21. Mine
Mine
G eralt rested near the bank of the creek, letting the trickling water lull him. The unexpected downpour slacked up, allowing his gray fur to dry with the spare breeze ruffling through his coat. His snout rested on his paws, belly lying flat against the forest floor.
Occasionally, his head would swivel to the tree to his left. Carved in neat calligraphy spelt out ‘In Loving Memory of Angel Greatwater’. Red chrysanthemums rested against the base, spread out in a generous wreath.
He blinked lazily, Ryker relaxing within his skin. A familiar pang hollowed out their chest, leaving little room for any other emotion. Ryker whined the longer Geralt stared at the tree. Neither beast nor man wanted to be reminded of their loss. But this place brought them the most peace. It had been Angel’s favorite spot as well.
Mate, Ryker insisted in his head. Geralt released a huff. He’d avoided Greta the rest of the day. Two shifts and several hours running a trail around the pack borders allowed the feral instinct to claim her to simmer to a low burn. He’d almost thrown her back on his desk and knotted her when she asked about breaking the bond.
It felt more solid. He tensed, sensing her nearness. Rising to all fours, he shook his fur out, hoping to expel more water, but the light drizzle made the act futile. He opened up the link in his mind, feeling her apprehension and contentment warring within her.
His maw stretched in a malicious grin. His mate enjoyed being on packlands, surrounded by nature, and fought against it, just as she fought the instinctive allure of the mating bond. He decided then and there he wasn’t leaving for the Silver Lake pack until he claimed what was his. And whether or not she knew it, Greta was his.