Page 26 of Broken Pregnant Mate
“Makes sense,” I laugh, leaning down to pick up some of the sand and running it through my fingers. “Considering who your dad is.”
“Weren’t you an orphan?”
“Yeah.” I stand, let the sand fall from my hand, and turn to face him. “Because of your dad, remember?”
Silence falls again, and we’re just staring at one another, holding the gaze, the tension increasing.
We’re not going to fight—that would be pointless—but I can feel the energy gathering, the weight of this between us.
“I was an orphan who discovered real love—sharing your life with another person, supporting one another. Knowing you would die for them, or you would stay with them until their last breath if they asked you to. That’s what love is, and just because you think it’s a myth doesn’t make it any less real.”
Oren lets out a breath. “I regret initiating this conversation. What if we just focus on the task at hand? And you promise to die formeif witches come for us?”
I grin at him, realizing I like poking fun at the guy. “Does this mean you’re falling in love with me, Blacklock?”
He frowns. “You are not my type.”
With that, we shift back into our wolf forms and circle around, getting enough distance to take a running jump to the first island. The water flies by under us, the mist from how it rushes against the rocks tickling our underbellies as we leap through the air.
We land with a skid, claws and paws digging into the soft, white sand of the island, just barely coming to a stop before we fly off the other side and into the water again. Oren is the first to shift back, looking up at the palm tree that sprouts from the center of the island.
“Of course,” Oren says, his head tipped up, eyes locked on the tender red leaves gathered around the crown of the palm. “Of course it’s at the top. Can you scale the tree like that?”
Still in my wolf form, I approach the tree, darting a glance at him to see if he’s joking about me climbing the thing. He doesn’t seem to be.
For the next ten minutes, I try—in vain—to scrabble up the trunk of this tree. Each time I glance back at Oren, I expect him to be laughing—this is objectively stupid—but his face is flat, his eyes set.
When I give up, he barely even makes an expression, just brings his hand to his chin.
“I guess I could try—”
Growling, I back up to the edge of the island, then launch forward, running, jumping, and grabbing the bottom-most frond on the tree between my teeth. I clamp down on it, praying it doesn’t either snap off or launch me into the atmosphere, but it doesn’t.
I’m able to use my momentum to run forward, frond still in my mouth, and bend the palm tree until it’s bowed over, the red leaves at the top just a foot from Oren.
Hurry, I try to send him, but of course, it doesn’t go through because he’s in his human form.This tastes like shit.
“Wow,” he says, eyebrows shooting up. “Alright.”
It takes him thirty seconds to pluck the red leaves from the top of the tree and drop them into his burlap sack, then I let go of the tree. It swings back with a massive groan, shaking and dropping leaves and little seeds onto the sand.
Oren and I make eye contact just before he shifts back into his wolf form, clothes and bag disappearing with the magic of the Amanzite.
Alright, he sends to me as we back up and prepare to jump to the next island.Only fifty to go.
Chapter 12 - Emaline
“Claircognizance,” Beth says, her big eyes blinking at me from behind her glasses. “Veryinteresting—I haven’t seen one of you in a long, long time.”
“My adoptive mother passed it to me,” I say, biting the inside of my lip. “She’d told me about it before she passed, but we never really got to talk about it.”
“Sounds like a familiar story,” Beth says, swinging around and looking at Veva, who is sitting next to her daughter at the table.
The room is filled with women gathered around a large table. Around us, the walls are lined with knick-knacks, books, crystals, and plants. It would be overwhelming, except there’s an organized sort of sense about the chaos, like every item in the room has been placed with purpose, intention.
All around me, omegas and betas are either chatting quietly to one another or working on the exercises given to them by the woman standing in front of me.
Beth is older, wearing a dress that looks more like several different fabrics draped together than a single piece, with bangles and bracelets lined up and down her wrists. Her glasses are large and round, magnifying her eyes to a comical degree, and when she places her hand on mine, the skin is papery.
