The Mountain Ch. 00

Really long Author's Note:

So, I went back and forth and back and forth about posting this. First warning: there's no sex in it. There's some pretty interesting (if I say so myself) Alpha behavior and lots of little hints about the world I am trying to build. But it's a snippet. It's barely anything.

Second warning: if you've paid very close attention to "The Mountain" chapters that have already been posted, you'll notice this snippet doesn't even quite line up with what's happened before.

The thing is, the reason I haven't posted anything in so long (other than life, the universe, etc.) is that I was struggling majorly with how to continue this story. And it's partly a rookie writer mistake to backtrack instead of forging ahead, but I kept coming back to the early chapters to try to figure out why the ending wasn't working. And that led to a long exercise in figuring out the backstory of the world and the characters-the "why" and "how" regarding the takeover of the island and the connection between humans and the warriors (because, they're not human, right? At one point, I wasn't really sure.)

That all led to me re-imagining the timeline of the story. The islanders, in the original version, have been trapped on the island for 20+ years. At around 26, it's the only way of life Lucy can really remember. In the tweaked version of the story I'm working on now, the islanders have been trapped for about five years. Lucy remembers the mainland. She's been there. Memories of the world outside the island are strong. And if Lucy has been to the mainland, Warder must have been, too, right? Well, that's where my mind went and I realized...they've met. They had to have crossed paths. Because way back in that first chapter, Warder has this little internal speech about fate and fortune and luck. And in that moment, he's almost remembering that he knows this girl. That she intrigued him once before on a day where he was too focused on the mission in front of him to truly notice her. And he isn't going to make that mistake again.

It's just a tiny moment, this snippet. But I think - I think - it fixes a lot of story issues for me.

The final chapters are still probably going to be rough. I'm not going to go back and rewrite. I'm just going to forge ahead. You deserve a finished story. Hopefully a good one, but a finished one. Still, this figuring out process has been painful. I've sent three version of Chapter Eight to beta readers. NONE OF THEM WORKED. I'm making painful, painstaking progress on a new version and I really want to post it soon. Even if it isn't perfect, just to give it to you and be done with it. You can tell me what all is wrong with it. I promise I won't cry (where you can see me.)

But I'm really only writing this, at this point, for those of you who have let me know that you've fallen in love with this story. For the ones who are mad at Warder or heartbroken for Elias or rooting for Lucy. (Or in love with Warder and mad at Lucy. Whatever.) And I figured, if you love the story (which ohmigod thank you), you'd probably enjoy seeing this tiny piece of it, even if it isn't what you were promised.

I'm still keeping that other promise. Chapter Eight is coming. In all its messy, info-dump glory. There will be a pretty hot sex scene at the end, so...

Do they even allow author's notes this long? I'm about to find out. I guess. When I submit this. (Or not. If you're reading this, I did! And they do!)

There are potential spoilers in this snippet, but probably not many since the clues won't really make sense until you get all that info dump that's coming in Chapter Eight about who the mountain people are and where they came from...and a lot of other things that I hope will be pretty cool, but might be a big giant let down.

This takes place about five years before the events in the main story, about five years before Lucy and Warder _really_ meet, and exactly two days before the warriors take over the island.

Okay, I think the A.N. is officially longer than the snippet.

Love, love, love you for reading!

_Marileigh_

Warder walked into the shop, conscious of the way his body filled the space. It was moments like this that had caused the rift between his people and the humans. The world was not made for them and the urge to tear it down and rebuild it for themselves-he understood it.

He stood on a knife's edge now, trying to decide if understanding was enough to spur him to action. If the small, insignificant lives of these people were enough to stop him.

There were children screaming, racing around the shop. They had instinct enough to give him a wide berth, but they took less care with the shop displays along the walls. One of them flung out his arm, clumsy in a large, puffy jacket and swept a shelf of small, be-ribboned boxes onto the floor.

"Evan! Ollie! Freeze right there." A harried woman came and swept up the smaller of the children. She ignored the boxes, crushing one underfoot.

He didn't want to be here. Shouldn't be here, except he had heard that the shop owner had a boat to lend-the only boat for miles along the coastline that his own people would be unlikely to track. The bakery had a tiny outpost on the island. He needed to inspect the place. He needed to do it quietly, without attracting the attention that would come with commandeering a boat. His rank would make the acquisition easy. It was the follow-up that worried him. His father-his commander-would call him onto the carpet, requesting a full accounting of his travels.

So, instead, he was here, in this ridiculous, cramped bakery, planning to talk the owner out of his delivery boat.

He knew the owner was the white-haired man behind the counter. Right now, he was sweating while trying to determine which particular luridly-colored cookie a young girl was screaming for. Her face was pressed against the glass while she jabbed at it with one fat, sticky finger.

Warder sighed heavily and reached over her head to take a number. He stepped back and nearly crushed a young woman kneeling on the floor behind him. She was gathering up the boxes-flavored teas-that the children has upset, frowning at one that had been crushed beyond repair. For a moment, he thought she must work in the shop and he wondered if he could talk her out of the boat. But when she was done replacing the boxes, she retrieved a paper number from the pocket of her gray wool coat, fingering it idly as she tried to stand out of the way of the milling crowd.

She glanced up, as if she could feel his eyes on her, and he held her gaze for a split second before focusing on a table across the room. He had been staring too long, but there was something odd about the girl. For a moment, he had imagined that he could smell her amidst the sugar-and-sweat smell of the bakery-the tempting, rare scent of an omega. But she was clearly human. And he knew he was imagining things to try to block out his discomfort at this crowded, noisy, human place.

A group of women crowded at the counter near the window giggled, earning his attention. They were staring at him openly, lust on their faces. Humans often thought him handsome. He usually found it annoying.

The ridiculous bell over the door jingled and another crowd of people came in, bringing a welcome hint of cold, ocean air with them. The man behind the counter called out a number and Warder tried to marshal his impatience. He amused himself briefly by imagining what these people would do if he simply tore the room apart, crushing some of them underfoot while forcing others to kneel at his feet. It was nothing but a fantasy-perhaps a nightmare.

"Seventy-six! Seventy-six!"

Warder took a deep breath. Only one number to go.

He felt a light touch on his arm, recoiled as if he had been burned. Normally, humans were afraid to touch him-or at least, some instinct encouraged them to keep apart.

"Excuse me."

The woman in the gray coat slipped past him, hurrying towards the counter. She stood on tiptoe, holding up her ticket until she had the shopkeeper's attention. "What'll you have, sweetheart?"

And to his surprise, Warder bristled at the endearment.

Don't call her that.

The thought came unbidden.

"I'm picking up an order," she said. "A sheet cake for Evans."

"Phone order?" asked the man.

"Email," she said. She reached a hand into her pocket and pulled out a creased sheet of printer paper. "I got a confirmation."

The man opened the curtain into the back room and shouted. "Ethel! Got a cake back there?"

"Check the fridge," came Ethel's shrill reply.

"Fridge," said the guy. "You already paid?"

The girl nodded.

"Should have your name on it. Seventy-seven! Seven-seven!"

The girl was dismissed and Warder stepped forward, holding out his number, feeling like a supplicant. "I need to speak with you about a business proposition," he said. Before the man could dismiss him, he placed a stack of money on the table, cupping has large hand around it so that only the shopkeeper could see it. Once he had the man's attention, he began outlining the terms under which he would be taking his boat. He almost had him convinced when he felt someone pressing themselves against the glass next to him.

"Excuse me, but the cake isn't there."

He saw the moment that he lost his grip on the shopkeeper's attention. The man was predisposed to say no to what Warder wanted, but Warder had not entered the store without a plan. He had studied the man for a few days, knew exactly how to approach him. And this interruption would make everything more difficult.

"Excuse me," he said, keeping his voice low, "but my number is up."

The girl barely glanced at him. "I'm seventy-five," she said. "And my order isn't there."

"I don't know what to tell you," said the shopkeeper, one eye still on Warder's hand where it covered the money. "If you ordered it, we made it. It will be in the fridge."

"It isn't there!" said the girl, her voice rising in exasperation. "It's for my Dad's birthday and if I don't leave this shop in the next five minutes, I'll miss the last ferry back to the island."

She was right, Warder knew. He had considered taking the ferry. But the behavior would have been odd and his absence would likely have been marked. Once he had the boat, he could journey under cover of night. He could see what the island truly had to offer. If he could stand it.

Right now, this slip of a girl was getting in the way. "I do not have a lot of time," said Warder, hoping to recapture the shopkeeper's attention. "I need your decision."

He hadn't wanted to press the man so soon, but the interruption was giving him too much time to second guess what Warder was asking.

"I'm in a hurry, too." This from the girl, still standing at his elbow.

He shot her a glare. She ignored him.

Why wasn't she properly intimidated? He sniffed the air again, trying to focus on her scent in the crowd.

She moved, shattering the moment. "I already paid. And I hate, hate coming to the mainland. But this is my Dad's favorite cake on the planet. He won't shut up about it. And there isn't one in the case and the ferry is leaving soon and his birthday is tomorrow."

"I don't know what to tell you, love," said the shopkeeper. "If you ordered it, we would've made it. Maybe you meant to go to another bakery?"

"Would you please just look at my order confirmation?" She waved the crumpled paper above the glass counter.

The man looked from the girl to Warder and then seemed to decide he was done with both of them. He reached out and slapped a button on the screen in front of him, reading out the next number as it came up.

"Seventy-eight!"

"We weren't done here," said Warder, taking a subtle step in front of the girl as she sputtered in anger. "I need your answer. Give me the boat, and I'll double my offer. You'll have it back by tomorrow night."

"Look, I'd love to take your money," said the shopkeeper. His gaze flickered to Warder's hand as if to prove it, and Warder swept the money out of sight and back into his pocket. "But the deliveries from that boat are half my business. And I don't know you."

"Last chance," said Warder. Last chance to do things the easy way.

"Could you please have someone look up my order?" said the girl, ducking around him again. "Lucy Evans. I paid with a bank card."

"I don't know what to tell you," said the shopkeeper, throwing up his hands. "Seventy-fucking-eight!" His customers seemed unmoved by his profanity, except for a woman near the door who clapped her hands over her son's ears.

"Damn it."

The girl slapped her palm against the glass and then snatched it away, rubbing at the self-inflicted injury. She dug in her pocket and retrieved a cell phone, frowning at the time. Tears of frustration were gathering in her eyes and she took a deep breath.

Why was he still watching her?

Suddenly, another pack of children came weaving through the crowd. One of them clipped the girl as he ran past at just the right angle to send her careening off-balance. She fell to the ground with a sharp curse, barely managing to break her fall by putting her hands out behind her. The boy fell, too, sprawling to the tile floor of the shop at the girl's feet.

They both sat like that for a moment, winded, and Warder realized he was waiting for her to blow up at this final injustice-and sorely tempted to sweep her up and carry her out of there. To peel off that coat and see everything underneath, capture her gaze until those bright blue eyes looked deeply into his own while he-

Warder managed to banish the fantasy, although not as easily as he had summoned it. When he resurfaced, he realized that the girl was laughing. She reached a hand out for the boy and patted his back. "Oh god. Are you okay?"

The boy lifted his head and nodded sheepishly. "Sorry," he said.

"It's okay." She held out a hand and they both managed to get to their feet, holding on to one another. "I never even saw you coming, and I doubt you saw me."

"I was being as fast as a speeding bullet," said the boy. "I couldn't see anything."

"I imagine not," said the girl, smiling. "But we're both okay?" She looked the boy over as he nodded again.

"Sorry," he said, a small blush creeping onto his cheeks. He was smitten. He was a child. And Warder was ready to smack him sideways and force the girl to look at him. To smile at him.

He needed to get out of this place.

"It's okay," said the girl again. She ran her slim hands down the front and back of her coat, dusting herself off. Warder tracked their movements, imagining her body under his hands.

The boy scampered away, almost colliding with another patron when he looked back at her over his shoulder.

With one final glare at the shopkeeper, the girl left, stuffing her hands into her pockets as she went out into the cold.

Warder waited several minutes before he left, too. Because the temptation to follow her was too strange and much too strong. He had enjoyed human women in his time, but he had never allowed his interest in any woman to distract him and he couldn't start now. Any hope that she might be an omega was nothing but wishful folly. The stakes were too high for that.

Still, he found himself looking for her in the crowd as he left the shop.

And he was still thinking of her when he let himself in the back door of the shop-after crushing the lock in one hand-and retrieved the key to the boat. He had intended to leave the shopkeeper the money. Even if the man tried to report the theft to the authorities, he would be unlikely to get anyone to care overly much about the whereabouts of such a shabby vessel. The money would have gone a ways toward ensuring his silence. Keeping it was petty, especially because Warder didn't need it.

But the shopkeeper had refused to help the girl. He had almost made her cry. Warder took some grim satisfaction in depriving him of his boat.

Even if it shouldn't matter, even if the world was about to burn, he did that one small thing for the girl in the shop.