Chapter 4
At dawn, I throw on a pair of tight workout shorts and a short-sleeve shirt.
Carrying my runners to the front entrance, I don’t hesitate to slip into them and open the door.
After being inside for a record amount of time, I finally move out to the front deck.
The cold air kisses my exposed skin, but I don’t mind.
A cough catches me off guard, and I sidestep down the stairs onto the snow-packed driveway. Stark, covered head to toe in loose black pants and a black pullover, comes out from the far side of the house.
“Hi, Stark.” I let the irritation within me ring out. “What are you doing out this early?”
“Going for a run.”
My shoulders drop. “What? You must have something important to do.”
“Let’s go.” He takes off down the steps and follows the winding driveway into the snowy wilderness.
What a nice hello . . . This man needs manners. First, he restricts my running plan at dinner, and second, he crashes my joy by being present.
Of course, this is clearly the only reason he gave in last night—to make me miserable. I doubt he will resist turning for long.
I take off down the winding driveway behind him, keeping my distance. We run in silence for the best ten minutes I have had in days—except he ruins it when he slows to match my pace.
I block out his presence beside me and focus on my breath—frigid air in through my nose, steamy air out through my mouth—as I run through the small clouds I make. The warmth flows through me, keeping the winter weather at bay.
Continuing down the road, we head away from town, toward Otis and Faira’s property. I don’t know how far it is, and I’m already regretting skipping my chance to review the map this morning. Hopefully, it’s not close.
The road is bright, with only a few sets of tire tracks in the snow.
The white reflects off the trees. I would have brought sunglasses if I’d known I’d be stuck running the road with him.
He keeps next to me, less than a few feet away, and I pick up my pace.
Here, the snow comes up just past the soles of my shoes.
Snowbanks from previous snowfall plowings line both sides of the narrow road, and the silence is just what I needed.
No signs of life, just the soft sounds of our feet in the snow and the expansive forest, the most relaxing place on earth.
We haven’t hit any other property yet, and I’m grateful.
Our steps fall into a comfortable rhythm. I’m impressed that his long legs manage to match mine. He must feel like he’s walking.
Again, I pick it up. I might have human-sized legs, but I have spent years running more hours than daylight on occasion.
The road dips and rises over hills, but my breath stays even, and Stark’s does the same.
I glance over at him for the first time since he’s matched my pace.
He’s composed, staring ahead of us. Noticing that I’m looking over, he eyes me, a cloud of breath in front of his face, and I almost misstep.
Catching myself on the slippery snow, I continue.
“How are you not frozen?” His calmness of his words in the snowy stillness shocks me out of my running trance.
“Running makes me hot.” It’s only a sliver of the truth. Pratt might have taught me to keep secrets, but I can avoid lying.
“I know we run hot, but you . . . don’t you get cold? Without wolf blood?”
I squint my eyes at him without an answer and take off in a real sprint. In moments, he catches up, his long legs starting to stretch out. I try one more time, but in seconds, he’s beside me again.
Heat like a liquid fills me, and I let it. I don’t need to keep cool out here. I step a bit more into the middle of the road to keep my heat away from him.
“You’re faster than I expected.”
I roll my eyes at him. To everyone, I am just the weak girl who didn’t turn. Small, and a risk to the pack.
Staying in the sprint, time goes by until we reach an opening in the trees.
I slow down, knowing it must be the cutoff.
I don’t want to push my luck. If I can do this all day, it’s something to distract me from thoughts of my new home and no Pratt.
The driveway is like Stark’s—if you were driving, you might not notice it.
It’s barely wide enough for a truck, its edges filled with brush.
I look down the driveway, but I can’t see the house from the road.
Packs sure love privacy, yet are always in each other’s houses; I don’t get it.
“This is where we turn around. Didn’t think you’d make it this far. We can walk back, or I can call for a ride.”
The insult hits, and the heat in my skin is too much.
Losing a breath, I take off back the way we came without answering. I didn’t ask to be at his house. I want to go home.
Now.
A memory of Pratt floats into my thoughts.
“Alo, secrets aren’t for a pack. You tell one, you tell them all.” His wide hands rested on my shoulders, holding my body an arm’s length away.
I stared at his bare feet while he tried to read me further. “I got it.”
He gave me one of his brotherly squeezes, too tight to be nice but not enough to cause real pain.
I run harder, but the heat grows until it’s at the brink of too much.
Cool yourself now, Alo. Pratt’s old words fill my mind.
I twist my head to the trees, expecting Pratt to be there, brown-furred in the woods. The rows of trees are endless, but there’s nothing but a small rabbit hopping between hideouts. My chest sinks, and tears streak down my cheeks. I force the heat inside me to sizzle and slow down.
Stark’s hand clasps around my arm, and I jump away.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Aloka, your tracks . . .” His eyes glower at me.
Twisting to see behind me, there are two sets of tracks heading in the opposite direction, one larger than the other. It’s not those he’s talking about, though. It’s the one that’s heading this way. Gravel shows through the snow, ice formed around each small print.
Shit.
He bends down to inspect them, and his hand freezes in the air above them. I step back, his own heat radiating toward me. I need to be cool. Humans who never turned into a werewolf aren’t hot-blooded.
He stands again and reaches for my arm, but I twist away. He can still reach me if he wants, since he towers above me.
“I might be forced to live with you, but you have no right to touch me.”
“Why is the snow melting at your feet?” The ice in his voice cuts through the freezing air.
“Heat packs in my shoes got a little too hot when I sped up.”
I can’t believe I just said that. Guess that no-lying thing didn’t last long.
But he doesn’t argue as he steps beside me, directing his hand at me to keep running, the narrow of his eyes on my every move.
I haven’t made it more than four days without raising questions. Pratt would have my head. I’d take anything for him to come yell at me right this second about being so careless.
I focus on the cold snow around us, absorbing it into me.
When I check behind me, the snow has stopped melting, thankfully.
I catch a glimpse of Stark too. I wish he looked less impressive running, but he looks like we’re on a leisurely walk.
Those arctic eyes thin to slits when they catch mine, but I ignore it and keep going, maintaining a slow pace all the way back to the house.
Stark keeps his distance, watching and possibly plotting my death.
When I go up the steps, I head right inside, taking my shoes with me in case Stark checks for the nonexistent heat packs. My door shuts behind me, and I throw them across the room. I can’t believe I did that. Tomorrow, I will keep it together.
At dinner, I emerge from my room, knowing, with all the voices, that Stark won’t ask questions or hopefully has forgotten about me melting the snow. Alphas are supposed to be busy with important matters, so it shouldn’t be too pressing.
A few faces turn to look at me. It annoys me that I have to look up at them, so I keep my head down and go for my previous seat across from Stark. He takes his seat after me, while the guests’ eyes track me. I take my usual helping of salad and sigh.
“I heard you managed to run all the way today,” a man about Stark’s age says next to him. His curly hair is a lighter brown, similar to my mom’s.
I give him my biggest smile. They’re all shocked to hear how far I ran. I can hear the girl’s thoughts, amused that I made it back without needing a car ride.
“It’s not far. Maybe tomorrow I’ll run it twice.” I avoid Stark’s cheek-heating gaze from across the table and smile bigger at his friend.
“Damn. I’m Jocko, if you want a running partner.”
The other girls around the table all exchange glances. His arms are covered, and I wonder if he’s mated.
“She’s good,” Stark interrupts.
I guess I’m not the only one he glares at, but Jocko doesn’t seem to notice or care. My fork hesitates, waiting for him to add something about the melting footprints, but he keeps his lips tight together. Good. He can’t control me.
“Actually, I’d love a running partner whom I’m not forced to live with.” I stab my fork into a piece of lettuce and chew with a smile.
“Sweet. I’ll be here in the morning.” His goofy grin grows with a small amount of blush on his cheeks.
I try not to stare at the hard line of the locked jaw Stark hasn’t let go of. Who’s built like this? It’s distracting, adding to the reasons why the less time I spend alone with Stark, the better.
After we finish eating, I keep to routine with the elder woman, Faira, bringing the dishes to the kitchen, and ignoring her comments.
Even regular humans are capable of doing things.
Some pack members are so shortsighted. There are lots of newcomers again tonight, I should see who cooks all this food.
“We have to consider it,” Otis says.
My skin pricks as I listen in from across the room while drying a large glass dish.
“The risk is too great,” Kiya says, leaning in.
She’s one of the few women I’m guessing patrols our borders.
Her long, dark hair matches her eyes, wavy and tossed over one shoulder, falling against her long-sleeved turtleneck.
I wonder why she and Stark haven’t mated.
She’s beautiful and they seem to work well together.
“Not here.” Stark stands from the table.
He, Jocko, Graden, Otis, Kiya, and two others leave the room, heading toward the end of the house behind the kitchen—an area I haven’t explored yet.
Interesting that packs hear each other’s thoughts yet have private meetings.
Some materials work as mental barricades, like ironwood.
Based on the fact that I can’t hear them anymore, I’m guessing Stark’s meeting rooms were built with it.
My plan to get out of his house will never work if he’s hiding things.