “Well, he’s always free to join us.”
The Alpha flicks more paint at me, and I finally stop, breathing through my nose. After a few moments of contemplating, a smile takes over my lips.
Oh, if he wants to turn this into a fight, then so be it.
Without warning, I send the paintbrush towards his face, almost wielding it like a knife. Yet instead of stabbing him, I slide the brush up the length of his chiseled face, leaving one long brushstroke of purple in my wake.
Now my laughter echoes across the grounds and into the woods beyond as he blinks down at me dumbly.
All I see of his face now are those blinking, startled green eyes.
He looks like a purple monster. A handsome purple monster, might I add. Even with paint on his face, he’s gorgeous.
The shade only emphasizes the contours of his face, making his skin glisten in the sun. Now I spy the dip in his chin, biting my lip. Then my eyes trail to the dimples on either side of his smile.
My Omega melts at the sight again, and then she whispers sharply in my ear, Mine.
What? No, he’s not ours. He can’t be…
But she is persistent as ever.
Mine.
There is just no arguing with her. Honestly. I’ve only just started sensing her thoughts lately. The guards always fed us suppressants at the Arena.
Anything to offset the effects of our heat.
That way, we could train without the distraction of our Omegas.
But my Omega is a great distraction today as her eyes roam up and down Wren’s body. She wants to cover more of that Alpha in paint.
Now I swipe my paintbrush towards him again, making sure I get his shirt this time.
Hopefully, he will feel inclined to take it off. I’ve wanted him to take it off since he dowsed himself with that pail of cold water.
But he only kept his shirt on.
The Alpha gasps, “Hey! This is my best shirt.”
So, take it off then.
But the Alpha doesn’t take the bait, and now he smears my own face with the paintbrush, giving me a mask of purple of my own.
Now it is full-on war as paint splashes everywhere, and it looks like we have messed up our hard work.
The chickens peck in the yard, stopping to stare at us as if we’re crazy.
Wren has me backed up to the coop, pressing my back against the still-wet wooden slats. My chest heaves as I hold up my palms. “Okay, okay... that’s enough.”
Yet his smile is bright, only emphasized by his white teeth. His fangs glint beneath the sun, and I swallow.
He really does have sharp teeth.
They all do.
The sharpest fangs I have seen on any group of Alphas.
Yet why do I imagine those fangs inside my throat, marking me? I always swore that I would never let an Alpha bite me. The last thing I ever wanted was to be bonded to an Alpha, least of all someone like my guardian or worse... the king.
But I’d have had no choice. If the king had ever decided that I should be his mate, then that would have been that. Sure, I would have had riches beyond my wildest dreams, but I wouldn’t have been free.
I would have been his possession.
Wren is about to pour the bucket of paint over me, but I kick my leg out to distract him, hitting him in the shin.
“Hey!” he protests, dropping the bucket to massage his leg.
I’m already running away from him by the time he recovers, but the Alpha soon catches up, tumbling us both to the ground.
Wren cushions my head during the fall, encircling his large palm around the back of my skull.
I blink up at him in surprise, trying to see him through my paint-speckled lashes. His hand is big enough to crush my skull, yet he holds my head as if he’s cradling a newborn infant, gentle and caring.
Wren truly is a contradiction.
How can he even be real?
His chest swells against my own as our rapid breaths fill the small space between us. We practically share air now, but I wouldn’t have him anywhere else.
His gaze trails to my lips. They’re covered in paint, yet he still looks at them as if they’re a work of art.
My vision blurs, and then my heart pounds when he leans his head forward.
It happens in slow motion. One moment, I’m gazing up into his rounded sage eyes, and the next, I can feel his breath on my wet lips.
His eyes shut, as do mine. And then our mouths brush, heat thrumming inside my veins, electrifying my being.
But then the kiss and the illusion shatter once a gate shuts behind us, and then the sky above turns an oppressive shade of gray.
Now, no more watercolor blue. Not even purple to brighten my day.
Malakai has returned.
Wren and I whirl our heads around. Malakai stands a few feet away, and the Alpha doesn’t even deign to look at me.
He only sees his brother.
Something bad has happened, and I gulp in dread.
“Wren,” the Alpha growls through his teeth, disgusted with all the paint. With us. “Pack meeting. Now.”
Wren sighs as he removes himself from above me, getting to his feet. His sad, sage eyes find mine as he smiles reassuringly. “Sorry, sparrow, but I have to leave. Do you think you can finish the coop without me for a while? Hopefully, this shouldn’t be long.”
My soul deflates as I try to calm my erratic pulse. Then I nod, ignoring the ominous feeling.
It’s as if a storm cloud truly has gathered above the house. And it all started from the moment Malakai returned home.
Who am I kidding? It’s not my home. It never will be. It’s theirs. Pack Storm.
Now I remain on the grass, watching Wren as he moves toward the house with Malakai. Once he’s out of sight, I allow myself to wallow, but only for a moment.
Just as things were looking up. I guess it really was too much to ask for in the end.
As if I could ever be happy in this life.
The sky rumbles, and then rain splatters my cheeks, washing away the paint. It looks like we picked the wrong day to paint the chicken coop.
I have a bad feeling in my gut. Call it intuition, but it’s that gut feeling that has saved me countless times in the Arena.
It’s how I was able to survive this far.
I can’t stay here anymore, and that’s when I cast my gaze toward the horizon. It’s time to escape.
Perhaps the third time will be the charm.