Book 12: Return of the Alpha

Aviva

It’s just after dawn when I slide Lexa into her sling and head out of the house into another warm, later summer morning. The sun stretches across the pastures, casting golden light as far as the eye can see. Lexa–who I’ve taken to carrying on my back lately–coos softly as she uses my hair as reins, her chubby fingers tangled in the sloppy braid I managed to throw together just after I woke up, alone in bed, in a quiet house. 

I stare at the road leading into the forest–out of the valley of Silverhide. It’s empty. No wolves trot in my direction. I grind my teeth as the crippling unease that’s been coasting through my body for days nearly chokes me, but I turn toward Freya and Andrew’s house. 

Andrew built Freya a shopfront earlier this spring while they waited for their son, Samuel, to make his arrival. It’s cozied up beside his blacksmith shop, and her gorgeous tapestries and woven clothing hang in the sun-glazed windows.