the night. I don’t move from the fire, listening for any sounds, figuring he’s going to pee. All I hear is the other three Alphas snoring. Beyond that, the night in the Poisonous Woods is deathly silent.
I’m not completely awake yet, but I sit up and reach for the flask of water, then take several mouthfuls, the lukewarm water rushing down my dry throat.
Back in the Storm Wolves’ pack, I’d often stay alone in our back yard on the garden bench, staring out toward the back fence, listening to my heartbeat amid the breeze. I’ve always liked the darkness, the night. Its tranquility brought me joy after a chaotic day.
But here, I don’t feel that serenity or the warmth the night brings me. Instead, I focus on the lack of life, the dead trees. I should be happy that the land is barren of magic, but I come to the conclusion that I hate these woods.
I glance over to Crius, who’s twitching in his sleep. Stone is dead to the world, while Ragnar remains slouched against the tree, his chin tucked into his chest. First day of the trip, and it started off shitty. I don’t owe these Viking Alphas anything but safe delivery through the woods. They haven’t died yet, so that’s a win, regardless of how we got here.
I don’t remember how much time has passed, but Nikos hasn’t returned to camp. The longer I wait, the more my nerves tighten. It’s pitch black out there, so he could easily stumble onto hexed land and walk straight into danger. Sight at night is a strength for wolves, but this place has no moon or stars to give a hue of light. It’s just black.
I shouldn’t care.
I don’t care.
Yet I get to my feet and stretch my arms into the air to crack my back, then, before I can stop myself, I grab the end of a branch sticking out of the flames and use it as a torch. Curiosity hammers into me, wanting to make sure Nikos isn’t in trouble. I chase away the darkness with the small flame I carry. It’s enough to carve a path for myself through the woodland.
I shouldn’t be out here, but then, neither should Nikos, and I refuse to be blamed again for something else I have no control over.
Raising the torch in front of me, I travel farther through the quiet, eerie woods. There are no smells out here, and any calm I carried earlier is now completely dissolved, taken over by the insistence that I should turn back.
Just as I decide to do just that, I spy a figure standing against a tree several feet away. That earlier sense of danger now skyrockets through me. Something feels wrong here. My heart thumps loudly.
I squint through the dark, easily making it out to be Nikos by his hairstyle, the dreadlocks the are entwined to run along the top of his head like a Mohawk and fall down his back. What is he doing just standing out here?
“Nikos,” I whisper loud enough for him to hear me, and he lifts his head to face me, the light catching his bright green eyes. My attention dips down his body, but he’s not rushing to zip himself up, so he wasn’t peeing.
“Can’t sleep either?” he asks me, striding in my direction.
“Actually, I think you woke me up when you stepped on twigs.”
He grins like that had been his intention all along, which I struggle to believe, as that would mean the other three slept like bears. When I turn my head in their direction, spying them through the trees, none of them have stirred.
Suddenly, Nikos stands in front of me, so close and unexpectedly, that I flinch and the flaming branch slips from my grasp.
He tsks and hastily steps on the flames, putting it out, throwing us into darkness.
I back up until I hit a tree. He follows and pins me to the trunk with his sheer presence alone, his eyes glinting in the flames from the campfire behind me. He hasn’t touched me, but we’re standing a breath’s distance apart, and I instinctively press my hand to his chest. He grabs me by the wrist but doesn’t push me away.
Warmth rushes up my arm from where we’re touching, and he’s staring down at me like he sees right through me. Yet the way he keeps studying me, the way his thumb runs in small circles across my wrist, fills me with an unexpected