Page 77 of Curvy Alpha Bride
“Normal?” Cass echoes. “Where did you grow up?”
“Ah… kind of in the woods, actually.”
“That explains everything,” I answer, turning to look at him. “You’ve never experienced normal interactions, so you don’t know this is a perfectly common expression of affection.”
“Affection!” Cass crows, throwing all her weight forward in an attempt to toss me off her. “This is unadulterated rage!”
“If you say so,” I laugh, getting up. “But when I beat you, it starts to feel kind of serious.”
“Only because it’s completely unfair,” she mutters. “You should stick to your own weight division.”
“You attacked me, skinny butt. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.”
“Something you have experience with?”
“Oh, come on,” I say, chuckling as I grab fried custard cupcakes from the table. “You could use some meat on your bones. Open wide!”
“Fuck off.”
“Don’t make me force-feed you.”
“It doesn’t feel right watching this,” Damon mutters. “Is there an adults-only filter for the interactions between you two?”
“Don’t sweat it,” Lexa laughs, punching his arm. “You get used to it. Apparently, it all started in kindergarten when Cass tried to stick a pencil to Mabel’s head and they got superglued together.”
“For five fucking days,” I mutter.
“Don’t look at me,” Cass says. “What kind of teacher lets four-year-olds have industrial-strength glue?”
“It’s very sad,” Kit says, joining the conversation. “The experience made them quite dependent on each other.”
“I did not come here to be attacked in this manner!” Cass giggles. “I’m taking my skinny butt out of here!”
“Oh, you’re checking out the newcomers?” I ask. “The guys visiting from further down the Range?”
“Absolutely not,” Cass says assertively. “I have no interest in their dangerous good looks or witty humor. If you don’t mind, I’m going away to flirt now.”
“Eat some cream cakes!” I yell at her back. “Guys like a little booty to hold at night!”
Cass waves over her shoulder as she walks towards the other end of the park, not turning around to acknowledge my last shot. I sit down at the picnic table next to Clara, but I don’t get a chance to grab some food before Serra approaches with a wailing bundle in her hands.
“I tried, but we need you now,” she says, handing me my baby girl. “She wants a feed, which is the only thing I can’t do.”
I snuggle my daughter against my chest, stroking her soft forehead as she latches onto my nipple. I arrange my shawl around us to keep the wind from getting to her and rock gently as she feeds.
“How is little Dove?” Clara asks.
“She’s well,” I answer, feeling my heart filling with a joy so intense, it hurts.
“It was sweet of you to name her that,” Serra says softly.
I shake my head. “It was the only name we could have chosen.”
There is silence around the table for a moment, and the moan of the wind takes on a hard edge, almost but not quite a voice, crying out in sorrow.
“You’ll rot,” Serra growls, looking up at the mountain. “You’ll starve, you bitch! Sit up there and look at how strong we are, and think about how you lost!”
Since the battle, we’ve made an effort to curse the witch at every opportunity. Instead of the rules being superstitions that are barely spoken of, and having an unnamed threat hanging over the town, we talk about her openly, defying her with our every breath.
