Page 66 of Harley & Her Ferals

Except, he’s shaking.

Has something happened to River in the pits? Is something triggering for him there?

He can’t have a phobia of blood, since he’s a medic.

As far as I know, River has never attended a cage fight. Yet I’ve overheard Lionzio argue with River about it.

One of the few times that Lionzio disciplined River was over his refusal to be an onsite fight medical attendant.

Lionzio made River kneel on the hard floor of the corridor outside his study with his hands held above his head as punishment to make him reflect on his duty to the pack.

Lionzio only relented after two hours, when River started silently crying.

As far as I know, Lionzio didn’t raise the issue again after that.

For him to have been so strict with River, however, he must have been getting pressure from Dad.

Why can’t River deal with violence like the fights?

What’s happened?

I pull back to look him in the face. “You’ve saved my life, Fer’s, and most of the fighters’ many times over. You stay up most nights caring for the other Betas, as I suspect you did last night for me. Whatever you can’t face in the pits, I’d never expect you to deal with that as well. You’re still the strongest Beta I know.”

“Beta,” River says, softly. “I know how you Americans view those.”

“Person,” I repeat, firmly. “Everyone in my pack is equal. And you are my pack. My soulmate.”

River draws in a sharp breath.

I don’t know if it’s the equality orsoulmatethat hits him so hard.

I think that it’s both.

Then River smiles, before he presses his full lips tenderly to mine. Once and then twice.

“L’anima gemella, you’re brilliant.” River kisses my forehead, before pushing me back to sit on the bed. “Tea.”

He twirls with his typical swagger to the crates.

I watch fondly the skillful way, as if mixing a potion, that River pours the hot water over a blend of herbs. Then he opens a pot of honey and mixes in a spoonful.

He clinks the spoon against the side of the mug like he’s composing a song.

Possibly, he is.

When I shift around on the bed, however, a single red tulip falls onto my hand. It must have been laid on the pillow next to my head.

I stroke over the tulip’s soft petals, biting my lip. “Is this for me, Riv?”

When River glances up and sees what I’m holding, he drops the spoon with a clatter onto the crate. “If you swear to stop turning up here unconscious, bella, I swear to leave a flower on your pillow every morning for the rest of our long,long, lives together.”

“What if I can’t promise that?”

“Then I swear that when you turn up wounded, I’ll spend the rest of our lives caring for your hurts andthenleaving a flower on your pillow. At least you’ll wake up to something filled with beauty and love.”

“I simply need to wake up withyou.”

There’s something underneath all of this.

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