The five-mile ride to Lake Arbor should be beyond the abilities of a seven-year-old, but as young wolves, Rio and Nico have more than the usual levels of stamina and strength.

As a grown wolf, the same should be true of me, but I can barely catch my breath to shout after the kids as they ditch their bikes in a heap and dash towards the water, tackle boxes and fishing poles in hand.

"Hey, you guys! Stick together and don't go too far!"

A distant and semi-exasperated, "Yes, Dad!" is all the acknowledgement I get.

After chaining the bikes to a tree, I catch my breath before striking off through the trees in pursuit.

Lake Arbor is smaller than Spring Lakes Reservoir, but closer to town, and quieter. Motored boats are banned from its clean, spring-fed waters, and as a result, it's popular with those seeking quieter forms of outdoor recreation. Even this late in the season, with autumn's chill in the air and the leaves turning yellow and red, there are people walking dogs along the shore-line trail, paddling kayaks and canoes beneath the open sky, fishing in the shadowed coves, and swimming in the cold clear waves.

The kids have a favorite spot: an old wooden dock that juts out into deep water. At this time of day it's in full sun, and not the best place to fish, but the kids don't really care about catching anything. They just like to play with the tackle, cast their lines, and watch the bobbers bob until they get bored. Then they'll reel it in, pack it up, eat their peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches, and spend the rest of the afternoon skipping stones, playing along the shore, and paddling in the shallows if it gets warm enough to swim.

Meanwhile, I brought along a plain old pad of paper and a pen, hoping to at least get some notes jotted down as I watch them. I don't dare bring my laptop anywhere so close to water. It's my livelihood, and it if breaks I'm screwed.

When I emerge from the trees, I see Miguel settling in with his art supplies at a picnic table close to the shore, while Flora carefully leads Nico and Rio out to 'the fishing spot.' I smile as I watch her help them open their little tackle boxes and deftly fasten de-barbed hooks on their lines.

"Need any help?" I ask, as I join them where they're gathered at the end of the dock.

Flora shakes her head without looking up. "No, Daddy. You always end up pricking your fingers, remember? I got it."

"Alright, alright. Just be careful. And you two listen to your big sister, okay?"

Answered with a three-part chorus of "Okay," I head back to the shore to find a comfortable place to sit.

Fishing keeps the kids occupied longer than I'd expected, but I can't say the same for my notes. As the minutes stretch on, my mind remains as blank as the paper. Giving in to the fatigue that seems as ever-present as my shadow these days, I set it aside and shut my eyes.

With my back leaned against a tree, the sun on my face, and the kids within easy earshot, it's the perfect moment to catch up on forfeited sleep, but I've barely drifted off when a voice pulls me back from the brink.

"Martin?"

Grimacing against the bright light, I look up at a tall, athletic figure silhouetted against the sky. Then my eyes adjust and I see it's none other than 'Sky' himself, and in my half muddled state, I accidentally speak my thoughts aloud.

"The fuck are you doing here?"

He frowns slightly, his sea-green eyes shadowed by long, pale lashes.

"I often come here. The open water is less confining than a pool, and chlorine disagrees with my skin."

As he speaks, I register the fact that he's dressed only in a pair of rather small, form-fitting swim trunks, with a towel slung over his shoulder and his long hair in a braid. With nothing to stop them, my eyes roam his smooth, muscled torso, and somehow I find myself staring at his belly button.

"Are you unwell?"

The question jolts me back to myself and my eyes snap up to meet his. Oddly, he's staring at my chest and fiddling with his necklace, which seems like an odd piece of jewelry to wear for a swim.

"I'm fine," I say, a little defensively, as I push myself to my feet. "Just getting a nap in while the kids play."

He continues to stare for a moment, then turns away abruptly, looking along the shore to where Flora and the younger twins now splash in the shallows, having finally tired of fishing.

"You leave them unattended so close to the water?" he asks.

"Flora and Miguel are old enough to watch their brothers. They're careful and responsible," I say. "Besides, they're all good swimmers and they know to stay in shallow water, where it's safe."

He arches a golden brow at me. "No water is entirely 'safe,' my dear; you never know what dangers lurk beneath the surface."

I blink, taken aback; but before I can sort out whether I've misheard him, or if he's actually being extremely weird and condescending, he turns and walks towards the lake.

Pausing only to drape his towel over a small boulder, he strides into the water until it reaches his thighs, then dives headfirst beneath the waves.

I watch as he darts away, sleek as a fish, before surfacing and breaking into a swift, graceful freestyle. As he quickly gains distance, I understand why he'd find a pool confining; he swims at professional racing speed.

Shaking my head, I wander over to check on Miguel, who's still absorbed with his art. Then, still a little unnerved by the handsome teacher's words, I walk out along the dock, from whence I can keep an eye on Flora and the twins.

Handsome, I repeat in my head, and scoff at myself as I shield my eyes and look out across the lake. Gorgeous is more like it, and I'd do well not to think such words again; not that I'm in any danger of letting my heart lead me astray a second time.

Elena had been gorgeous, too. Gorgeous, and charming, and so far out of my league I'd felt like the luckiest man on earth when she turned her brilliant eyes on me. She hadn't always been cruel, either; though, in retrospect, I suppose there were signs.

She was quick to anger, quick to blame, cutting in her criticism and seldom truly kind — but I'd been genuinely in love with her (or so I'd thought) and found it easy enough to see past these 'minor faults.'

If they'd stayed her only faults, I might still be in love with her now.

Flora and Miguel were born barely a year after our Mating, and (as I now understood) that was part of Elena's plan. Once she knew that I'd die for them, she had me in iron chains. Then, gradually, she'd let her true nature show.

Slowly, with looks and words, little everyday cruelties, she broke me down. By the time she finally hit me, she'd convinced me I deserved it.

Wolves are supposed to know their heart's true mate. I'd thought Elena was mine, but it turned out I'd Chosen poorly.

I'll never trust my heart again.

It aches a little even now, as I gaze across the sparkling water beneath the cobalt sky, feeling like a man out of time as the world spins beneath my feet.

Turning back towards the shore, I realize the spinning sensation is dizziness, and curse myself for skipping breakfast. There'd only been enough milk and cereal for the kids, and I'd planned to go shopping this morning, but—

Unable to ignore the creeping darkness at the corners of my vision any longer, I accept that I'm about to pass out. Reaching to steady myself, I grasp thin air, pitch to the side, and shut my eyes in surrender as the cold silence welcomes me with a watery embrace.