Chapter 77: Her Mate Was Not Helping Her Behave

Dove turned toward the man in the patched coat. "Have you actually been through that gate, or are we about to plan our lives around somebody’s cousin?" He shook his head, and she waited for the useful part instead of letting his warning decide for her.

His brother had traveled with a supply crew that stopped at an outer receiving yard. The crew unloaded there and left without seeing the living quarters. They had been told that new residents went through a separate entrance and waited for assessment.

"So you don’t know who gets refused," she said, leaving the question open long enough for him to correct her if she had misunderstood.

"No. I know the supply gate isn’t an invitation to move in. That’s all I meant."

It was useful information, even if it did not give her a clean answer. They thanked him, and Edrik asked which crew had carried the load so they could look for a better source farther along the road.

Back upstairs, Dove spread their map beside the mug. Terminal remained north beyond the broken direct bridge. Pine Ridge was a school shelter on the outskirts of Three Rivers, south of the shopping strip they had escaped. The army base lay farther west, beyond any route these travelers could personally confirm.

"I’m not choosing a month of travel because two men liked the sound of a wall," she said. "We get to Pine Ridge, ask better questions, and keep the options open."

Thorne agreed. Edrik marked the driver’s route description lightly, adding a question mark rather than pretending the road had become certain because somebody drew it.

Edrik’s cut needed another quiet evening. Dove checked the clean dressing and told him this was happening before he could describe how much weight he could probably lift. He listened with a small smile she didn’t quite trust. Being ordered to rest seemed considerably more enjoyable when she was doing the ordering.

They had enough food, dry bedding, and a watched room. Resting was a decision, she reminded herself, not a failure to keep moving quickly enough.

That afternoon she inspected the supplies still on the stolen sled while Thorne guarded her body. Identified belongings had left with the caretakers before she dyed her hair. The remaining crates were unclaimed, not magically ownerless, and she kept their labels intact rather than pretending every old bundle had always belonged to her.

The small road-loot chest contained directions to a place where crews exchanged fuel and equipment. Nothing on the paper proved that the army base or Terminal had funded her reward. She kept it with the other evidence rather than inventing a whole explanation because she wanted someone specific to blame.

Before the meal, Dove helped lay out the supplies they would actually carry. Extra weight belonged in her space only if she could move it safely, and she kept drinking water outside where anyone could reach it without waiting for her. Thorne checked the bottle caps while Edrik repaired a loose pack strap with his good hand.

After dinner, Dove took her new fox plush from storage and propped it against the pillows. Thorne accused it of occupying his side of the bed. She told him it had been very affordable and had yet to complain about anything. Edrik watched from the window seat. "Give me the fox. He’s big enough to survive one night without that pillow."

His bandage showed beneath a rolled sleeve. He opened the paperback again, but his attention kept returning to her hands.

Back upstairs, with their second night already paid for, Thorne drew Dove onto his lap while she folded a blanket. She told him that being large did not automatically make him the correct place to put every woman in the room.

"There’s only one," he said, settling his arms around her. "And she keeps stealing my pillow."

"You have a wife on your lap and you’re complaining about bedding. Try being grateful before I move."

He freed the blanket without letting her go. She gave up pretending she wanted to leave and tucked herself against his chest, enjoying the warmth and the solid way his hands rested at her waist.

He had washed his hair at the basin earlier. The silver waves were softer now, badly behaved around his ears. Dove ran her fingers through them and smiled when he leaned toward her before he seemed to realize he was doing it.

"You make that very easy," she murmured, letting her fingers linger in the soft hair while he waited for her next touch.

"Only for you." His mouth brushed her cheek, then paused until she turned toward him.

She kissed him because she wanted to. Sprout quietly added two Favor for his delight, bringing her to nine hundred twelve. She closed the notice. She could use the coins without letting it explain why she had kissed her husband.

The paperback rustled near the window. Dove glanced over Thorne’s shoulder and found Edrik watching instead of reading. He lowered his eyes immediately, but she had already seen the attention in his face.

She did not feel exposed in the way she had at the crossing. The door was guarded, her mate’s arms were around her, and the bear looked as though he was trying very hard not to want something he had not been offered.

Thorne noticed where she was looking. He asked quietly whether she wanted the screen moved, and she shook her head before giving him another kiss. Her brief smile toward Edrik made it clear that she had seen him and wasn’t offended.

"You can tell me to stop looking," the bear said, voice low.

"I know," Dove answered. "I’ll tell you if I want that."

Thorne’s hand warmed against her back. He waited for her to turn to him again, and she did, fully aware of the company they had chosen to keep in the room.

Edrik gave up pretending to read. He’s been staring at the same page for what feels like twenty minutes, the words blurring into meaningless shapes, because across the small room, on the bedroll spread over the packed dirt floor, Dove has settled herself into Thorne’s lap like she owns the place, and she absolutely knows Edrik is watching.

He knows she knows. That’s the worst part or maybe the best part, he can’t decide because every time he glances up from his book her eyes are already on him, half-lidded, a little smug, daring him to look away first. He never does. He tells himself it’s because looking away would be weirder, more obvious, but that’s a lie he’s not even trying hard to believe.