Chapter 5 Syra

As soon as I see where Markus is taking me, I stop dead in my tracks.

We've been running for about an hour, and for half that time we've been following one of the old roads built by the ancestors before the Big Change happened. Now that road has led us to our destination. A huge, wrought-iron gate stands before us, and beyond that gate, gentle hills roll away into the distance, their grassy slopes studded with upright slabs of stone arranged in neat rows.

"This is a graveyard!" I whisper.

Markus turns to look at me. In the pale moonlight, with his face and skin covered in that dry, cracked paste, he almost looks like a corpse who has come back to life and crawled up from one of those graves.

"I know," he whispers back.

"But we can't go in there, Markus. It's forbidden."

"Forbidden?" Markus says, giving me a wry smile. "And when have you ever cared about following the rules, Syra?"

He has a point there. Back when we were young, I was constantly getting into trouble of one kind or another, and usually I ended up dragging Markus into it as well.

But this is different. My people avoid the burial places of the ancestors. We do not hunt there. We do not build our homes there. We do not go there for any reason. It is believed that the spirits of the dead ancestors will curse anyone who trespasses into their resting places.

Markus sees my apprehension and grows serious.

"Think about it, Syra. This place is forbidden, right? That means there won't be any alphas around to sense your heat."

None except him.

My lips tingle as I remember the way Markus kissed me back there in that barn, and my nipples harden at the memory of his big, strong body pressing into mine. During the past hour of running, I've managed to keep my urges under control, but I know that can't last forever. I can feel my heat growing stronger with every passing second, and a quick glance at the front of Markus's loincloth reveals the effect my scent is having on him as well.

What choice do I have, though? If I remain out in the open much longer, my scent will draw other alphas in. Alphas I've never met before.

At least I know Markus, even if I haven't seen him for nine years.

"Okay," I say. "Let's go in."

But as I move toward the gate, I notice a heavy chain wrapped around the wrought iron bars and held together by a large padlock that is rusted shut. Even if we had the key to that thing, we would never be able to get it open.

"We'll have to climb," Markus says. "Follow me."

As I watch the muscular alpha scale the tall fence, I find it difficult to believe this is the same person as the nervous, whiny boy I used to know. Then again, a lot can change in nine years. My own body is proof of that.

My mind drifts back to that night in the air ducts. It was the first time Markus kissed me, and the last time I saw him until tonight. I didn't have the slightest inkling Markus was attracted to me back then. It was not something he ever talked about. I had always viewed Markus as a friend, and I just assumed he felt the same way about me. So when he suddenly kissed me in that air duct above the ritual chamber, it definitely took me by surprise.

I probably overreacted a little.

After that incident, Markus's parents decided I was a bad influence. They forbade Markus from hanging out with me. Not long after, he was assigned to a pack and left the Central Ruins to begin his training in the wildlands—or so I heard. I wasn't sure if I would ever see him again. I certainly never expected to run into him tonight of all nights. It's pretty amazing that he showed up when he did, right when I needed saving from Delphine and her alphas. Either that was the world's biggest coincidence, or else—

"Well, what are you waiting for, Syra?"

Markus's voice shakes me out of my reverie. The alpha has already dropped down on the other side of the fence, and now he's looking at me through the bars.

"Coming," I say.

I pass my spear through the bars, then I start to climb. My body's not as strong as the alpha's, and my limbs are not as long, but I still manage to haul myself up the side of the fence with relative ease.

Getting over the top, however, poses more of a problem.

The bars of the fence are tipped with sharp points, like a row of iron spears pointing toward the sky. I have to be extra careful if I don't want to end up impaled on one of those spikes. There's a cross bar running horizontally near the top of the fence, and I'm able to brace against that as I fling my right leg across.

So far, so good.

But as I'm trying to bring my left leg over, my heat-weakened muscles fail me. I manage to get my leg clear of the spikes, but I'm off balance, and I lose my grip. I start to plummet toward the ground below.

"Syra!"

Markus lunges forward with incredible speed, and instead of crashing into the ground, I end up cradled in the alpha's powerful arms.

My heat, which had ebbed somewhat during our hour-long run, comes surging back with a vengeance. My nipples go rigid beneath my top, and slick arousal leaks from between my legs, filling the air around us with the potent scent of animal desire.

"Put me down!" I snarl.

I'm a little surprised when Markus actually does what I ask, and I feel a pang of regret as I realize just how bitchy I'm acting. Markus just saved me from serious injury, and the best I can do is snap at him?

"Sorry," I say, blushing. "And… thank you."

Markus gives me an astonished look.

"I was wrong," he says. "You have changed. That's the first time you've ever thanked me for anything."

"It's the first time you've given me a reason to."

Markus just shakes his head.

"Come on," he says.

We move deeper into the graveyard. Near the center, atop a low hill, stands a building. The years have covered it in a thick cloak of a dark ivy, but as we get closer, I'm able to glimpse patches of stone underneath, as smooth and white as bone. There's a big bronze door at the front of the building, and it lets out a low, metallic groan as Markus pulls it open. He pokes his head inside and sniffs the air, then motions for me to follow him in.

It's dark inside, but the windows let in just enough moonlight for us to see by. There are two main corridors that intersect in the middle of the structure, forming a cross, with other smaller alcoves branching off to the sides. The air is warm, but there's something about the place that makes me feel cold.

"What are these panels on the walls?" I whisper.

"Tombs," Markus whispers back. "This building is a mausoleum."

A chill runs up my spine. Being outside in the graveyard was bad enough, but in here we are completely surrounded by death. Part of me wants to flee this place, but then I think of the fate that awaits me outside these walls, and I decide to stay.

Ahead of me, Markus slows his pace, and I can see him studying the tombs along the wall, as if looking for one in particular. Finally he halts and crouches in front of one of the crypts. He starts to open it.

"Wait!" I gasp. "Markus, what are you doing?"

"Don't worry," he says. "There's no body in this one. Just supplies."

"You've been here before?"

"A few times, yes. I've got secret stashes all around the Zone."

I'd heard that Markus had joined a pack several years ago, but based on the way he's talking, it sounds like he's on his own. I'm curious about that, but I decide not to ask him right now. Instead, I just watch in silence as the alpha does his thing. He takes out a waterskin and hands it to me.

"Drink," he says. "You must be thirsty."

He's right. I sweated out a lot of water back there in that burning barn. Then I sweated even more during our run. And that's not to mention all the shameful wetness that's been seeping from between my legs this whole time. At this point, it's a wonder I have any fluid left in my body at all.

I tip the waterskin back and gulp down as much as I can before I have to stop to catch my breath.

"Have as much as you need," Markus tells me. "There's plenty more."

He takes out another waterskin for himself, but instead of drinking it, he pours it over his head and starts to rinse away the dried paste from his skin and hair.

"My pack leader taught me how to make this stuff," he explains. "It's made of mud, pine needles, and acorns, among other things. Does a pretty good job of masking one's scent."

"Your pack leader?" I ask. "So you're in a pack now?"

"I was. Not anymore."

"What happened?"

He just shakes his head and starts pouring water over his shoulders and chest, rinsing away more of the paste.

"That's a long story."

I'm tempted to tell him I have time to listen, but it's obvious he doesn't want to talk about it. Besides, the sight of Markus bathing himself in the moonlight is distracting enough to make me forget all the questions I have for him. The last time I saw him, he was just a scrawny little pup, the runt of his litter. Not anymore.

Sometime during the past nine years, Markus hit a growth spurt. A big one.

As the water sluices down his body, washing away the dried paste from his skin, I'm finally able to get a good look at his bulging muscles. The ones on his chest look like two big plates of armor, and his abdominals look like two stacks of bricks running down his stomach. I have an urge to go over there and trace their outlines with my fingers, or maybe even my tongue. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to keep myself under control.

But the sight of Markus's hard, glistening body isn't even the biggest problem I'm facing at the moment. It's the way he smells. With each bit of paste that gets removed from his skin, his alpha scent grows stronger in the air, until the entire mausoleum seems to be filled with it, an invisible cloud of raw masculinity.

My mouth waters at that scent. My blood races, and I can feel it throbbing at the tips of my breasts, and down between my legs too.

I want him. I want my friend. I want to climb him like a tree and rub my aching need all over his body. I want to make myself come all over his muscles. And then all over his face. And then…

And then…

And then it hits me.

"You've been following me," I whisper.

Markus looks at me, but he doesn't say anything. His entire body is clean now. Clean and glistening in the moonlight. Source, he looks good—but I remind myself I don't care about such things.

"Earlier tonight," I tell him, "I thought I sensed someone watching me from the woods, but I didn't smell anything. That was you, wasn't it? I didn't smell you because you had that stuff on your body."

"Yes."

"Why were you following me?"

"I was concerned for your safety, Syra. I wished to protect you."

That idea makes my blood heat with anger. I don't need protection. I can take care of my own damned self.

Then I realize Markus was right. I did need protecting. If he hadn't stepped in when he did, I would be dead meat. That realization makes me even angrier.

"Have you followed me before?" I ask.

"Yes."

"When?"

Markus pauses for a moment, as if carefully weighing his answer. At last, he says, "Every day for the past four years."