Chapter 9: Tamsin's POV
1069 Words
"Duck!"
I blink, hear the sharp whistle of something slicing through the air, and drop just a breath too late. An arrow zips past the space where my head used to be.
"Silas!" I shriek, spinning around with wide eyes and hands on my hips. "You nearly took off my ear!"
The older man grins, lowering his bow with a shrug. "I told you to duck. You were the one admiring the squirrels like they were your long-lost cousins."
I can't help the laugh that bubbles out of me, even though my heart's still thudding.
"You can't throw out life-or-death commands like you're offering tea, Silas. Warn a girl properly next time."
"Next time, listen faster."
We've already caught three squirrels. Well, Silas caught them. I'm more like moral support with a good eye and a lot of commentary.
The late afternoon sun filters through the canopy, and there's something peaceful about being out here with him.
The scent of the forest mixes with the ever-present smell of herbs clinging to him like a second skin.
It's comforting, like he's some walking greenhouse of calm.
Just being around him is a medicine to be honest. To be a pack healer, even your personality has to be healed.
Like Silas.
He's one heck of a happy man and I don't know how he does it. His mate ran away with a human a few years back and yet, he seems to be the happiest member of Lunaris.
Isn't that magic? Maybe there's a particular herb that grants happiness and he just doesn't want any one to know about it.
"Three should do me for the week," he says, cutting me off my thoughts and inspecting the last squirrel before slipping it into the burlap sack. "Anything more and I’ll just have spoiled meat by Thursday."
I wrinkle my nose. "Why not just get it at the town market like a normal person?"
He starts walking, and I fall into step beside him. "Because I like knowing where my meat comes from. Call me sentimental."
"Or a control freak."
He snorts. "That too."
His cabin is small but tidy, tucked just off the edge of the pack’s territory, surrounded by herbs and wildflowers. I’ve always liked it here.
It smells like safety, but as much as I'd love to stay here, my break time is long over and I need to get back to work.
"I should get back to the pack house," I tell him, brushing off my skirt and tying my hair back. "They're probably counting the seconds I've been gone."
Silas gives me a look that’s half sympathy, half resignation. "Go easy on yourself, Tamsin. You’re doing better than you think."
"Tell that to the Luna," I mutter and he winces.
"Good luck."
"I’ll need it."
Sneaking into the pack house is more an art than a habit at this point. I slide in through the kitchen entrance, trying to tiptoe past the pantry without drawing attention. But, of course—
"Where have you been?"
Nox’s voice drops like a guillotine.
I freeze. My spine goes rigid.
I turn slowly to face him. He's standing there in all his broody, infuriating glory. Arms crossed, jaw clenched. His eyes scan me like I’m something he wants to dissect.
Just at the base of his neck, I can see the mark Zara gave him last night. It's still red and swollen, and the effects of it clouds his citrus scent and replaces it with Zara's.
If you ask the universe to kill me without actually killing me, it'll happily send this hulk of a man that was fated to me but decided to chose a painfully fake perfect lady instead.
My stupid heart is already reacting to this entire situation in front of me, but something in my head snaps.
I think a screw comes loose.
"I said, where have you been?" He asks again.
"Out," I find my tongue, shrugging like it’s no big deal.
Because it shouldn’t be. Honestly, why is he even down here? Zara said last night that they were supposed to go on a week long mushy trip.
Why haven't they left yet? Gods, are you testing me?
He takes a step closer, and I instinctively pull back. "You’re supposed to be working. Not running around doing God knows what. Or who."
The insult slices clean through me and I blink in disbelief.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
Before I can stop myself, my hand flies up and slaps him clean across the face.
Gasps ripple through the kitchen. The other omegas freeze, some halfway through folding linens, others clutching trays. My heart is pounding. My hand stings. But I don’t regret it.
"Don’t you ever talk to me like that again," I say, my voice shaking with fury. "You rejected me. You chose her. You don’t get to speak to me like what I do outside the kitchens is any of your business."
His head snaps back toward me, his cheek red with my imprint. His eyes narrow in contempt, and the hazel orbs look near deranged.
"If you ever hit me again, I’ll break every one of your fingers."
My breath hitches and the room is silent. Someone drops a spoon, I think. But I don’t as little as flinch.
"You’ve already broken more than my fingers, Nox."
He doesn’t move.
"So if it’s my fingers you’re threatening now," I continue, voice cold, eyes locked on his, "then I might as well hit you again. And again. And again. Since you have a fetish for breaking parts of my body."
He’s staring at me like I’m some new version of myself. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m tired of being sweet and soft and stepped on.
Kira’s growling low in my head. "Should've gone for his nose."
I almost smile.
He doesn’t say another word. He turns on his heel and walks away, his shoulders tense, fists clenched. I stand there, breathing hard, aware of every eye on me.
The sting of his words still lingers, but I won’t let the tears fall.
I feel a little victorious. I mean, I slapped the alpha.
Oh my Gods...
I slapped the alpha...in the presence of the kitchen Omegas...
Fuck...
I'm going to regret this, aren't I?
"Yeah," Kira agrees. "But it was so damn satisfying and whatever consequences would totally be worth it."
"I guess."
- Writer
