Page 2 of In Her Own Rite

I look over my shoulder at the trees and the clearing, and for a moment I swear I see a brush of something between the firs. But it wasn’t real—it can’t be. The only thing that’s real is Kieran and his arms around me, holding me together.

My eyes open slowly,and the first thing I do is look to the window to see the sky. It’s cloudy and overcast,takkagaayu—thank God. It won’t be clear enough for the rite tonight. That means Kieran has at least one more day to prepare. Not that he thinks he needs it.

I turn to look at him, lying beside me in bed. He’s in his human form, so I must have slept well last night. When I wake up in a panic, he’ll often shift for me, taking the form of a big, fluffy white wolf so I can curl up next to his fur and feel small and safe.

Kieran has the biggest wolf form of anyone I know. His human form is pretty big too: 6'5, his frame broad and muscular from years spent training in the gym every day with Seb. I’m grateful for it, in a way. Knowing he’s strong enough to take on the world helps me feel a little safer.

I rest my head close to his, taking in the unique scent of amber, leather, and wood that seems to soak into his skin from hours at the workshop. Most people on the islands have crafts or trades on the side to make ends meet next to their regular jobs. Kieran is one of the only people I know who’s been able to turn his trade into a whole career, crafting furniture that sells for a small fortune on the mainland. He started apprenticing just after we finished high school, and finished his training on Keist, one of the smaller islands, around the time I began training to be a healer with Aunt Saga.

The nights he spent on Keist were some of the last we spent apart. We never talk about it. I’ve neveraskedhim to spend the night, and he’s never commented on the fact that we’ve been sleeping platonically side-by-side for years. We’re not “sleeping together,” regardless of what people like to whisper behind our backs. And he’s not pining for me, waiting for me to finally look up at him and take notice.I wish.

I scooch closer to him, admiring the way his red-gold eyelashes flutter gently in sleep. My eyes run over his heavy brow, the broad, blunt cheekbones, and a strong jaw that’s covered by a thick beard where his teenage stubble once was. The spray of freckles over every part of him the sun touches. I’ve loved him for years, even before that day in the lake. And to him, I’m just Em. I know because—no matter what we’ve gone through together—he’d rather go out with half the islands than evenlookat me that way. He’s out with a different girl every weekend, staying out as late as three or four in the morning. But no matter what he does with them, he always comes home to me, smelling of soap and a fresh shower so I don’t need to scent them on his skin. Small mercies, I guess.

Kier turns in his sleep and rolls onto his side to face me. As his large body moves in our narrow bed, one arm curls under his head, and the other comes to rest between us. I look down at his hand, admiring the strong fingers, the veins running along the backs of his palms, and the thick brush of copper-gold hair running up his muscular arms. I slip my hand beside his, pale and slender in comparison. I wonder how it would feel if he held my hand in his. I wonder how it would feel if he heldme.

In a moment I imagine his body over mine, caging me in, pressing himself against me. His knee nudging my legs open; his thick fingers finding the crest between my thighs and slipping into me. His mouth on me, tasting me…

At the thought, a ripple of pleasure runs through my body, and I feel the warm hum of desire start between my legs. I swallow and sit up, making myself think of something else. My heat will be coming up soon, and it’s already making me run hotter than usual. As soon as I’m turned on, any shifters around me will be able to tell. And if Kieran knew I was getting wet next to him in bed?Mortifying.

I stand and turn towards the closet, stripping off my night clothes and pulling on a pair of blue scrubs for my postpartum client checkup today. Smoothing my hair back into a ponytail, I grab my phone from the bedside table, where it sits next to the training salts I set out last night. Then I slip out of the room, heading downstairs before I can wake him. If he’s doing the rite in the next few days, he should be getting as much sleep as he can.

I get down to the living room and walk towards the large kitchen, where I see Saga at the counter, making coffee.

“Morlaa’kut,” she says, smiling at me. Her dark hair, streaked with silver, is pulled back into its signature side braid, and her golden skin crinkles at the eyes as she sees me. She’s still in her robe, sage green linen tied at the waist over old flannel pajamas.

“Morlaa’, Aja,” I say.Morning, Aunt. She’s not my actual aunt, but I love her just as much as my uncle Viggo and his wife, Dagmar, who took me in when I was nine. They’re the reason I live in thisfikarig—the large home shared by the few families that make up afika, or pack—in the first place, along with Saga and her son Gabe, and Seb and his mom, Isolde. Saga’s niece Maren first came to the islands last year, and once she and Seb realized they were mates, she moved in permanently.

“Did you sleep well?” Saga asks, reaching for a mug to pour me some coffee.

“Yeah, fine.”

“Great. You’ll need your rest, with our rounds today and the rite coming up soon.”

“You think so? It’s been cloudy all week. It could still be a while.”

She glances up from the coffee she’s pouring and gives me a look. “What are you afraid of? All the elders have done this and lived to tell the tale. He’ll be fine.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek.

“We’ve just never done something this big without each other,” I say finally. “If he gets hurt, I can’t help.”

“He’s a big man, Emerson. He can take care of himself.”

She hands me the hot mug of coffee and gestures for the kitchen table. I take a seat, curling one leg under me and putting the other up to rest my chin on my knee.

“You weren’t nervous for Seb’s rite?” I ask.

“Of course, but I had no reason to be. Seb is strong, and he took time to prepare. Kieran has, too.”

“But Seb… got hurt,” I say carefully. He’s walked with a limp since the night of his rite, four years ago now. I can see how Saga looks at him sometimes, watching him with pain in her eyes. He may not be her son by blood, but the people that make up afikabecome one family. He might as well be.

“Well. We cannot avoid pain. We can only walk through it with courage.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?”

“To get through? Yes.” She smiles softly, and I can see the sadness in her eyes.

Saga has lost a lot in the last twenty years—a husband, Ben; her brother David; Seb’s dad Filip, who lived in thisfikabefore he died and was like a brother to her. If it’s true that pain makes you stronger, it must be why she’s the strongest person I know. And maybe it’s part of why I relate to her so much.

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