Chapter Thirteen
TRISTAN
He’d planned to go see Colby after dinner, but Matt stopped him with a quiet, “Come to the den.”
Tristan blinked. Matt didn’t often speak with him alone. The last time, it had been about college—whether he actually wanted to major in engineering or had been swayed by Bryce’s enthusiasm. But this felt different. This wasn’t his alpha as honorary guidance counselor. This was his alpha.
He sat down when Matt gestured to the armchair, heart skittering. Matt settled across from him, calm and solid as ever, his eyes searching Tristan’s face.
“How’s your head?”
“Uh, fine.” He reached up and winced when his fingers brushed the tender spot. “Okay, not totally fine, but I’d honestly forgotten about it till I poked it just now.”
Matt nodded. “Good.”
Then he hesitated, and that more than anything set Tristan on edge.
“How do you feel about picking up your patrols again? Once your head’s better.”
“Yeah, of course,” Tristan said. It had never occurred to him that might be a question. And then he thought about the language Matt had used. How did he feel? That wasn’t a typical Matt sort of question.
His earlier fears came back to him, that his belief in Colby’s innocence had put some kind of rift between him and the pack. That he couldn’t be trusted.
“Is there a reason you think I might not be able to?” he asked, his gut twisting unhappily. If he’d lost Matt’s trust, he didn’t know what he’d do. But he couldn’t go along with Matt’s judgment of Colby just to get it back.
A flicker of unease showed on Matt’s face. “It must have been traumatic, getting grabbed like that from somewhere you felt was safe,” he said stiffly.
Tristan’s breath left his lungs in a rush of relief. Right. That’s what this was. Matt wasn’t suspicious—he was just doing that alpha thing where he tried to talk about feelings like it didn’t kill him inside.
Warmth curled through his chest. “Honestly?” he said, then paused. He wanted to give the brave answer. But now he stopped and thought about it, he wasn’t sure it would be true.
“I don’t know,” he said at last, reluctantly. “I want to say I’ll be okay out there on my own, in the dark, but I’m not sure.” Especially with that ominous red moon hanging in the sky like a portent. “Maybe I could tag along with someone, the first time?”
“Good idea,” Matt said. “And Tristan—there’s no pressure. No one’s judging. None of us has been through what you have.”
Except there was pressure, and they both knew it. With Cale still prowling and the pack stretched thin, every body counted.
“Thanks,” Tristan said, deciding to ask Bryce to come with him. Bryce made everything easier.
“When they brought you to their camp, do you remember if the road was gravel or paved?” Matt asked.
Tristan blinked. That was out of left field. He almost said he had no idea, it had been dark, but he paused. Thought back to the way the truck had jolted. No crunch of gravel.
“Dirt,” he said slowly. “Pretty sure.”
Matt nodded, then asked another question. And another.
It took Tristan a while to realize what was happening. Matt was cross-referencing, double-checking Colby’s story.
His mouth dried. He wanted to believe he hadn’t said anything that contradicted Colby. But so much of his time at Cale’s camp had turned into a blur, one he didn’t want to look at closely in case it came back into focus. What if he’d gotten something wrong?
“Tell me again how Williams came to escape with you,” Matt said. “Exactly what you said. What he said.”
Tristan swallowed and repeated it all. Every word he could remember. It felt like standing in court, trying to defend someone he didn’t really know but wanted to trust with his whole heart.
When Matt finally let him go, it was with a nod and a quiet, “Thanks.”
Tristan stood, but didn’t move for the door. His hands were tangled together in front of him. “What do you think about Colby now?”
Matt’s expression didn’t shift. “I think I’m still assessing him. When I’ve made up my mind, I’ll let you know.”
Which was fair. And entirely unhelpful.
Tristan nodded and turned for the door. He didn’t ask if he could go see Colby, because Matt might say no, and he needed to see him.
He’d simply go without permission. And if anyone called him on it, well—he’d pretend he didn’t know better.
COLBY
Late in the evening, Urban came to the stall. Colby stood when the door opened, his mouth dry, thinking this was his moment of reckoning. Instead, Urban gave him warm food and some more water.
As Colby held onto the plate, Urban studied him. It was as if he were taking him apart, atom by atom, and weighing each in turn.
“You said you couldn’t leave Tristan in danger,” he said at last. His voice was almost conversational. “Why?”
Colby’s fingers tightened on the edges of the plate. Maybe this was his chance to make his case for mercy, to make himself sound good and noble, better than he was. But the truth spilled out, in quiet, ashamed words. “He didn’t deserve what they’d do to him.”
Urban studied him a while longer before speaking. “And you think you did?”
Colby sucked in a sharp breath, blindsided by the question. He had no idea what Urban meant by it, so he said nothing. He ran the risk of being seen as disrespectful by doing so, but he had no answer.
Urban turned on his heel and left, bolting the door behind him.
Colby sank down onto the straw bale and realized there was silverware on the plate, along with a generous helping of roasted chicken and scalloped potatoes. He sat with the plate on his lap, holding onto the warmth, wondering if it meant anything at all.