Chapter 16 Half Formed Plans and Uncertain Outcomes
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
HALF FORMED PLANS AND UNCERTAIN OUTCOMES
The hearth fires were nothing more than embers when they snuck into camp.
Brune had Osmond’s borrowed cloak pulled up over Buzzard’s shoulders, guiding the harpy with a hand on his back.
Buzzard kept his eyes straight ahead, uninterested in the camp around him.
Or maybe he was just more interested in getting to Schok.
Ridan lingered behind, walking a little slower with both horses’ leads. He’d been strangely quiet since coming back. Brune wanted to ask, but he also knew just how important it was to get Buzzard settled without anyone seeing him.
Derry met them outside the tent they were keeping Schok. He looked tired, a little more worn down than usual, but Brune supposed it was getting late. He offered to take the horses back to the stables. Ridan only agreed after making sure Derry had been lectured on properly caring for them.
Corric had taken over an unused tent. It was small. Brune had to duck his head to get through the flaps. He held them open for Ridan and Buzzard before allowing himself to look around.
There was no furniture. Just a hole dug into the dirt where Schok rested, surrounded by six buckets of water.
Corric was kneeling beside the hole, hands in his lap.
If Derry looked rundown, then Corric looked like he might pass out at any moment.
His normally pale skin was nearly translucent, except under his eyes, which looked like black bruises.
Behind him, Jonen didn’t look much better.
He chewed on his fingernails as his enormous eyes took them in.
Buzzard didn’t greet any of them. His eyes dropped to Schok. He chirped, hand tightening around the feather he’d been carrying since it had been given back to him. The cloak slipped off his shoulders and Jonen gasped, mouth dropping open.
Brune had been able to give them a quick message when he snuck into camp earlier, but it didn’t compare to seeing a magical creature in the flesh.
Buzzard paid no mind to him, falling to his knees at the edge of what looked uncomfortably like a grave.
His golden eyes were bright in the low light of just a single torch, shimmering wetly.
Schok didn’t look worse than he had at the festival, but he didn’t look better. His hair was still scorched at the tips. Shadows haunted the hollows of his cheeks and neck.
Corric watched Buzzard critically. The harpy reached forward, blunted talons stroking so lightly across Schok’s skin it was nearly painful to watch. Like Buzzard needed to touch him to prove he was there, but was afraid of the answer.
He inhaled shakily, reaching to take Schok’s hand.
There was no fear—even with the runes covering the obvious burns on his skin, Buzzard didn’t care.
He held the hand up, pressing it to his forehead as tears dampened the traumatized skin.
Buzzard's lips moved against Schok’s knuckles, apologies for things they couldn’t hear kissed into his skin.
“How has he been?” Ridan asked, his gravelly voice splitting the tension in the tent and drawing attention away from Buzzard.
Jonen didn’t take his eyes off Corric. “Iylah gave us a sleeping draught. He mostly sleeps but sometimes he wakes and…” he nodded toward the buckets. “Bursts into flames.”
“Bad dreams,” Buzzard whispered. “He used to pretend to be so tough. Like none of it bothered him, but…he never could stop having dreams.”
Corric clenched his jaw. “Dreams of what?”
“Best you not ask, little brother,” Buzzard said softly, dropping Schok’s hand to his lap, where he pressed the feather between their palms.
Silence settled between them. Jonen was twitchy, clearly uncomfortable with either Buzzard or the situation in general. He cleared his throat. “Should I get Iylah to look at his wings?”
Buzzard scoffed. Ugly and bitter, like ice fracturing across a frozen pond. “They’ve been ruined since I was a hatchling. What would a featherless know?”
Jonen looked like he wanted to defend Iylah—perhaps suggest the most basic of a tea for pain or inflammation—but he was cut off by Halm barreling into the tent.
Her hair was wilder than it had been when they left. She wrenched the flap open, chest heaving with excitement. Scanning the room, her eyes widened when she caught sight of Buzzard.
“By Artrax’s teeth,” she mumbled, letting the heavy flap drop behind her. “You’re real.”
Ridan rolled his eyes, leaning against one of the tents supports with his arms crossed.
His shoulders were hunched. Worry gnawed at Brune.
It was acute, a definite scratching at the back of his head.
He moved toward Ridan, eager to just…he wasn’t sure what.
But the urge to be beside him, to touch him in some way, it was overwhelming.
Swallowing back the urge, he looked up in time to see Ridan staring back at him.
There was something new in his eyes—no, his eyes were dilated. Something Brune had never seen before. It was staggering, a heat that seared his soul like a physical thing.
While Halm knelt beside Buzzard, peppering him with questions, Brune’s vision tunneled to Ridan. It was like his ears were filling with cotton, and someone had blinded him to anything but his Ridan.
The need was too great. He lurched forward only to be blocked by a riot of curls and thick set shoulders. Jonen moved between them, a hand landing on Ridan’s shoulder.
“Ridan, are you—”
“Don’t fucking touch him!” Brune roared, ripping Jonen back by his shoulder, throwing him to the ground.
Jonen rolled to his knees, scent thickening with the threat, lips pulled back to expose his fangs.
Brune put Ridan at his back, snapping his jaws toward the downed alpha.
The smell of black tea nearly made him gag.
Disgusting. It seeped into his nose, trying to cow him.
But rather than backing him off, it only enraged him.
That scent was going to be touching him. Like he belonged to Jonen.
Corric was suddenly between them, grey eyes steely and cold scent unforgiving. The presence of an omega seemed to snap the two alphas out of it. Brune blinked, shaking his head, only to realize he’d pulled his hammer. The weapon was firmly gripped, ready to strike.
“Uh…I…” he stammered, unsure when that happened. Or why? Jonen was a friend; he didn’t want to hurt him.
He touched our omega.
A shiver rolled down Brune’s back as he realized what had happened. His alpha had perceived Jonen as a threat. Which didn’t make sense. He was Ridan’s brother, his packmate. He wasn’t a threat.
Corric brushed past him. “Ridan, we should go.”
Brune turned to see Ridan nod tersely. There was something wild in his eyes, and he was tense. Fingers digging into his skin.
“Jonen, take a walk.”
The alpha snarled, hands tightening at his sides. “I’m not—”
“Jonen,” Corric snapped, staring the alpha down.
Whining softly, Jonen stormed out of the tent, taking his sickening scent with him. Corric took Ridan by the wrist, dragging him forward. Brune made to move forward, but Halm grabbed him, shaking her head.
He started protesting when Halm spoke over him. “Ridan will need you to watch over what’s going on here.”
That settled the anxiety that bubbled in his gut. He nodded, watching as Corric guided Ridan from the tent with a firm hand.
Brune didn’t know what had just happened. He’d never felt his alpha so strong before. And he certainly had never called Ridan his before. Not even in his most private thoughts would he have considered Ridan to be his.
Scrubbing his hand down his face, he tried to take in deep breaths. The lingering stench of black tea made his nose wrinkle.
The next day didn’t see Brune faring any better.
He was still antsy. Even when he tried to relax, he found himself up on his feet, heart pounding as he paced.
He kept looking over his shoulder, as if he was waiting for someone.
He was sweaty, and no matter how much water he drank, his mouth felt dry as dust.
A lot of times he found himself outside Ridan’s tent. He didn’t dare go inside, but he wanted to. Keeping himself out was like fighting off the Snap Jaw all over again.
The third time he ended up outside the tent, Jonen was waiting for him. He didn’t look angry, but his lips were pressed together in a thin line. With a sigh, he took Brune by the bicep, turning him away from the tent and leading him towards the field.
Staring down at the shorter alpha, Brune felt all the shame from their previous fight come rolling back in.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he began awkwardly, trying to find the words while the shorter man dragged him along.
“It’s fine,” Jonen grunted, his fingers loosening a little. “I should have realized.”
“Realized what?”
Jonen stopped, peering up at Brune through thick lashes. “Ridan’s heat?”
His heat?
Brune felt like his brain had been disconnected. There was only the buzzing of blood in his ears as he tried to process what Jonen was telling him.
It wasn’t as if he’d forgotten Ridan was an omega, or that omegas had heats.
He’d just…never spent any time around omegas.
Let alone ones in pre-heat. He was only peripherally aware of the symptoms—some of his barrack mates had discussed them.
Often, and with great detail. They said omegas would be sex crazed maniacs willing to jump the first alpha they saw.
Ridan certainly wasn’t like that. Maybe he smelled a little stronger that last day or two, but Brune had chalked that up to not bathing. He did sweat a lot more too, but again, Brune had thought that was just riding under a clear sky.
Brune might not have been aware, but his alpha certainly was. If last night was anything to go by, his alpha knew and was feeling territorial. And still was.
“Oh.” He fidgeted. “Is…um, is he all right?”
Jonen looked up at him shrewdly. “Corric is with him. And my mom.”