Page 13 of Harvest Moon

Birch’s shoulders relaxed at her touch, and even more at the words. He met my eye in the mirror and gave a wink. “We’ll try to make it as painless as possible. I promise not to drink the last of the milk and put the container back in the fridge.”

Claudia snorted and elbowed him in the ribs. “Liar.”

“I promise to do it less?” He threw me another wink and took one hand off the wheel to grab one of hers in the space between the front seats of his car.

I swallowed my jealousy. Or, well, no. I turned and looked back one last time.

I had the wildest urge to jump out of the moving car and run back toward the farm. Toward Ridge.

But if he’d wanted me to stay, he’d have asked me to. Right?

Right.

Because Ridge had always been so good with words.

“There’s a great hiking trail half a mile from the house that I think you’re going to love, Alexis,” Claudia said, interrupting my spiraling internal monologue. “I’ll bet it’ll be good fodder for your podcast. Lots of plants and... whatever it is you talk to people about.”

I pressed a hand to my chest in mock affront. “You mean you don’t listen to my podcast? Claud, I’m hurt.”

She snorted and shook her head at me. “Puh-lease. You’d be horrified if I did listen to it. You’d go all pink and insist that I stop immediately becauseit’s not for you, Claudia!”

And she wasn’t far from wrong. I mean, it was intended for omegas, sure, but to some degree, the podcast was my attempt tobeClaudia. I spent a lot of it encouraging omega listeners to get out there and go hiking, or swimming, or anything. Just to try a new outdoor activity, because they were capable of it.

Especially with the Condition running rampant through werewolf communities, we spent too much time being told that we were fragile flowers who shouldn’t do difficult things. What if we fell down and hurt ourselves, after all?

Way back in high school, I’d had a teacher encourage me to not go on a class trip—a camping trip into the woods—because it could be dangerous. Like some kind of awful twentieth-century parody, she’d given me a sweet, concerned smile, and said, “An omega’s place is in the home.”

I’d gone home in tears.

My mother had agreed with the teacher, of course. “Why would you want to go?” she’d blithely asked, ignoring the permission slip I waved around. “The woods are dirty and disgusting. Better to stay home.”

So I’d gone to my happy, safe place. To the only omega I knew who got me. Who understood me. I’d called Claudia.

I had also learned a few new curse words that day.

Claud had kept me on the phone till Dad had gotten home from work, then demanded to talk to him. By the time she got off the phone with him, I had a signed permission slip and an angry father who kept muttering in Greek about know-nothing bastards trying to keep his baby down.

It had been one of my life’s defining moments. Both Claud and my father had gone to bat for me over something I had—at first—only wanted because someone had told me I couldn’t have it.

I’d have been inclined to enjoy the trip even if it had turned out that I hadn’t liked camping much, because of what it took to get me there.

But then we’d arrived at the spot in the middle of the woods. Heard the birds singing. Seen the stream, cool and clean and beautiful.

And I had fallen in love.

With the place, the beauty, and maybe most of all, the absolute freedom of being there.

So sure, I talked about the hiking on my podcast, and the climbing, and the various plants and animals that could be found in the spots I visited. I took audio of birdcalls, and pictures of everything for my website. I talked about the times of year, and the history of the trails I walked.

But more importantly, I talked about being an omega. I talked about how I was just as capable as anyone else out in the woods on my own, and how no one should let their designation, or gender, or anything else define what they were allowed to do.

It was a little cheesy, maybe, but I tried to give other people what Claudia had given me. Not just the outdoors, as much as I loved that, but the feeling of freedom. The realization that you didn’t have to climb into the box people told you had your name on it.

“Ooh, ice cream,” Claudia said, pulling me out of my thoughts as she pointed at a big silver and pink sign beside the highway.

Birch quirked a brow at her, as though he would question whether it was a good idea, but he didn’t. “Ice cream, Alexis?”

Claudia turned pleading eyes on me, and all I could do was laugh. I nodded to Birch. “I guess, if wehaveto.”

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