Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
VICTORIA
Iemerged from our tree at dawn to find Feral already speaking with Robin near the edge of the clearing. My mop was in one hand, my field kit and a bag of clothing slung over my shoulders. Acorn trotted along beside me with his own tiny bag strapped to his back.
Feral’s gaze caught mine and tracked to the mop. His expression went through several stages I’d learned to recognize, including irritation and resignation. The tightness around his eyes meant he was about to argue.
“No,” he said when I joined him.
“I haven’t said anything yet.”
“You’re holding the mop.”
“Observant.”
Robin slunk away from us. “I’ll go… weed.” He jogged toward the flowerbeds.
I swore Acorn snickered, but he wouldn’t. He was my loyal companion—most of the time.
I adjusted my grip on the mop handle. “We’re traveling to the northern boundary. The mop is the most efficient method of transport for two people, our supplies, and a squirrel.”
“We’re not taking the mop.”
“Why not?”
“Because the last time you rode that thing, a bear nearly killed you.”
“The bear showed up after I’d already landed. The mop’s record remains clean.”
His jaw worked. “Victoria—”
“The mop eliminated variables on the last trip. It’s already enchanted. We didn’t die.” I ticked each point off on my fingers. “Those are facts, not opinions.”
“The bear is also a fact.”
“You showed up in time to handle it, which means the mop delivered me to the location safely and according to plan.” I paused.
“If anything, the mop’s efficiency allowed you to arrive back here in a timely manner.
You were then able to do all your alpha stuff right away rather than hours later or after needing to rest.”
“It would not have taken my wolf hours to travel back here.”
“Yet it took your wolf hours to travel north.”
Acorn sat on the ground nearby, a chunk of fruit clutched in his paws, watching us with the air of someone enjoying a performance.
“You’re twisting logic,” Feral said.
“I’m applying logic correctly. You’re resisting because of pride.”
“I’m resisting because that thing nearly slammed us into a tree on our way back here.”
“I’ve improved the stabilization enchantment since then.”
His eyes narrowed. “When?”
“Three nights ago. The lateral drift issue has been corrected.” I lifted an eyebrow his way.
He did the same while chewing his fruit, offering no assistance.
“Fine,” I said, turning back to Feral. “I’ll ride on you in wolf form. But I’m bringing the mop.”
“Why?”
“Backup transportation.”
“We don’t need backup transportation.”
“I didn’t need it last time either, but I had it. Which means when the bear appeared, I had options.”
“You didn’t use the mop to escape the bear.”
“Because you arrived first. Had you not, the mop would’ve been my exit strategy.” I tucked it under my arm. “I’m bringing it.”
Feral stared at me for a long moment. Then at the mop. Then back at me.
He shifted without another word.
His wolf form was massive, all fur and muscle and the particular intensity this male brought to everything. He dropped to his belly in a movement I recognized as reluctant cooperation.
I gathered both our bags, securing them across my back, and settled onto him. The mop balanced across my thighs at an angle that made his ears twitch.
“I’ll tuck it sideways to avoid trees. Wouldn’t want you slamming into one, would I?” My grin stretched my face. I did enjoy bantering with him, especially when he couldn’t reply.
Acorn launched himself into my lap, his tiny bag swaying on his back.
Feral rose and started moving.
The forest blurred past in streaks of green and brown and the orange glow of bioluminescent fungi climbing the tree trunks. I’d ridden Feral enough times now that my body knew where to grip, how to shift my weight with the terrain, and when to lean forward or sit back.
I filed this fact away as significant and kept my hands in his ruff.
I’d wedged the mop beneath my thigh. The rag on the end bounced on Feral’s wolf ass with each step. His ears twitched every time it moved.
He was breathing evenly despite the speed and the added weight.
I caught myself noting details. The warmth of his fur. The steadiness of his gait. The way he adjusted his path to avoid low-hanging branches without breaking stride.
Then I caught myself noticing that I was noticing.
My hand stilled in his ruff.
This was the first ride where I hadn’t dictated anything into my notebook. No observations about velocity or terrain adaptation. No notes on optimal weight distribution or the physics of four-legged locomotion.
I was just riding him. The realization settled in my chest.
She holds no pen, she writes no note, Acorn said from my lap. The wolf has stolen what she wrote.
“I’m thinking,” I said.
Mm, he replied, smug.
I ignored him and focused on the forest passing around us. The canopy opened up ahead, sunlight breaking through in scattered patches. Feral’s breathing stayed even. His pace never faltered.
I loved him. The thought arrived without the bang I’d expect. It settled in my chest like it had been waiting for me to notice it there all along.
I didn’t say it out loud or dictate it to my pen. Just held it quietly while Feral ran and Acorn groomed his whiskers and the mop bounced around in a way that I was sure offended my husband’s dignity.
This was, objectively, the most significant discovery I’d made in this territory.
Acorn said nothing, his silence louder than any rhyme.
Feral stopped where the old growth thinned and the sky opened wide, an area near where the northern creeks joined.
I slid off with our bags and he shifted back.
The scientist in me clocked his elevated respiration rate before the wife did, cataloging the flush across the back of his neck and the slight hitch in his breathing.
“You wouldn’t be short of breath if we’d ridden the mop,” I said.
He straightened, his expression changing. “The run was nothing. I could’ve gone twice the distance.”
I raised an eyebrow and pulled out my notebook, my pen lifting automatically. “Elevated respiration rate. Visible capillary dilation at the posterior cervical region. Compensatory postural adjustment suggesting—”
“There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“I didn’t say there was. I’m documenting observable physiological responses to sustained exertion while carrying additional weight over varied terrain.”
His jaw clenched. “Victoria.”
“Yes?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “It’s because you’re—”
The silence stretched between us, filled with all the things he wasn’t saying and all the things I already knew.
He turned toward the tree line. “Let’s collect those samples.”
I stood still for a moment, my pen hovering above the page.
I didn’t need him to finish his sentence.
I knew what the end of it was. I’d known for a while now, actually.
The evidence had been accumulating for days.
The flowers. The breakfast trays. The way he’d put himself between me and a bear without a single bit of hesitation.
The way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.
I didn’t say any of this. I closed my notebook, tucked it into my pocket, and picked up my mop.
He glanced back at me, his expression unreadable.
I tucked the mop under my arm and followed him toward the tree line.
“I’ll be quick,” I said as I passed him and approached that area, crouching near a cluster of moss-covered stones. “We need to eliminate all variables.”
Feral stood a few feet away, his arms crossed on his chest. “We’re on a schedule.”
“Science doesn’t observe schedules.”
“I’m the king.”
“And I’m the queen.” I pulled out a sample vial and tucked a sprig of duskburst into it. “The queen needs five more samples. You can either help or watch.”
He grunted and stooped beside me, holding out his hand.
I handed him a vial.
He held it steady while I worked, anticipating what I’d need next without being asked and removing it from my pack. I enjoyed this quiet domestic side of him.
I noticed this detail too and added it to my internal list.
Acorn wandered through the underbrush nearby, occasionally surfacing to report on things of interest. A particularly large beetle. An abandoned bird’s nest. A mushroom he described as suspicious. Chittering away as he delivered these details.
The wolf who kneels in mud for her, he said, is either very wise or very sure.
“What’s he saying?” Feral asked.
I capped a vial and handed it to him to tuck into my kit. “He’s commenting favorably on your field assistant skills.”
“Are you sure?” Feral frowned Acorn’s way.
“Oh, very.” I walked over to the next location, a section of disturbed soil near the base of an old tree. My hands stilled when I found duskburst growing there. My first instinct was alarm. Was this more deliberate planting and evidence of the pattern I’d been building?
But then I stopped and crouched lower, studying the plants.
They’d been buried too deep, their roots smothered under waterlogged soil and river rock.
They’d also been positioned on the wrong side of the slope, which would give them too-little sun exposure.
The drainage in this section wouldn’t sustain them.
Everything about the placement contradicted basic horticultural principles.
I sat back on my heels and stared.
“What is it?” Feral asked from beside me.
“Duskburst.” I gestured to the plants, pointing out the issues I’d identified. “This is…”
I worked through the implications.
“This is what?” he asked.
“A botany disaster.” I pulled out my notebook, and my pen flew across the page. “Whoever planted it doesn’t know what they’re doing. This looks like it was handled by someone who heard about duskburst planting but got it wrong.”
Feral went quiet beside me.
I kept writing, my observations spilling out faster than my pen could keep up.
“Assuming Bastian is involved, he’s either working with someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing,” Feral said, his voice flat. “Or Bastian is the someone who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
“Or it’s someone else, a person poorly covering their tracks.”
My pen scratched rapidly across the page, recording every detail.
Acorn appeared on a nearby rock, watching us with unusual stillness. A plan half-learned is still a plan. The danger lies in half a hand.
I relayed this one word for word.
Feral’s expression darkened. He brushed mud from his knees and turned toward the tree line.
I capped my last vial and tucked my notebook away, following his gaze, sensing something was wrong. “Feral?”
He didn’t answer. Just moved into the trees, his steps careful.
I followed, the mop still tucked under my arm, leaning it against a tree when we stopped.
He crouched at the base of a large tree, studying the ground.
I stopped beside him and looked down, finding fresh bear tracks. The edges of the prints appeared crisp.
Feral’s expression took on the kind of anger that didn’t shout but made him look like he wanted to rip off someone’s head.
I’d suspect the bear’s.
“The bear isn’t wandering.” He pointed to the tracks. “Look at the spacing. This isn’t a wild bear’s foraging deviation. They zigzag to investigate scents. This is purposeful movement.”
“You’re suggesting the bear in Bastian’s pack is involved in whatever’s going on here.”
He shrugged.
I knelt beside him, studying the tracks with the same attention I gave my samples. He was right. The pattern appeared too regular.
“If the bear is a scout,” I said, “someone may have sent him. And if someone sent him toward this specific location, they may know about the seal sites.”
Feral stood. “We need to go.”
I looked at the mop leaning against a nearby tree, where I’d left it. Then in the direction of Bastian’s territory. When I collected the mop, I didn’t say anything about it being faster. The argument felt hollow now, trivial compared to what we’d discovered.
Feral gathered our things and handed them to me before shifting into his wolf form.
I secured our bags across my back and settled with them, tucking the mop along my side.
Acorn climbed into my lap.
I held on as Feral turned north and ran.