Sloane

They stopped running at the same time, chests heaving, hair pinned to their foreheads from sweat. The basket was heavy in her hands, burning in her palms. Riven was glaring at her, but it wasn’t anger that pinned her down. It was the look in his eyes, glassy and shaking with bewilderment. She tasted his scent first: malted sugar, slightly acidic, with a hint of fermentation, like rice wine. Good smells, but touched with vinegar.

Anxiety?

Anger?

Fear?

But she didn’t regret slapping Evander. Riven was…She struggled to explain the emotions that she felt, the level of care that she had for him. He was under her watch, under her care. She owed him a ton for taking care of her useless body. It might not be her debt, but it felt like it was.

Sloane had yet to consider whether or not this was reincarnation or ghostly possession. But with the Duchess’s emotions swimming in her head despite the ghastly big blanks in her brain, it felt like she was obligated. It felt like she owed Riven. Riven, who hissed and spat dirty things with the looks of an angel.

How could she bear to see him distraught?

Besides, she was determined to live better in this life, and that determination encompassed the people around her. Riven was pretty much her only family in this world, even if only in name.

Plus, something in her burned and itched at the thought of Riven in pain. It felt like a goddamn can of maggots wriggling in her gut, awful in her throat. And Sloane was a protective bitch. She hated it when idiots waved their power in another’s face, pissing on the destitute and the poor. She fucking loathed power-tripping motherfuckers who enjoyed stomping on the weak.

It was just a part of her personality to take those assholes down a notch.

No matter how hot those assholes were.

“You can’t just do that to Evander,” Riven panted out, voice cracking halfway through, too sharp in the heat of the air.

“I won’t do it again,” she said.

The words flowed too fast from her lips because she was still buzzing from the fight, from the run. She didn’t like him like that, pale with fear, sweating from anxiety. She turned to start back towards their house because it was easier than standing there waiting for his disappointment to scrape at her flesh. He was still mad; she knew that. He was not happy. She knew that.

It had been a while since someone berated her for her actions.

Exasperation flavoured his tongue. “He’s not someone we can just piss off, Sloane—”

“He’s some merchant son, right?” She dug through her mind for the memories. Serpentine. She turned her head to catch his eyes, sharp and narrowed. “I get it. I’ll take the blame, I swear.”

Riven barked out a short, humourless laugh, shoved his hands through his hair until it stood at the ends. His voice now dripped into a growl, almost seemed to thunder from his tongue. “You don’t fucking get it.”

This had her turning to look at him. “Tell me.”

“He’s been keeping us alive.”

“We can keep ourselves alive.”

“That rice we ate this morning?” Riven threw his hands out, voice raised. She was an idiot for noticing the halo of light that seemed to crown his head, illuminating defined features. “His.” He exhaled. “The fucking tarp that’s keeping our house standing? His. The fucking pan on the stove? It’s all his.”

She paused in her steps. “We don’t need him now.”

“He could cut us off, Sloane. Who’d buy from us with his word? Who would dare piss off the only person who could sell them rice? The fucking supplies the kingdom sends in winter? They send it here. The Serpentines are practically king!” His eyes widened then, almost as if his words frightened him. “He could turn us in.”

“To the soldiers?” she said, but his words sobered her. Her heart fell. Fuck. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time Sloane had trampled on the toes of a leader. But now she understood his anxiety, twisting from him thickly in waves. And she softened her tone, attempting to calm him down. But the North was infamously uncared for. “They won’t come here.”

Riven shrugged with a snort. “He could charter a carriage.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know?” he snarled. “For an Alpha who slapped the shit out of him? You’re not fucking invincible, Sloane. You’re weak. You’re nameless. You don’t even have a fucking beast. Just because you were a duchess, just because your mind’s fucked. It doesn’t mean you can do whatever the fuck you want!”

That quietened her down, had the fight going out of her chest all at once. She could hear the wind humming in the grass, feel the fog of her breath in the air, the pants from Riven, his eyes flashing red.

Fuck.

He was right.

The Sloane now could never go on a full-on attack, as weak and as malnourished as she was. And there was a lot that they lacked. Too much to lose. They were nothing but peasants amidst the poor. And Sloane did not have a were-beast. She had her guesses, had stroked the shell of her still human ears, had checked her ass for a tail.

Nothing.

The Everharts came from a line of warriors, a mixture of the best predators and beasts. But inbreeding had fucked her over; she’d been born pink and fleshy, gone through puberty without a Rut. One that all Alphas should have every cycle to fuck and multiply. It showed that she lacked a connection with an animal.

That she was only Alpha in name.

And Sloane had ignored that knowing that her body still thrummed with the remains of her past. That good food and exercise could give her back her inhuman strength from the apocalypse. But the truth was, she did not have a beast to give her the abilities that would ensure better survival.

The Everharts had been broken shifters, and money had been their only power.

That was the true reason for their desperate downfall.

She sighed. “I’m sorry.”

The words startled him, a noisy gasp rupturing from his throat. His surprise disturbed her, but she continued to speak.

“I just couldn’t stand it when he talked about you like that,” she said. “I got too angry.”

That seemed to freeze him, his jaw working with a mouthful of unsaid words. A moment passed as he stared at her, crimson eyes catching her own, transforming into a gentler hue, a softer pink as his pupils dilated into chocolatey pools.

For a second, they swept through her, pulled her into their depths. It felt as if she were falling into his eyes. Her heart racing as he watched her, more predator than prey. His scent trickled in the wind. Sugar cubes? Gratitude. Happiness. And…Her brows furrowed. Something else.

And then time resumed abruptly. He swallowed thickly, looked away. A beat of silence, and he wilted into his words. “It’s not what you think…”

Sloane pressed her lips together. “How much do we owe him?”

Riven’s eyes flew to hers, his lower lip sucked behind teeth. His ears flopped, falling from his head, drooping as if scalded. “It’s not…” His throat bobbed. “Good.” That explained a lot; it explained the strange tremble of fear in the bunny.

“Riven…”

“Ten thousand.”

Her head snapped up towards him so fast it almost hurt. The number soared. The worst of debt. Now she truly understood why pissing Evander off was not good. Why Riven trembled at the thought of soldiers locking them up. Because Evander had a reason to, and he could. “Ten. Thousand?” Her thoughts spun. It was not that big a sum for a duchess, but for them it was impossible. How could he have raked in such a huge amount? Her brow deepened. Was Riven a victim of fraud?

“It was winter!” His voice threaded up into a whine, almost as if he could read her mind. “Prices were insane. People were starving. So many died when the ferals attacked. I bought things on credit, he even gave me a discount because—” He cut himself off, wrung his hands out. Riven scrubbed a hand across his face. “Because of what I am to him.”

That knocked the air out of her. “Did he…” She tried to search for better words. “Do anything to you?”

Riven’s head jerked up, eyes wide. “No! No. He’s not like that.” He blew out a breath, wrung his fingers once more, bounced on one foot. “Fuck.” She raised a brow, and he paced. “I didn’t want to talk about this.”

“I don’t remember any of it,” she reminded him promptly.

“That’s because I’ve never told you,” Riven muttered. Then seemed to school himself before he began to speak again. He licked his lips, and she found her eyes drawn to the glisten. She was such a fucking asshole. “Evander used to be…Kind.”

“Kind?” Sloane choked, a laugh bubbling out of her, sharp with disbelief. She continued up the path, and Riven followed. “He treats you like shit—”

“He was my ex.”

She stopped dead in her tracks when she registered his words. “What?”

“Before Veyr,” Riven clarified, voice small, almost embarrassed. “We were…” He considered his words. “Together. But his parents didn’t like me because I was just some stray, dirty bunny kid.” He paused then, eyes growing distant, flecked with pain, then focusing upon her. “I ended it.”

She just stared. The way he spat the word ‘bunny’ sounded almost derogatory. “He was mad at you?”

“Yeah, it was my fault.” Riven’s hand dragged across his face like he was trying to scrub the memory off. “When Veyr left, Evander came back to me. He said I was throwing my life away taking care of you. He wanted me to go home with him.” He snorted, shook his head. “I refused, and he took it as an insult.”

Sloane exhaled. “He’s got a pack now?”

“He’s engaged to a general’s daughter.” There was a bitter twist at the corner of his mouth. A darkness was now growing in his eyes. “She’s rich and has connections with the empire.”

She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to make sense of everything. But almost immediately, alarm bells were ringing in her head. Rich. A general’s daughter. Riven could thrive in that environment. A home where he didn’t have to wear rags and could eat as much rice as he wanted to. She turned to Riven. “You should’ve gone back,” she said before she could stop herself. “Do you want to go back and apologise to Evander?”

Riven’s head snapped toward her, eyes growing wide. “Huh?”

“You can, you know,” she said, too tired to keep your voice even. It shook just a little, suddenly choked with a strange volley of emotions. It would be best for him, for his future. “You stayed with me because of some promise you made to Veyr, right?”

“It’s not like that,” Riven shot back. His eyes flashed, now understanding her implications. “Evander’s Alpha’s a fucking bitch—”

“And I am one too,” Sloane told him. And suddenly she felt like pushing, felt like asking the questions she had yet to ask. Her emotions were running amok now, spinning in her throat. Why was she keeping him here with her? Why did he have to stay? They were practically strangers. “Aren’t I?”

Riven gaped at her. “You can’t take care of yourself.”

“I can,” she gestured to the basket, suddenly upset, suddenly angry. Her next words held a bit too much bite. “Look at this. I’m good, we’re done. There’s nothing you owe me now.”

“We’re…Done?”

“I mean,” she kicked at the grass. “Why are you here with me?”

Something in her coiled, as if outraged by the mere thought of Riven leaving her pack. But she stomped it down, swallowed it whole. It was the right thing to do. Riven was not her family. He was merely someone stuck in a situation. A pretty bad situation. Her eyes darted over his clothes, the rags that hung on his body. The sink of his cheeks. He was dirt poor because of her. Fuck.

“I’ll help you set up, get you what you need. But you could go.”

His expression was blank. “Go where?”

“Well, wherever you want?” Sloane raised a brow. She couldn’t read him now, the way he seemed to clamp up at her words. “I won’t take the house if you need it. I could sleep in the woods.”

“Sleep in the woods?” Riven snorted, rage now colouring his voice. “What the fuck?”

“You could go to Evander.”

His eyes shivered; there was silence now as he stared at her, jaw hanging open. Was it such an incredulous proposition? She resisted the urge to laugh. It made sense that Duchess Sloane had forbidden him from leaving. But Sloane wasn’t the type to hold him back. She continued.

“I’ve never claimed you, I know that. And our marriage was tied to Veyr, right?” She bit her lower lip, tried to remember the details. “Was there even an official contract?”

“I’m your husband.”