Chapter Seven #2
“You’ll feel better when you’ve eaten,” he said, and he pressed a kiss to the top of Tristan’s head.
Tristan’s eyes filled, and he nodded, unable to speak.
He was safe. He was home.
COLBY
The wolves that had brought him to the barn had vanished, after locking him in an empty horse stall. Except for one—big, dark, and relentless—who kept prowling the perimeter, his presence a constant threat. Every few passes, Colby caught the edge of a growl, long and low.
No one had ordered him to shift back to human, and he felt somehow safer like this.
Less exposed. He stood in the center of the stall, paws planted firmly, refusing to pace and betray his nerves.
He could endure this. It was little different to the hours he’d spent locked in the brig, steeped in the fear that filled that place and with no knowledge of what his punishment would be, only that it would be bad.
The difference was, this time, he knew the endgame. He was a member of Cale’s pack. That was enough to decide his fate. They must have kept him alive this long for questioning.
The minutes dragged. Could have been hours, but that was part of the game, too.
Make him wait, until he unraveled all by himself.
That wasn’t going to happen. What none of them realized was that, when Urban killed him, it wouldn’t be punishment—it would be freedom.
Finally, he’d be somewhere Nico couldn’t reach him.
This stall was different from the brig, with no stench of old fear soaked into the walls. There were just the scents of hay, horse, and leather.
As he waited, holding himself completely still, he became aware of his exhaustion—too many bruises, and the aftereffect of their wild chase. Or maybe it was a different sort of exhaustion. He was tired of being afraid, of second-guessing every word and every move.
When the barn door creaked open and footsteps approached, Colby urged himself to remain motionless. He mustn’t give anything away. Nico had always hated his fear. Except for when he hadn’t. And Colby had never known which it would be, so he’d learned to lock everything away and show nothing.
A low command, too low to catch, and the wolf outside the door let out a growl before falling silent.
The stall door opened. The blond shifter who stood there seemed to steal the air from the room with his power. It was tightly leashed and all the more dangerous for it. This had to be Matt Urban.
Every instinct in Colby screamed to drop to the floor, to bare his throat, to roll over and submit. He ground his teeth against the impulse. He was going to die anyway. He’d like not to feel humiliated, just once before he died.
Urban tossed something to the floor at his feet. “Clothes,” he said flatly. “Shift. I want to talk to you.”
Colby obeyed without hesitation because there was no future in not doing so.
He pulled on the long-sleeved t-shirt and sweats.
They were too tight, but at least they smelled of detergent rather than a strange shifter from another pack, and they’d keep him warm.
It was more consideration than he’d ever gotten from Nico.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” Urban’s level voice was calm, but there was no doubt he expected an answer.
“Colby Williams,” he said through a tight throat, before hesitating over the second question. He didn’t want anything, really. Except maybe to see Tristan again. To make sure he was okay. To know that, finally, he’d been able to protect someone.
“Is Tristan alright?” he asked, before he could stop himself.
Something flickered in Urban’s eyes, but it wasn’t anger. Surprise, perhaps? A blink that didn’t belong. But then it was gone, and another question came, sharper.
“What are you doing here, Colby Williams?”
Colby swallowed, Urban’s gaze pinning him like the point of a knife.
“I never meant to come this close to your territory,” he said carefully. Nico had always liked him to show contrition but not supplication. It was a hard balance to find, some days.
Urban didn’t respond in any way.
Colby pushed himself on. “Tristan, that head wound—I had to force him to keep going.”
The words sounded wrong the instant they left his mouth, and a vicious snarl split the air outside the stall. Colby flinched. When he snapped his gaze back to Urban, those green eyes were burning.
“So,” Urban said, voice deceptively light as he circled around behind Colby and stopped there. “You’re trying to tell me that Cale abducted one of my pack, then just let him go?”
Colby’s skin crawled with the knowledge Urban was standing behind him.
The air felt thinner, somehow, making his head swim.
The sense of threat and the knowledge that he couldn’t—mustn’t—turn around to protect himself was making it hard to think.
Maybe that was the purpose, because if Colby had been lying, he’d be having a hell of a time holding onto the thread of his story…
“They didn’t plan on taking Tristan,” he bit out, the hairs on his neck standing on end as he heard Urban’s soft breathing behind him. “Nico and Spence were scoping out the town, and Tristan stumbled into them. Nico wanted to make sure he couldn’t alert you they’d been there, so he took him.”
The more he said, the worse it sounded. Bad decision piled on bad decision, until the end result was disaster.
“Nico?”
“Cale’s beta.”
There was the soft scrape of a boot against the floor, as if Urban had moved. “You’re telling me that Nico changed his mind and thought he’d see Tristan safely home into the bargain?”
Colby shook his head. “Tristan—he’s just so—so—”
He couldn’t explain it. The way Tristan had looked at him when he said come with me. The way he’d trusted Colby, even when he was bleeding and terrified. The strength that had burned in him even then, and the hope that had never left him, that even a night alone in the brig hadn’t quenched.
“I just—I couldn’t,” he said at last, his throat aching at the thought of what would have happened to Tristan if he hadn’t escaped. “I couldn’t let them do that to him,” he finished, the words barely scraping past his throat.
Urban circled back around, his eyes raking over Colby. It was like he was peeling back every layer to see right into him.
Instinct forced him to drop his gaze, to submit, as he waited for judgment to be pronounced.
Instead, Urban turned on his heel and left.
Colby stood frozen, pulse hammering. Then, slowly, he sank down on the floor and leaned back against the wall.
The barn felt colder now. He curled in on himself, his pulse slowing gradually. He didn’t know why he was shaking, shudders running through him. Maybe it was the cold, or the power in Urban, or the way he’d been looked at like he wasn’t even worth hating.
Somehow, Nico’s cruelty felt easier than facing Urban had been. Probably because it was familiar, and familiarity brought comfort.
Outside, the barn door creaked again. Soft footsteps retreated across the yard—unhurried, deliberate. Urban, making him wait for what was to come.
He bowed his head and wished, quietly and fiercely, that he could see Tristan one last time.