“Sute was named by superstition. Her name meant ‘foundling’. She was not a foundling but it was an old custom. When several children in succession die shortly after birth, tradition dictated that the next child be exposed, left out to die. Of course, they did not actually want to lose another child so families would have someone of non-kin take the child out and leave them in a nearby field and then pay a stranger to find and bring the child back, claiming it was a foundling. It was supposed to thwart whatever evil spirit had killed the previous children.

“Sute was born, left out in a field, and promptly returned to her family within a day. It was an unusual birth for an equally unusual woman. Sute was the youngest of nine siblings, all of whom lived in a beautiful complex in the foothills of the mountains. Her father was a very minor lord, who did not think himself above his farmers and instilled a strong work ethic in his children. Even his daughters were taught more than the womanly arts.”

I try to hold it in but I end up snorting. When he doesn’t continue, I crack an eye open to see him looking down at me, an eyebrow arched.

“Sorry,” I murmur, “just your choice of words with ‘womanly arts’. So she was well educated for the times then?”

“Yes, she was. And the first twelve years of Sute’s life passed in peace but, when her father became ill, the family fell on hard times. Then, as if in answer, a letter arrived with a marriage proposal. A son of a nearby family had made his fortune in the Americas, the letter said, and he was in need of a wife. After speaking with the man’s family, Sute’s oldest brother agreed to the marriage, and Sute was given a year to prepare before going to meet her soon-to-be-husband.

“Her third brother was meant to go with her but, at the last minute she ended up going alone. Sute did not know what awaited her. All she had was a photo of the man with his name scrawled across the back.”

I don’t mean to, but again, I interrupt him with a groan. “Sorry, sorry. It’s hard to listen to things that seem stupidly outdated.”

“I can concede that by the standards of today the marriage of a young girl is…immoral.”

Pushing myself up into a sitting position, all thoughts of sleep abandoned, I ask, “Did she find the man?”

“Yes. She was promised that he would be waiting for her when she arrived and he kept that promise, though it was clear that the photo was more than a few years old. For a man in his 40’s Mr. Ahane was well-built from a life of manual labor, first in the plantations of Hawaii, then along the railroads of the northwest, and finally in his homestead outside of the growing town of Seattle, where a sizable number of Japanese families had settled.

“Mr. Ahane took Sute back to his home and married her in the village’s small church, though neither was Christian. They lived together dutifully as husband and wife, and though Mr. Ahane was a man of few words, he never spoke an unkind one to Sute.

“Still, Sute began to worry as years passed and she still had not had a child. Yet, even without having one, Mr. Ahane continued to send home money to her family in Japan and continued to provide and treat her with care. Their small farm was doing well and Sute had grown close with the other women in the village. In fact, Sute would even admit to happiness. She began to teach the children of the village, passing down all that she had been lucky enough to learn. Mr. Ahane was not a particularly learned man but he could, read, write, and speak in English and so he taught Sute and she, in turn, taught the woman and children of the village.” Kane pauses and smiles. It’s just a soft turn of his lips but I haven’t seen him look so wistful before like he has a fondness for the characters in his story. As if catching himself, he shakes his head and sighs, his expression returning to its usual neutrality.

“One night, almost five years after she arrived to the Americas, Mr. Ahane came home drunk. Sute had heard stories from the other woman about how men would hit or even force themselves onto their wives and she was afraid. But, Mr. Ahane sat at the table and began to weep. With his head in his hands, he told Sute of an accident he had suffered years ago on the plantation. It was an injury that he now believed had left him unable to produce a child. For a man to admit such a thing was unheard of and Sute held him close and comforted him.

“Their lives continued on - amicably, childless, but not unhappily. It wasn’t until more than ten years after their marriage when Mr. Ahane fell from his horse and broke his leg that… things changed. The village doctor sent Sute out into the forest to find barks used for pain relief. She went without question and was on her way back when she ran into a group of men.”

Kane must sense my alarm because he looks over at me. I meet his gaze, my eyes wide. Running into a group of men in the forest can never end well. I’m not sure I want to know anymore, considering what I’ve only just experienced myself. I feel my lower lip begin to tremble and suck it in. I don’t want to fall apart.

He scans my face and sighs, standing up. “I apologize, Ama. I misjudged. This was not the right time.”

He doesn’t wait for me to reply as he leaves, shutting the door behind him. I stare after him for a while, my mind in a jumble. When it becomes clear that he isn’t going to come back, I flop back onto the bed with a groan. Perhaps because I slept most of the day or perhaps because I can’t seem to silence my thoughts, but as the sun begins to rise over the lake I finally get up; there’s no point in trying to go back to sleep now.

I take my time putting on my prosthetic and getting dressed. I only have my uniform but the long black shirt and sturdy black pants are warm and comfortable. I wasn’t going to but, right before leaving I pull back on the sweatshirt, not too proud to admit it’s started to become something of a security blanket.

I amble into the living room, anxious at the fact that I can’t seem to find Kane, when I spot him sitting on the terrace.

He looks relaxed in only a t-shirt and sweats, despite the fact that it’s not far from freezing this early in the day. His left ankle is crossed over his right knee, his elbow resting on it. He holds a book in one large hand, balancing it on his palm with ease.

I look down at my own hand and form it similarly; there’s no way I’d be able to support the weight of it. The normalcy of the thought makes me laugh, a sound that must carry out to him because his head snaps up and around.

Our eyes meet and I immediately drop my hand to my side as if I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t. He looks at me a moment longer before his posture relaxes again and he turns back to his book.

I take a deep breath, calming my nerves. I walk out onto the terrace and wrap my arms around myself to ward off the morning chill.

The book looks like it’s not the same one he was reading before but I can’t see the cover and am too far away to make out any of the words. The easy way would be to ask but I can’t seem to bring myself to. Instead, I turn towards the lake and watch as a bird swoops down, skimming the surface.

“You should put on something heavier if you plan to stay out here for long,” he says without looking up from his book. With his thumb, he turns the page and continues reading.

“What about you?”

“I don’t require much,” he replies.

I turn back to face him. He doesn’t look like he’s cold in only a t-shirt and I feel like a nagging mother with that whole ‘put on a sweater, looking at you makes me cold’ routine.

His hair is pulled back but shorter strands have fallen out of the ponytail and are now tucked behind his ear. The ends curl up and frame his jaw. I know that I am blatantly admiring him but I’d be an idiot if I couldn’t admit that he is incredibly attractive, but that doesn’t mean I like it.

Perhaps, I really have gone crazy though because I can’t help but wonder what it might have been like if I were to meet him under entirely different circumstances. What if we had met in the woods but he had just been on a hike and we’d walked a trail together and spoken and laughed. But, that is more ridiculous than the fantasy of escaping.

I feel anger, despair, and a pang of desire as I continue to study the side of his face

“Your emotions are palpable and feed into my own. Please stop.” His voice breaks me out of my trance.

“Another reason the pack prefers not to have humans around?” I ask, clearing my throat. I’m not going to admit to any of it even though he clearly already knows.

“One among many,” he replies absently. His thoughts are clearly elsewhere as he stands, closes the book, and begins to walk away. “I must go back now but I will return before night. Please stay in the house.”

I watch him walk along the bank of the lake in the direction of the packhouse until he disappears into the trees.

I do take his words seriously but after the rest of the morning inside reading, I can’t resist venturing out for a bit. It’s midafternoon and the sun glints off the water in streaks of dazzling gold. The house is right on the lake, after all, and I doubt he meant I couldn’t go onto the grass just outside.

I lean against a nearby tree, my arms wrapped around me for a bit of extra warmth against the cool breeze that blows off the lake.

As I look out over the lake thinking of my last misadventure here, I feel a bizarre desire to jump in. The water is probably frigid and I can’t swim well anymore but the idea of plunging in and disappearing below the still water is tempting. In college, I did a few polar bear swims in the winter so I’m not afraid of the cold and I know that there will be such peace below the surface.

I can’t help but stray back to Kane’s story. I still don’t know exactly what happened but I’m certain it’s horrifying. Perhaps the story and its woes are just that to him, a story, but it feels like an open wound to me; one that is not my own and that I do not want to carry.

I walk to the end of the dock and undress quickly before slipping into the water. It’s as cold as I imagined and while I thought I was prepared for the shock, the icy water on my skin is almost unbearable.

It’s just shallow enough for me to stand and I know that it was foolish of me to have gone in in the first place but the frigid water clears my senses.

I hold onto the beam of the dock, the algae slick beneath my fingers. I feel elation, a sort of giddy insanity spreading over me. I begin to shiver and look down at the water as droplets hit its surface.

“Ah,” I reach up and touch my cheeks and hot, fat droplets roll down them. The elation fades and my chest heaves. I have been kidnapped, abused, almost raped, and now feel even the barest hint of kinship with one of my captors.

Anil’s face flashes through my mind and I cry out. I push out away from the dock but not further into the lake. I float off to the side, and then paddle a bit closer to the shore, still in clear view of the house. No one will come here, Kane assured me, but what if he does?

I plunge underwater and hold my breath as long as I can, trying to find the peace I am so desperate for. But I can’t stay under for more than a few seconds before coming back up for air. Looking back to the shore, I have the fright of my life at the sight of a man standing on the bank. Luckily, my heart attack is short-lived when I see that it’s Kane. He’s holding a paper bag under one arm and he doesn’t look pleased.

“I smelled your fear and thought something had happened. I see against all better judgment you’ve gone and done it again.”

When I don’t move he raises his voice, “Come out, please!”

My teeth are already chattering as I cover my chest though I am still up to my shoulders in the water. “I can’t.”

“What do you…” I can’t see his face clearly but I get a distinct impression that the light bulb has gone off. This situation is all too familiar for us both. But rather than walking to the end of the dock to pull me up as he did before, instead, he puts down what he’s carrying and starts to wade into the water fully clothed.

“What the hell are you doing?” I yell. I want to get away but I’m afraid of going out beyond where I can stand.

“Here,” he says when he is hip-deep and only a few feet away. He takes off his t-shirt and tosses it to me. It lands on my head and as I lift it up to peer out from underneath he says gruffly, “Put it on. Then I can carry you out.”

I hastily shove my head through and then push it down below the water as it floats up around me. I hold it with one hand and pull it down until it reaches mid-thigh.

“You don’t need to carry me,” I retort, pushing off with one foot and trying to propel myself around him.

He ignores me and blocks my path. The heat radiating off of him is almost enough to stop my shivering.

“Am I stifling your independence?”

“Yes, exactly. Please let me do this one thing myself.”

He crosses his arms and doesn’t move. “You're going to freeze.”

“I’d already be back to the house by now if you weren’t in the way,” I quip.

I look up at him and for the first time in his presence, I feel a stirring in my stomach. It’s similar to what I’ve felt around Alpha but it doesn’t feel nearly as unpleasant. My cheeks turn red as I think that it’s more likely my own attraction than anything he’s projecting onto me. After all, I’m fairly certain I am not his type.

He breathes in deeply, and exhales, his eyes darkening. “Do you know how you smell right now?”

I shake my head, bewildered and embarrassed.

“You smell like you’re in heat. I told you to keep your feelings in check. I told you I am no different,” he growls before closing the distance between us. I should be terrified, but I’m not afraid as he lifts me up. My arms wrap around his neck, my legs instinctively locking around his hips. His hands caress my back, and his breath is ragged against my skin. He growls, long and low, and I feel a fire pool in my belly.

But then, still holding me up, he turns and walks back to shore. He does not stop when we get there but, instead, turns and walks us up the dock until we are next to my discarded clothes and crutch. We stand there in silence, his chest heaving and my face buried in the crook of his neck until he murmurs, “Let go, Ama.”

I release my grip, sliding down his body to the ground. I pick up my clothing and towel, not bothering to dry off as he bends down and grabs my crutch. He wordlessly holds it out and I snatch it, holding my clothing and prosthetic to my chest and keeping the towel tightly wrapped around me.

Neither of us says anything as we walk back to the house. I am about to go up to my room, leaving a wet trail through the house, when Kane says, “Haden, I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”

I look around, not sure who he is talking to, as a man walks out of the kitchen, holding a glass of water. I then look down at the puddle I am standing in and the fact that I’m barely dressed in Kane’s soaked, clinging shirt. So much for even a modicum of modesty.