by Viola Rivard
Spending her day by the lake wasn't as boring as it might have been to her a week ago. She had already gone through her smartphone withdrawals and no longer had the compulsion to reach into her back left pocket. She did miss her music, but had discovered that she was capable of playing her favorite songs in her head and enjoying them almost as much. She could even re-watch her favorite shows and movies in her mind, though she could only remember the exciting parts in vivid detail.
Harper passed the hours by alternating between all three and dipping her ankle in and out of the water to relieve the pain. Occasionally, other thoughts managed to burrow under her wall of distractions. Some were stickier than others.
It was easy enough to push aside thoughts of her nightmares, both because they scared her and because it felt as if their hold over her would tighten if she gave them too much mind.
It was far harder not to contemplate her relationship with Shan, both because he was right there and because he was a constant presence in her mind these days.
She had never been so conflicted about something as she was about him, and that was saying a lot, given the life she'd led. When thoughts of him inevitably entered her mind they went one of two ways. She'd spent hours plotting detailed plans on how to escape him. Some of them were actually plausible, though they involved leaving Ian and Jo behind and having a working ankle.
Of course, she'd spent just as much time—perhaps more—imagining what her life would be like as his mate. From what she'd learned about his territory, she had a shaky image of what life in his pack would be like, and going solely on how he'd treated her thus far, she had some ideas of what sort of mate he would be.
Life in his pack would be pretty boring, though she didn't think she'd be like a typical mate. Shan wasn't a typical alpha. He wasn't a leader, he was a ruler, so she fancied that she'd be something akin to queen of the wolf shifters. When she was feeling silly, she imagined everyone adoring her, doting on her, and hanging on every fascinating word that she had to say. Also, his pack would have high-speed internet and a Netflix subscription.
When she was being more realistic, she recognized that her status as Shan's mate was more likely to be isolating. She would have to contend with jealous females, some of whom might have been former lovers of Shan, which would wreak havoc on her possessive streak. If Shan did try to include her as he'd once promised, her sudden presence in his inner-circle would be met with resentment from those who had fought to gain their places there. If he failed to include her, her life would be boring and unfulfilling.
The only bright spot was when she considered having pups. The prospect of motherhood had always been complicated for her. As a girl, she'd believed with unwavering certainty that she'd one day have a handsome, strong mate who would give her no less than five pups—four daughters and one son. She would often pass the time imagining what she'd name them, or which stories she'd read to them.
Her dream of being a mother had ground to a halt around the time she was ten, when Sarah had sat her down and had “the talk.” It still amazed her that Lotus hadn't burst her bubble sooner, given how often Harper would rant about how much better her life would be once she had her own pack.
When Sarah had told her that she'd never be able to have babies of her own, she hadn't taken the news well. One of her most mortifying memories was from the very next day, when Sarah had left Harper to watch her newborn while she'd taken a nap. Sarah had returned to find Harper attempting to breastfeed her pup. At the time, she'd been convinced that if she could somehow make milk for a pup, it would prove that Sarah was wrong and that she could have pups of her own one day.
With her dreams of having a mate and pups dashed, it took her a while to reorient herself. In the end she'd done what most females of her kind did and she'd instead imagined a future in which she was part of a new pack. She knew that her brother Caim would be alpha of his own pack one day and it was easy to picture herself as a member of his pack. She could become friends with his mate and help them to raise their children. Her new dream hadn't been nearly as fulfilling as the old one, but it had been the most she could hope for, given her physical limitations and her narrow view of gender roles.
Then, when she was thirteen, she'd found out that she wasn't a shifter and that she could have children. She could vividly remember the evening she'd found out and the days that had led up to that night.
It was winter and bitterly cold. She'd been at the Whiteriver den for so long that she'd almost forgotten she was a prisoner, rather than just another member of their pack. The week before, Silas had decided that the lower level—dungeon—he'd been keeping her in was too cold and that she should sleep on a separate pallet in his room, where he could keep an eye on her. His concern did not seem to extend to Lark, her father's pack mate that was also being held captive, and Harper had suspected that his real intention was to spend the mornings talking her ears off.
She hadn't minded. She never minded listening to him. Captor or not, Silas had been seventeen and, to her memory, the hottest guy she'd ever seen anywhere. Her assessment was probably colored by the fact that there weren't any boys her own age in her pack, save for her brother. There had been a few boys around her age in neighboring packs, but none had had the gravitas that came with being an alpha male.
They'd gotten to know one another over the long winter. She'd confided in him things that she'd never told another living soul, not before or since. In turn, he'd opened up to her as well, confessing his insecurities about being an alpha, as well as his fear that he would never be worthy of having a mate. So often when he confided in her, she'd found herself wanting to close the distance between them and wrap her arms around him, but she'd been afraid that he would see the gesture as patronizing and take offense.
One afternoon, long after the pack had fallen asleep, they'd still been awake exchanging stories about their parents. It was while Silas was recounting the death of his mother that Harper had finally given into her impulse and crawled over to his pallet to put her arms around him. She had only meant to comfort him, but in retrospect she could see how he might have misunderstood. In an instant, he'd pulled her into an embrace and kissed her—really kissed her. She'd still been recovering from the shock of being kissed when he'd begun fondling her breasts and pressing his erection against her pelvis.
"Snow."
The sound of him groaning her name in his deep, mature voice could still make her shiver, and not with fear. She'd been nervous, but not afraid as he'd undressed her and lavished her body with kisses. She had even nodded shyly when he'd paused and looked at her with uncertainty, his fingers hooked on the seam of her pants. Of course, what she remembered most was when he'd tried to enter her, and all of the awkwardness that had followed.
Silas hadn't known she was a virgin, nor had he known how old she was. During their early conversations, she'd lied and told him they were the same age. It had been an easy lie, given that he had no clue how old her father was and between her height and generous cleavage, he might not have believed her if she'd claimed to be any younger. Also during their conversations, she'd insinuated that she'd had sex plenty of times, because she wouldn't want her captor to think she was uncool.
Once he'd found out the truth, he'd sprang from her as if her skin were made of acid. They'd had an intense argument wherein Harper had alternated between blaming him for starting it and begging him to just keep going, all while sobbing with humiliation.
Silas had not had sex with her that day. He'd barely even looked at her for a week, though he had allowed her to continue sleeping in his room. She had tried several times to make conversation with him, but her attempts had been met with stony silence.
The morning that everything had begun to change, he had returned late. She had already been in bed for hours, tossing restlessly as she tried not to focus on her empty belly or her anxiety about her nightmares. Silas had been in a foul mood when he'd entered the room, as evidenced by the crease in his brow. He was li
ke that every morning when the hunt had not gone well, and she'd learned better than to complain about how hungry she was.
Usually, when she saw that crease, she would immediately seek to distract him from his worries. They played the same game almost every morning, where she would tell him about her day, peppering her story with increasingly absurd details until he finally cracked a smile. Then, he would counter with his own story, which would be equally ridiculous.
Ever since their almost-sex, he hadn't allowed her to pull him into their usual banter. That was why it was so surprising when he'd hung in the doorway that morning and asked, "Where have you been today?"
Having had all week to plan her story, she'd sat right up and attempted to regale him with her trip to Disneyland—which, back then she'd believed was an actual country governed by a mouse shifter. Silas had cut her off almost at once.
"No. Where have you been? You smell...different."
Wind knocked from her sails, Harper had glumly recounted all of the three places she'd been since waking that night, and had been unable to resist a dig, adding, "And I certainly didn't eat anything strange. Or anything at all, for that matter."
The words didn't even earn her a scowl, which was weird. Food was a touchy subject around Whiteriver, especially for its alpha. Silas had seemed almost cautious as he'd approached her and fell to his knees beside her. With the way he was staring at her, she thought he was going to kiss her, but when his head had fallen it had been to the crook of her neck. He had sniffed her for a long time, long enough for her to sneak her arms around his neck. When he'd lifted his head, he hadn't detached her.
"What is it?" she'd asked.
"I... I'm not sure. You just smell different."
The strange interaction had been enough to bridge the divide between them. They'd spent what was left of the morning talking, and when it had come time for them to sleep, Silas had told her that she could sleep next to him. As she'd lain in his arms, he'd given her a chaste kiss and apologized to her for the way he'd been behaving. He'd told her that he wasn't angry with her, but with himself, and he told her—not for the first time—that if she asked him to, he would let her return to her father. And, for what felt like the thousandth time, she had told him that she wanted to stay.
The room had been pitch black when she'd woken, but she hadn't been afraid, not of the dark, or of Silas who was on top of her, his mouth on hers and his hands roaming over her body. Not a word was exchanged between them until he was preparing to enter her. He'd paused long enough to tell her that it might hurt and he would stop if she asked. She had told him that she didn't care and that she didn't want him to stop until she was his. She still had no fucking idea what she'd meant by that, but Silas had seemed pleased.
She had expected it to hurt, but not nearly as much as it did. The only part of the experience that was enjoyable was knowing that Silas was enjoying it, though that ended the second she began to cry. After trying in vain to soothe her, he'd pulled out and then held her for a long time, nuzzling her head and murmuring apologies. She'd continued to cry for a while, not because it still hurt but because she'd been embarrassed all over again and her inability to handle such a basic rite of passage felt like yet another massive failure in her blundering existence.
The night might have stood as the worst in her life, if not for what Silas told her once her tears had subsided.
"I think you're fertile."
It was strange, being where she was now, to think back to that night and how profoundly those words had impacted her. In an instant, her entire life had realigned back to her original vision, only now it was clearer than ever. She would become Silas's mate, and in doing so their packs would be united and her father would have to end their feud and allow Whiteriver to hunt in the valley.
She had spent what was left of the night trying to convince her seventeen-year-old would-be mate to get her pregnant. To this day, she was grateful that he hadn't capitulated. Instead, he'd informed her that he was going to return her to her father. He'd cut through her vehement protests with a promise that had seemed deep and sincere at the time. He would wait for her, and when she was older and his pack was stable, she would return to Whiteriver and become his mate.
"You'll always be mine. We'll be together again, no matter what. I love you."
She had believed him, and had held fast to the dream of becoming his mate, even when confronted with all of the wonders of the human life she'd soon had. A life that was full of abundant possibilities, where she could do and be things she'd never dared to imagine. For over two years she'd clung to the dream of becoming Silas's mate. When she'd returned to the valley just before the start of her senior year, she'd had no intention of returning to her human life. As soon as she could get out from under her father's thumb, she'd find Silas and show him how much she'd grown and matured. She'd make him accept her as his mate.
Silas hadn't waited.
Just a couple of months before she'd returned, he'd taken a mate. Even if she hadn't taken everything from her, Harper would have hated her. Carly was a high school dropout and had already had a kid from a one night stand before she'd met Silas. She talked about herself incessantly, laughed too often and too loudly, and she needed hand gestures to accompany every other word out of her mouth.
The entire day she'd been forced to endure Carly's company, Harper had watched her in stunned disbelief, wondering how Silas could have chosen Carly over her. The thing that bothered her more than anything was that Carly wasn't even pretty, which meant that compared to Harper, she might as well have been a sewer creature. Harper knew that looks weren't everything, but she couldn't help but wonder what was so wrong with her, how terrible could her personality be, that Silas would choose Carly over her?
As an adult, she could now reason that Silas's decision had been vastly more nuanced than simply choosing Carly over her, but at the time those feelings of inadequacy had sunken into her core.
When she had left the valley, she had cast off all notions of ever returning. After a period of depression, she'd sloughed off her dream of becoming Silas's mate because it was just too painful. In the process, she'd also given up on ever having children. It wasn't as if she could have kids with a human man. Regardless of what she was, her father was still a shifter and there was no telling how that might affect her offspring.
She knew that her desire to become a mother had never gone away entirely, but it had been compartmentalized for so long. Taking it out now and exploring it felt like trying to squeeze into an old dress. No matter which angle she looked at it from, becoming a mate and a mother over pursuing her career goals felt like settling for something less.
As her mind swirled with thoughts of her old life and what the future might hold, Harper had undressed and slipped into the lake. The afternoon was warm, but not enough to penetrate the dark water. She waded out until the water came just past her hips and then sank down to her knees, submerging her body.
She stayed under for a while, until the water no longer felt like needles pressing against her skin. Instead of rising up right away, she kicked forward with her good foot, propelling herself farther into the lake. When her lungs began to burn, the water was deep enough that her feet no longer touched the ground. She broke through the surface, sucking in a deep breath of crisp mountain air.
Her peace was jarred by a sharp bark. She looked back to the shore to find her sentinel wolf pacing anxiously at the water's edge.
“Did I wake you?” she asked, not bothering to lift her voice. “Sorry, but I need to wash up.”
He issued several barks in varying inflections. Harper didn't speak wolf, but she knew the sound of an overprotective male fretting. She smiled at him and told him she wouldn't be long, and then plunged back under the water.
After briefly enjoying the sensation of weightlessness, she set to the task of cleaning herself. It had been two weeks since she'd had anything close to a proper bath and given all her body had been through, it amazed h
er that she didn't smell downright repellant.
Lack of soap didn't bother her. They'd never used body soap when she was younger, and when she'd tried using human soaps later in life they made her skin dry and itchy. She'd always just washed up with water, though she did miss her scented shampoos and conditioners.
Harper came up for air and then plunged back under several times before she was satisfied with her cleaning. She'd vigorously rubbed every inch of herself, save for her right arm.
When she came up for the final time she lifted her injured arm from the water and gingerly unwound the bandage. The sight of the stitches over pitted skin would have made her queasy on anyone, let alone herself. As a child, she'd been so cautious and careful in everything that she'd done that she'd escaped with only a handful of scars, all of which had faded to near imperceptibility since she'd reach adulthood. Now, over the course of a week, she'd been permanently mauled.
“I imagine these aren't the sort of stitches that dissolve,” she said, holding her arm up higher so that Shan could see.
“We'll have to return next week to have them removed.”
He'd approached her quietly after shifting, but she had a unique awareness of him that was a tingling on the back of her neck.
When his arms came around her to rest on her belly, she leaned into him without hesitation, resting her weight fully against him. He took her arm in his hand, his thumb lightly brushing against one of her stitches.