Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
FERAL
We reached the base of the tree and stepped outside into sunlight bright enough it made me squint.
The clearing bustled with activity. A group of warriors sparred in an open area, their wooden staffs clacking in a steady rhythm.
Maria and Tessa, as usual, were kicking the males’ asses.
A cluster of pack members tended vegetable gardens along the eastern edge of the compound.
Others hauled firewood, repaired a section of a stone wall, or carried bundles of supplies toward the storage trees.
Scenes like this made me proud of my pack.
“Lady Victoria.” One of the gardeners waved, a young male named Robin who’d lost his shift three months ago. He looked better than the last time I’d seen him, less gray and more animated. “Good morning.”
Victoria lifted a hand. “Good morning, Robin. How are you feeling?”
“Better, actually. That tea you suggested is helping.”
Her smile came genuine, and it softened her whole face. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Maria called out next, pausing mid-strike to grin at us. “Morning, Alpha. Morning, Victoria.” Her grin widened before she ducked a swing from her sparring partner and retaliated with a sweep that sent him sprawling.
A touch of irritation shot through me, because this showed my wife had been strolling around, speaking with my pack members. But the feeling died fast. She’d been getting to know my pack. Learning their names. Asking about their duties and their health. Making an effort.
The realization sat warm in my chest, right next to the pride I refused to examine too closely.
We crossed the clearing, heading toward the northern path. Victoria pulled out her notebook, her enchanted pen hovering beside it.
“The northern tributary is a half-day walk from here,” I said.
Her brow furrowed. “That’s inefficient.”
“It’s what we have.”
“Surely there’s a faster method of travel than walking.” She glanced at me. “My cousin’s new husband is a dragon shifter. He can fly.”
Another bolt of irritation blasted through me. “Wolf shifters are better than dragons.”
She gave me a slick smile.
I’d already talked myself into this. My pride, not jealousy, wouldn’t let Kirk escort her through my territory. And the sickness was spreading. We’d had more cases this week. I couldn’t pretend this would fix itself.
I stopped walking and turned to face her. “You’ll ride on me.”
She looked up from her notebook, blinking. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You’ll ride me to the tributary.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Like a horse?”
“Like a wolf.” I kept my voice flat and matter-of-fact. Dignified.
Mate on our back, my wolf said, smug as all get-out. Showing territory. As it should be.
I ignored him.
Victoria’s lips parted, her pen hovering motionless in the air. She was processing, probably weighing the efficiency against the… everything else.
“Try not to fall off,” I said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I assume you’ve never ridden a wolf before. It’s faster than walking, but if you can’t hold on, do let me know. I’ll do my best to catch you.”
“I do not fall off things.”
I raised an eyebrow. “No?”
“I have excellent balance and core strength.”
“Uh-huh.” I let my mouth curve into a slow smile. “We’ll see.”
Her eyes narrowed, and for a second I thought she’d launch into a detailed, scientific explanation of her physical capabilities. Instead, a laugh bubbled out of her, like she hadn’t meant to let it escape.
The sound hit me square in the chest like a spear.
Then I heard myself laughing with my wife in the middle of my territory while my pack trained nearby and the morning sun warmed the clearing.
I sat with the feeling. The ease of it and the way her laugh made something in me settle and wake up at the same time.
I didn’t like how much I liked it.
I shifted before I could think about it any longer, letting the transformation ripple through me. Four legs. Fur. The world sharpened into scents and sounds.
I dropped to my belly, as dignified as a wolf king could be while lying in the dirt waiting for his mate to climb onto his back.
Preening, my wolf said. We look good. Strong. She’ll be impressed.
I was mortified by the preening part of all this, though mostly because he was right.
Victoria approached, studying me the way she did everything else. Her gaze traveled over my frame. I was larger than most wolves, alpha-born and alpha-bred. I was sure she noted the black of my fur, the breadth of my shoulders, and the lush structure of my ruff.
I felt examined. Dissected.
I didn’t know if I minded.
The part of me I was trying very hard to ignore wondered if my wolf form impressed her. If she found me… I don’t know. Powerful. Something other than a strategic alliance partner.
My wolf snickered. That in itself was an indignity. My wolf had never snickered before. Ever.
Do now, he said.
Victoria paused at my side, one hand hovering near my ruff. “May I?”
I huffed.
She took that as permission and climbed on, settling her thighs over my shoulders. Her fingers found my ruff and gripped, tentative at first, then firmer.
Acorn launched himself from her shoulder into her lap, looking more self-important about the whole arrangement than I liked.
I side-eyed him.
He chittered something I chose not to try to interpret.
I stood slowly, feeling Victoria’s grip tighten when my muscles shifted beneath her. She made a small sound I took as recalibration and adjusted her balance.
Mate holds on, my wolf said, satisfied. Good. Mate stays.
I started walking, testing her seat. She adapted quickly, her body moving with mine instead of against it.
Then I ran, my lope turning into a full-on gallop. I wanted her to see what I was. What my territory was. There was no harm in testing her to see if she’d demand I slow down or complain about the pace.
She did neither.
The forest blurred around us, trees flying past in streaks of brown and green.
I took the route that might not be the fastest, but the one that would show her the old growth section where the trees were so big their roots formed caves.
I showed her the ridge that overlooked the valley with views that stretched forever, plus the falls leading to the creek that eventually split into the northern tributaries.
Her fingers tightened in my ruff. “Your fur is remarkably soft. I would’ve expected coarser texture given the climate and your size, but the individual strands have a softness I hadn’t expected. The deeper strands of your ruff are quite silky.”
She was describing my fur like a scientific observation.
My chest went molten.
I kept running.
What she think of forest? my wolf asked. Better than where came from?
I didn’t know much about Victoria’s life before this. She’d lived in a manor in a lush valley with her family, visiting her grandmother and cousins nearby. They were all witches, so there was magic everywhere. Greenhouses and gardens and everything cultivated and controlled.
This section of the realm was wild. Untamed. Like me.
I wanted her to enjoy it as much as I did.
My wolf started showing off. I told myself it was the wolf, not me. He took a longer route through a section where the canopy opened up, and sunlight poured through in golden columns. Where wildflowers carpeted the forest floor in bursts of color.
Acorn had apparently decided my fur needed grooming. His tiny paws kept patting at my ruff, smoothing down sections that had gotten mussed.
I bore this with as much dignity as I could.
Victoria leaned forward as we ran, her weight shifting enough that I knew she was looking at the territory around us.
Acorn chittered.
“He says your forest sings with old magic,” Victoria said, her voice carrying easily despite the wind. “Deep roots and deeper stories, where ancient things still sleep.”
Warmth spread through my chest.
We approached a sunlit glade, one of my favorite spots in the entire territory. My wolf slowed, wanting her to see the way the light hit the small pond in the center. How moss covered the boulders in thick, velvety layers.
I picked up speed, irritated at myself for the impulse.
Eventually, I reached the northern tributary and dropped to my belly again.
Victoria slid off, and Acorn leaped into the grass, scooting into the underbrush.
Her legs buckled, a natural response after riding a wolf for the better part of an hour. I shifted fast and caught her, wrapping my arm around the back of her waist.
She grabbed my shoulder to steady herself.
I was much too aware of her leaning into my side, and I tried not to notice the curve of her waist under my palm or the way she fit so well tucked against me. As if she belonged.
My hand wanted to stay.
I stepped back the moment she found her footing.
“This is the area,” I said, my voice coming out like I’d been chewing on gravel. “I don’t know what you expect to find.”
She didn’t answer, only pulled vials from her pockets. Her notebook floated up, the pen poised and ready.
I crossed my arms on my chest and pretended to survey the perimeter. Guard duty. That’s what this was. Protecting my mate—my wife—while she worked.
I was not watching the efficient way she moved. Not noticing the small spells she used to draw samples. Creek water rose into vials without her touching the surface. A soil core extracted itself cleanly from the ground at a gesture. Bark samples peeled away in neat strips from a nearby tree.
I found my wife utterly fascinating.
I’d realized that at the wedding, and I’d assumed the feeling would fade once the novelty wore off.
It hadn’t. If anything, it had gotten worse.
I found myself thinking about what it would be like if she truly was my wife.
Not in the strategic sense, but in the way my wolf understood it.
Coming home to her, her laboratory, and her hair messy.
Taking her to my bed for real. Her squirrel stealing my food and her calm, analytical observations about everything.
She already is, my wolf said.