Chapter Eight
TRISTAN
Tristan nursed a mug of coffee, soaking in the peace and safety of being home while Bryce futzed around rearranging the spice rack.
Which he’d never done in his life before.
He evidently wanted an excuse to stay close.
Tristan was glad of his comforting presence, even if Bryce was more subdued than usual.
When Matt walked in, Tristan tensed rigid, his heart suddenly galloping. He was full of hope and fear and about a hundred questions, but he knew better than to blurt them out. Not yet. Matt would speak only when he was ready.
But when Matt’s first act was to pour himself a coffee, Tristan’s nerves frayed, and he couldn’t hold back any longer.
“He didn’t come here with some twisted secret plan or anything,” he said abruptly. “He wasn’t even going to come with me till I made him, and someone had beaten him. Probably Nico.”
Matt and Bryce exchanged one of their looks. It was something they’d done a lot when he was younger, deciding how best to manage him without letting him in on the plan.
Tristan’s stomach knotted. He understood why they were suspicious, but this was Colby. His pulse was picking up again, though he wasn’t sure if it was dread or determination.
“The thing is, Tris,” Bryce said gently, as if Matt had passed the baton to him to reason with Tristan, “in a pack like that, a beating’s nothing more than a bit of local color to sell his story.
He manipulated you into believing you persuaded him to leave.
That way, you wouldn’t be suspicious of him, which meant we’d welcome him. It would give him free rein.”
“No.” Tristan bristled. “You didn’t see him, Bryce—the look in his eyes. He’d given up.”
That was met with silence. But it was the sort of silence that said they didn’t believe him.
“Where is he?” Tristan asked, his voice roughening. “I need to see him.”
Bryce’s expression tightened, but all he said was, “He’s in the barn.”
The barn. Like an animal. Locked up the same way he’d been in the brig.
Something tasted sour in Tristan’s mouth, but Matt’s unreadable expression stopped him from protesting. Push too hard, and Matt might forbid Tristan to see Colby at all.
“Can I take him something to eat?” Tristan asked, already grabbing a plate and piling on muffins before they could say no.
Matt gave a short nod.
“And coffee? He should have something hot. He’ll need that. It’s cold when you’re locked up.”
His voice broke slightly on the words, and Bryce made an instinctive move toward him. Tristan stepped back, because he needed to see Colby even more than he needed Bryce’s comfort right now.
“And what about the bathroom?” He was pretty sure it wouldn’t have occurred to anyone else, but having just been kept locked up himself, he was all too aware of the seemingly small but actually really important things.
“Damn it,” Matt muttered, rubbing his brow like he couldn’t believe they’d overlooked something so basic. “Tell Karl. He can take Williams to his bunkhouse if needed.”
Tristan nodded as he poured a mug of coffee. He didn’t know how Colby took it but figured black was better than nothing.
“Tristan.” Matt’s voice stopped him before he reached the door.
He looked back.
Matt’s expression was somber. “Keep your brain working, okay? Remember what Cale’s pack is capable of. Think about that little girl who could have died, and what they did to Jesse. Just because you think he’s a good guy and you feel like you owe him—that doesn’t make it so.”
Something cold slid into Tristan’s chest as he nodded and slipped out the back door, Matt’s warning pressing on him like a weight he couldn’t quite shrug off.
* * *
Karl padded out from the shadows as Tristan entered the barn and pressed against his legs with a soft whine.
Tristan blinked back tears as he dropped to his knees and hugged Karl, his hands twining tight in dark wolf hair. He was truly home. Back amongst his pack, safe and loved. He knelt there for a long moment, breathing in pack scent, the anchoring familiarity of it settling deep in his bones.
After he’d let Karl go again, he climbed to his feet and found himself wondering.
The bond of pack was stronger than anything he’d ever known.
Could it really be possible Colby didn’t feel that tie to Cale’s pack?
He’d believed it when faced with the reality of them and how Colby stood apart.
But Matt’s certainty had burrowed under his skin like a burr.
Then he caught Colby’s scent—that warm, good something. He remembered the second right before they ran, how Colby had looked at him, and his doubts disappeared.
He couldn’t unbolt the stall door fast enough. He had to see for himself that Colby was okay. The shared terror of their escape was something no one else would ever understand.
His heart clenched at what he found. Colby was sitting against the wall, his legs drawn up and his fingers twisted in his borrowed sweats.
He looked small, despite his size, as if he’d folded in on himself.
And he was slow to raise his head as Tristan stepped through the door.
No shifter could have been unaware of Tristan’s approach and presence, and for an instant, anxiety spiked that Colby was somehow injured.
But as he raised his head and met Tristan’s gaze, he realized—Colby was exhausted, almost past endurance. He had nothing left.
“Colby,” Tristan breathed. Relief flooded through him. Colby was safe. However bad he looked, he was here and he was safe.
He stooped to put the plate and mug down on the floor, and as he did, Colby pushed to his feet.
Tristan hadn’t planned it, but he couldn’t not go to Colby. Still filled with ease and warmth from hugging Karl, he crossed the space between them and wrapped his arms tight around him.
“We did it,” he said, voice thick. “We made it.”
For a breathless second, Colby stood stiff in his arms. Then he melted. His arms came around Tristan, holding him as if he needed this—needed him—just as much.
And something shifted, as if the whole world realigned. Like Tristan had finally stepped into the place he’d been meant to fit all along.
He pressed in closer without thinking, drawing in a breath against Colby’s neck. The ugly heaviness of Nico’s scent had faded, and underneath the grime and borrowed clothes and dried blood lay that same warm hint of cedar he remembered.
At first, it was comfort, everything he’d ever wanted. Then his body caught up. Colby was pressed against him, smelling incredible, and oh, shit—things were happening to his cock that really shouldn’t be happening.
Tristan pulled back, his face burning. “Sorry,” he muttered, stepping away quickly.
“That wasn’t—I didn’t mean—uh. I brought you something to eat, but I’ve just realized you might not like blueberries.
Maybe I should have brought a selection.
Sorry. But there’s coffee. And if you need the bathroom, ask Karl. He’s just outside.”
Surprise flickered across Colby’s face before he controlled it, but his eyes remained intent on Tristan. “You’re okay?” he asked, voice low.
“Yeah.” Tristan grinned at him, and a small, shy smile curved Colby’s lips. Like he hadn’t expected to see Tristan again. Like he was glad to see him again.
And that smile… He hadn’t seen Colby smile before, he realized, and it hit him hard just how much he wanted to keep seeing it.
The face that had been so expressionless, heavy in stillness, lightened until Colby looked about ten years younger.
Not that much older than Tristan, in fact.
Hot, too. Like, really hot, with his square jaw, and faint sun freckles dusting his nose.
But the freckles were scattered among bruises, and a healing split lip tugged awkwardly at the corner of that smile. Brutal, silent reminders of where Colby had come from. Unease stirred in Tristan again. He didn’t want to believe Matt’s warning, but he had to be sure.
Tristan stepped back, letting his eyes move over Colby again. He wasn’t simply the man who’d held him close, who’d run with him through the night, but a man who had belonged to a pack like Cale’s.
“I need to ask you something,” he said. His voice came out too sharp. He didn’t want to break whatever fragile thing was growing between them, but he couldn’t carry on with this doubt leaking poison inside him.
The shift in Colby’s expression was immediate. His face became expressionless, his shoulders stiffened, and something shuttered behind his eyes.
“When Cale’s pack came here, when they fought us. Were you one of those wolves?”
For a moment, Colby said nothing. Then he shook his head once. “No.”
Relief fluttered in Tristan’s chest.
Colby glanced away. “I would’ve been,” he added quietly. “But they left me behind because I was hurt.”
The knot in Tristan’s chest tightened again. Colby hadn’t expressed shame or remorse. He’d just confessed that he’d have done it, like it meant nothing. Disappointment and disillusionment sat heavy in Tristan’s gut.
“Why?” His voice shook with the force of his emotions. “Why would you attack people who’d never done anything to hurt you? You almost killed—”
Just in time, he stopped himself naming Jesse. It was possible Cale’s pack still didn’t know that Jesse was the Argent. Suddenly, Colby was one of Cale’s pack again, not Colby.
Colby shook his head, looking at the ground in front of him instead of meeting Tristan’s accusing stare. “You don’t say no in Cale’s pack,” he said. “Not if you want—” He broke off, biting down on his lip for a moment.
Finally, he looked up at Tristan, his eyes filled with what looked like shame. “I told myself I didn’t have a choice, but that’s not it,” he confessed. “There’s always a choice. I just didn’t have the guts to make it.”
Tristan frowned, sorting through those words, and then, like ice water in his veins, he realized what Colby meant.
“You mean, they’d have punished you?” He softened his wording at the last minute. If Colby didn’t mean he’d have been killed, he didn’t want to be melodramatic.
Colby gave a swift nod. “It’s no excuse,” he said. And for a moment, Tristan almost wished for his earlier indifference to return, because it hurt to hear this roughened voice and quiet, flooding guilt.
“Why did you join Cale’s pack?” Tristan asked. “You obviously hated it. I don’t understand why you joined, or why you didn’t leave.”
He felt painfully green under the look Colby turned on him. It wasn’t contempt for not understanding but something like gladness that he didn’t understand.
Colby rubbed his hand over his face. “It happened,” he said with a gusty sigh. “That’s the only thing that matters.”
And just like that, Tristan was certain of Colby again. Certain there was a story that would explain everything, if he could just get Colby to tell him. Because Colby wasn’t like the others. Nico had enjoyed hurting Tristan and had relished his fear. Colby was nothing like that.
“Have the coffee before it gets cold, and I’ll grab us something to sit on,” Tristan said.
He wanted to spend time with Colby. He wanted to know him. He already knew the most important things, his kindness and courage, but he didn’t understand him. Not yet.
But that would come, Tristan just knew it. He grinned at Karl as he passed him in the barn, unable to stop the sudden happiness he felt from blossoming on his face.