Kit and the Outcast woman embrace, their faces bright and tear-streaked with surprise and joy, and babble happily at one another in a strange, shorthand language I can barely understand.
Finally, I tap Kit's shoulder and bring his attention back to me.
"Seems you two know each other. Won't you introduce me?"
Kit clasps the woman's hand, and a weird feeling rises in my heart. It takes me a moment to find a name for it, as it's something I haven't experienced before: jealousy.
Which is ridiculous, given the woman's mate is standing a few feet away, holding her baby. Kit's next words only reinforce this opinion.
"This is my cousin, Ophelia," he says, smiling. "And Ophie, this is my Ma— I mean, my Monty."
Kit blushes scarlet for some reason, and Ophelia laughs. "Your 'Monty?' What's a Monty?"
"That'd be me, Ma'am," I say, stepping forward and extending my hand. "Monty Hunter. Pleased to meet you."
She smiles warmly. "Likewise." Then she turns back to Kit. "But, Kitty, what are doing here? Did they finally let you go?"
Kit shakes his head, making his honey-gold curls bounce, and his bright flush fades back to his natural, cool olive tone. "No. I... I escaped. But what about you, Ophie?" he asks, his coffee-black eyes going wide again. "They told me... They told me you were dead."
She nods, her expression darkening, and leaves Kit's side, taking the baby back from the gaunt, black-haired man. "Let's go somewhere more comfortable, and I'll tell you. The trailer's too small for everyone, but there's a picnic spot by the river, if you don't mind a little walk."
No one objects, and so after gathering a few things from inside their house, the couple leads us all past the edge of the park and down a wide path of packed dirt to a level area close to the river. The water is slow and deep here, and it looks like a nice place to swim. A row of picnic tables line the bank, and Ophelia takes us to one of these, beneath the spreading bows of an old cottonwood tree.
Again, I feel a twinge of irrational jealousy as Kit sits beside his cousin. Her mate sits on her other side, and Jake, Dane, and Freya sit opposite. My feeling is doubly irrational, as there's no room for me at the table, anyway. Dane barely fits, straddling the end, and it's not made with people my size in mind. I stand a little off to the side, leaning against a large boulder, and feeling conspicuously out of place, like an ogre at a tea party.
"So, dead, huh?" Ophelia laughs, once everyone is settled. Her baby had started to fuss in its father's arms, so she'd taken it, pulled down the front of her shirt, and offered it her breast. That she'd done so in front of three strange men spoke of her comfort with her natural body and her motherhood, and the fact her mate hadn't batted an eye said something, too. He respected her, and was perhaps the less dominant of the pair—though, I realize belatedly, I hadn't smelled Wolf on him at all.
"That's what Uncle Oba told us," Kit confirms, reaching over to stroke the baby's downy hair, then pausing uncertainly. "Can I?"
His cousin smiles. "'Course you can, Kitty. This is little Kitra by the way. I named her after you, as you're the reason she's alive, though it means 'crowned one,' and not 'fox.'"
Kit blushes again and gently touches the baby's head. "Kitra," he repeats softly.
Dane clears his throat, nodding at the man seated at her side. "And, um, your husband?"
"Oh! Silly me—head in the cloud, as usual. I'm sorry, honey." She pats her husband's arm. "This is Ed, my Chosen, my Mate, the love of my life, and the reason my family likes to pretend I'm dead, apparently. My ex-family, I should say."
'Ed' reaches over and shakes hands with Dane and Freya. I wave. It seems he's already met Jake.
"So, why would your family tell people you're dead?" Dane asks, once the introductions have been made.
Ophelia glances at Ed, and he answers, his voice quiet and gruff.
"They'd prefer it that way, no doubt. Philly tells me you're all werewolves. That so?"
A few surprised glances pass around. "You're not?" Dane asks.
"Nope."
"Then you're..."
"Human," Ophelia cuts in, chin lifted defiantly, taking her husband's hand. "One-hundred-percent."
"You've not taken the Bite?" Freya asks, speaking for the first time, sounding surprised and curious. Usually, when a Wolf chooses a human mate, the Bite is given before the Mate-bond can be formalized—in traditional Packs, anyway.
"No, nor does he plan to," Ophelia answers.
There's silence for a moment while everyone processes this and infers the implications
"I'm guessing your family viewed that as... a 'problem,'" Dane says.
Ophelia laughs, though it's a harsh, bitter sound. "You could say that. First they refused to acknowledge my Choice, and kept us apart by keeping me locked up. Then, when it was clear I wasn't changing my mind, they relented—sort of. They said they'd accept Ed on two conditions: first, he had to take the Bite; and second, we had to agree not to 'procreate,' as my father put it, so's not to 'pollute' the lineage."
She laughs again, bouncing her baby gently in her arms.
"Well, it was too late for that, so I told 'em to shove it, and that's when they told me the alternative. They were gonna kill Ed—in a Hunt. He knew too much. Can't have stray humans running around knowing all about Wolves, now can we?"
She glares a challenge at Jake and Dane, but Jake's expression doesn't change. Dane smiles and nods at the baby, who's finished her meal and lies quiet and sleepy in her mother's arms.
"May I?" he asks.
Ophelia hesitates, but—in an unexpected act of trust—she nods and hands the baby across the table to him.
He cradles her against his chest, and she gazes up at him with bright, wondering eyes. He smiles, and she laughs, tugging at one of his long locs with a tiny, pink hand.
After a minute, he hands her back.
"You're good with kids," she remarks.
"My Mate and I have twins," he says. "A boy and a girl."
"That's good luck." She smiles.
"My Mate is Fae."
Ed's face remains blank, probably not understanding what this means, but Ophelia's goes pale with shock.
"F... Fae?"
Dane nods. "If you can accept that, then you're welcome here, and you understand that you won't face any prejudice from us. The Choice is sacred, because it is ours alone. No one's got a right to question it."
Unexpectedly, tears well in Ophelia's sky blue eyes, and she wipes at them with her sleeve.
"Your parents were so kind to us," she sniffs. "After I overheard my father planning to... to murder my Chosen... I knew we had to get away. I was already pregnant, anyway, and once they found out..."
She shivers, hugging her little girl to her chest.
"We fled to Seattle first, but the city was no place for folk like us. We had nothing, and with a baby on the way..."
"We used what money we had on a bus ticket, and headed East," Ed says, picking up the tale. "Philly said she'd heard of some Packs out this way, that might be more welcoming. The first two we found drove us off, and the third we didn't bother with, given the vibe we picked up in town. Here, though, we took a chance. Your parents were wary, I think, given Philly's name, but in the end they let us stay—offered us the protection of the Pack, even if we weren't counted among them, yet."
"You were hoping to join?" Freya asks, sounding surprised.
Ed and Ophelia glance at each other, and Ophelia adjusts the baby in her lap. "Well... little Kitra was born here. Doesn't that make her...?"
"Pack," Dane affirms, nodding. "A Wolf born in Pack territory is Pack. We hold by that."
Ophelia relaxes, but sniffs back new tears. "But now that... Well, given what's happened..."
"That's actually why we're here," Jake says, speaking up. "We'd like to ask you some questions, if you don't mind."
"What about?" Ed returns, his short black beard bristling. He might not be a Wolf in form, but he's got a good, strong spirit, and I can see why a Wolf might see her Mate in him: he'll protect his family with his life.
Dane glances at Jake, and the other man gives way before my brother's natural dominance.
"Just some simple facts," he says. "You're not accused of anything. We're just trying to gather all the evidence we can, and seeing as you're—"
"Outcasts, yes," Ophelia snaps. "Homeless and unwanted, always the first to draw suspicion. Fine." She softens her tone as her baby whimpers and threatens to cry. "Ask what you will; we'll answer truthfully."
Dane nods.
Then he runs through the usual cop routine: where were you on the night of the fourteenth? Can anyone vouch for that? Any idea why someone might want to hurt the Hunters? And so on, and so forth.
Ten minutes later, he's exhausted his questions, and we say our goodbyes, leaving Kit a while to catch up with his cousin and her Mate. As we walk slowly back towards our vehicles, I ponder all we've learned.
"You think the Mortaines might've followed 'em here?" I ask.
Dane's expression is grim. "We've found no evidence of that," he says, and nods at the Outcasts' little home. "Even their scents are new to me. If there were outsiders here—intruders—we'd have sensed it by now."
"What if they've masked their scent somehow?"
Dane rubs the back of his head, turning to watch as Kit hugs his cousin goodbye. Ed stands a few paces off, holding the little half-wolf girl, with her golden curls that match her mother's.
He sighs. "No. I hate to say it, but... I think this is an inside job."
~ ☾ ~
Back at Sasha's house, Dane rejoins Julian and the twins, and Freya returns to her bike repairs. Jake departs after a few quick words with Sasha, and I pull Kit aside, leading him out and away from the house, and into the surrounding woods.
I take him into the old, wild apple orchard that Sasha loved so much as a kid. Now, in late August, the apples aren't ripe yet, but they hang with tantalizing heaviness from every limb. They're not the best for eating, but they're wonderful in pies and sauce, and I can almost taste the sweet cinnamon flavour on the wind.
In a cool, shadowed spot beneath a particularly old tree—the grandmother tree, maybe—I stop and settle down in the dry grass, resting my back against the wide, rough trunk. I always feel more at home outside than in, somehow; I guess nature's house fits me best, maybe.
Kit wanders about a bit, admiring the apples; but when I call his name he comes.
"Yes, Monty?" he settles beside me on his knees. For a moment, I resist the urge to reach for him and tug him against my side, and force him to get comfortable; he can sit however he likes. Then I give in.
"C'mere," I beckon, and he folds himself against me without resistance, leaning into me and fitting perfectly beneath my arm. Sunlight filters through the leaves above, and a heady, cider-like perfume rises from the earth beneath us; the traces of many seasons past, in their gentle decay.
Kit's body feels small and warm against my side, and I close my eyes, letting myself enjoy this perfect moment of perfect contentment, made more precious by the fact I know it can't last.
"What is it?" he asks, after several minutes pass in silence.
"I'd like you to tell me about about it, Kit About how you grew up, and about what happened before you came here. Tell me about your cousin Ophelia, and... well, tell me everything."
He goes quiet and still at my side, and I sense his fox-form almost as strongly as his human one—like an overlay, almost—ready to take him and inviting him to run away again.
"Monty... please..."
"I'm sorry, Kit. I need to know."
He nods, and I feel him shiver.
"Alright. But... Please, don't let me go, Monty. Please—no matter what I say, no matter how much it makes you hate me—please, please don't let me go."
"You're all mine now, Kit—remember? I'll never let you go."
He takes a shuddering breath, tucking himself closer against me and shutting his eyes; and then he tells me, and he breaks my heart.