Winter

“I can’t believe you kidnapped Prince Kai,” she said, untacking the curtain on the front window to peek outside. Blue daisies in a window box were a solitary spot of color.

“Emperor Kai,” Wolf corrected. He was leaning against the wall, holding the hem of her shirt in his fingers. Winter was taking her turn in the washroom while the others had crowded into the kitchen, trying to cobble together enough food for everyone. Scarlet had heard someone mention rations, and it occurred to her that this tiny household wasn’t meant to support guests, especially so many. Wolf’s mom would be back soon from collecting that week’s supply of food, but of course, that was meant for only one woman.

Scarlet tried to imagine what this must be like for Wolf. To return home more than a decade after being taken away, a grown man with scars and fangs and the blood of countless victims on his hands.

And now … with a girl.

Scarlet was trying not to think about meeting his mother—it all felt too strange.

“Emperor, right.” She retacked the curtain. “That’s weird to say, after eighteen years of listening to celebrity gossip feeds go on and on about ‘Earth’s favorite prince.’” She claimed one of the lumpy sofa cushions, curling her legs beneath her. “I had a picture of him taped to my wall when I was fifteen. Grand-mère cut it off a cereal box.”

Wolf scowled.

“Of course, half the girls in the world probably had that same picture from that same cereal box.”

Wolf scrunched his shoulders against his neck, and Scarlet grinned, teasing. “Oh, no. You’re not going to have to fight him for pack dominance now, are you? Come here.” She beckoned him with a wave of her hand and he was at her side in half a second, the glower softening as he pulled her against his chest.

His brazenness was new—so different from the shyness she’d grown accustomed to. On the Rampion, Wolf was always pattering around his feelings, like he didn’t want to risk the tentative trust they’d started to rebuild since Paris.

Now, when he kissed her or put his arms around her, Scarlet felt like he was staking a claim. Which normally would have sent her on a tirade about relationship independence, except she felt like she’d claimed him a long time ago. The moment she’d expected him to choose her over his pack, the moment she’d dragged him aboard that ship and taken him away from everything he’d ever known, she’d made the decision for them both. He was hers now, just like she was his.

Except she wondered if everything had changed between them, once again. She’d figured he would come back to the farm with her when all this was over, but now he’d been reunited with his mom, the only family he had left. Scarlet could no longer assume she was the most important thing to him, and she knew it wouldn’t be fair to ask him to choose between her and the family he’d been taken away from. Not now, and maybe not ever.

In the kitchen, a cupboard slammed, saving her from thoughts she wasn’t ready for. Not when she’d just found him again. She heard Thorne say something about freeze-dried cardboard and Iko accuse him of being insensitive to those without any taste buds at all.

Scarlet nestled her head against Wolf’s shoulder. “I was so worried about you.”

“You were worried?” Wolf angled her away from him. “Scarlet—they took you, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I didn’t know if you were dead, or if they were…” He shuddered. “I would have killed every one of them to get to you. I would have done anything to get you back. Knowing that we were coming here was the only thing that kept me sane.” His brow creased. “Though there were a couple times when I went a little insane anyway.”

Scarlet nudged him with her elbow. “That shouldn’t sound as romantic as it does.”

“Dinner is served,” said Thorne, coming out of the kitchen with a plate in each hand. “And by dinner, I mean soggy brown rice and oversalted meat on stale crackers. You Lunars sure know how to live it up.”

“We were trying to only take things from the pantry,” said Cinder, as she and Iko filed into the front room, though there was hardly enough space for everyone. “There isn’t much in the way of fresh food, and Maha’s already given us enough.”

Scarlet glanced at Wolf. “I assumed you’d never had tomatoes or carrots before because those things couldn’t be grown here on Luna, but that’s not the case, is it? They just don’t ship them to the outer sectors.”

He shrugged, without a hint of self-pity. “I don’t know what they can and can’t grow in the agriculture sectors. Whatever it is, I’m sure it can’t compete with Benoit Farms and Gardens.” His eyes twinkled, and Scarlet—to her own surprise—started to blush again.

“You two are giving me a stomachache,” Thorne griped.

“I’m pretty sure that’s the meat,” said Cinder, ripping a piece of dried mystery meat with her teeth.

The food wasn’t appetizing, but it was no worse than what she’d gotten in the menagerie, and Scarlet ate her small share with relish. Winter emerged from the washroom, her dark ringlets still dripping and the too-short pants and ill-fitted blouse doing nothing to lessen her beauty. A hush fell over the group as she joined them, kneeling on the floor around the small table and scanning the food with sad, distant eyes.

Scarlet spoke first, pushing a couple of crackers across the table. “I know it’s not what you’re used to,” she said, “but you have to eat something.”

Offense flashed across Winter’s face. “I’m not particular.” Her expression softened as she stared at the crackers. “I just hadn’t realized how much I’d been given. I knew conditions were bad in the outer sectors, but not as bad as this. Others have gone hungry so my stomach might be full each night.” Sighing, she sat back on her heels and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m not hungry, anyway. Someone else can have mine.”

“Winter—”

“I’m not hungry.” Her voice was sterner than Scarlet had ever heard it. “I couldn’t eat it if I tried.”

Scarlet frowned, but let it go. Wolf eventually ate the crackers, looking guilty about it.

“You said Jacin told you where to find us?” said Cinder. Her shoulders were tense, and it had been clear from the moment Scarlet had explained what she could about their escape that Jacin wasn’t popular with her friends. “How did he know?”

“I would imagine,” said Winter, “that your miniature friend told him.”

“Our miniature friend?” asked Cinder.

Winter nodded. “Cress, isn’t it?”

Silence expanded over them, drawing all the oxygen from the room.

Thorne leaned forward first. “Cress? You’ve seen Cress?”

“I haven’t seen her in days, but Jacin was keeping her safe.”

“Oh! That reminds me.” Scarlet dug out the small cylinder. “Jacin gave this to me and said it had a message from a friend in it. Maybe he meant her—Cress?”

Thorne snatched it away before she’d finished talking and flipped the cylinder over in his palm. “What is it? How do we work it?”

Cinder grabbed it away from him and inserted it into the holograph node on the wall. A holograph flickered to life in the center of the room.