Chapter 3 #2
He studied Colby as he chewed on a piece of gristle and determinedly swallowed it.
Colby’s hair was short, sun-streaked blond, his jaw was strong and square, and his lips full enough to be enticing.
If he’d seen him in any other circumstances, Tristan would definitely have checked him out.
He was almost as big as Nico—broad, tall and muscular.
But unlike Nico, whose meanness seeped out of his very pores, there was no threat in his stance.
He was ready to move swiftly if Tristan tried anything, that much was clear, but he was keeping his distance, obviously trying not to intimidate him.
And his eyes… The sadness and resignation in those gray eyes had Tristan shivering. Something in them made him think of the moon on a winter’s night—beautiful, but burning with cold and so lonely.
He couldn’t tell how this guy fitted in with a pack that had the likes of Nico and Weasel Face, with their violence and meanness. If he didn’t belong here, maybe he’d be an ally. Tristan needed to play this smart.
“Thanks for this, Colby,” he said, gesturing toward the bowl. “Didn’t exactly expect room service.”
Colby shrugged, looking uncomfortable.
He blew on the stew, mainly to put off having to taste it again, and risked another glance at Colby. “Do you have to eat this stuff, too?”
Colby snorted. “Not if I can help it.”
A huff of amusement escaped Tristan before he could stop it. “Tell your cook he’s got nothing on Jason.”
Colby’s expression didn’t change, but something about the silence felt less sharp after that. Tristan took another mouthful and watched Colby. He was nothing like Tristan had expected.
But while he’d like to unravel the puzzle of Colby Williams, information gathering was way more important right now.
“Nico said that Cale’s not here?”
Colby nodded very slowly, as if he was weighing his response. “He’s due back tomorrow,” he said, without providing any clue as to where he was or what he might be doing.
“Is the rest of the pack with him, or are they all here?”
“Listen, Tristan,” Colby said. “Don’t, okay? Whatever you’re thinking, there’s no way out, and you’re just going to get yourself hurt worse if you try.”
“Hurt worse than dead?” Tristan’s voice was sharp, his attempt to make a connection forgotten in his scorn.
“Yeah,” Colby said simply. “You finished?”
Tristan turned his gaze back to the stew to find it was almost gone.
He chased the last couple of spoonfuls around, but held on to the bowl.
Once he gave it back, Colby would leave and he’d be alone again in the cold and the dark, with too much time to think and, thanks to Colby fucking Williams, the faintest of hope taken from him.
But Colby was from Cale’s pack—he didn’t understand the ties that bound Matt’s pack.
“My pack’ll come for me. My family,” he said, looking up and holding Colby’s gaze. “You might think it’s hopeless, but it never is. Not when you’re part of a pack.”
“The bowl,” Colby said, holding out his hand.
Tristan scrambled to his feet. “You could come with us if you help me,” he said. “Start again somewhere.”
Something tightened in Colby’s jaw before his face fell back into the expressionless look that seemed to characterize it. And it was only then that Tristan saw that for what it was—a mask.
“Give me the bowl,” Colby said, voice like ice.
The shift was so fast, it felt like a slap, reminding Tristan exactly whose pack Colby belonged to, no matter how mild he’d been up till now.
Tristan gave him the bowl, trying to hide the way his hands trembled.
“You want the rest of the water?” Colby asked.
“I—d’you need the bottle back?”
Colby nodded, and the threat that had loomed from him disappeared as suddenly as it came. Tristan swallowed the rest of the water down as slowly as he dared, savoring every last precious swallow of the clear liquid.
“Thanks,” he said as he passed the bottle back, and he stared for an instant. Because that flicker across Colby’s face in response to his words… It had looked like pain. Or maybe regret.
“Why are you part of Cale’s pack?” Tristan asked, before Colby could leave. “You don’t seem like the rest of them.”
Colby’s lips twisted and his fingers spasmed on the bottle, but he said nothing.
“Do you want to be here?”
Colby’s eyes flicked to him and away again, fast as a blink. Too fast for Tristan to read what was in them.
Turning away, Colby reached for the door handle. “You want me to leave the light on?”
“Please.” It came out sounding desperate, but Tristan didn’t care.
Colby hesitated with his hand on the door, then nodded once. “You shouldn’t have to be in the dark.”
And then he was pulling the door open, and it felt like Tristan’s last hope was walking out.
“If you leave me here, you’re just as much to blame as the ones who kill me, you know that?” Tristan said, and his voice wobbled.
Colby’s shoulders hunched. For a breathless second, Tristan thought he was going to say something.
But he didn’t. Just disappeared through the door, bolting it behind him. At least he kept his promise and kept the light on.
Tristan’s knees gave out and he sank down to crouch in the corner, burying his head in his cold, clammy hands. He knew the pack would come for him, knew it with every beat of his heart.
He just didn’t know if they’d be in time.