Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-six
DAVE
Dave stirred when the warm, furry body that had spent the night draped over him climbed off and stretched. As he woke up properly, he became aware the sun was coming up, his mouth was drier than the desert, and he really needed to piss. There was no hope for it—he was going to have to try and move.
By the time he worked up his courage, Christian had shifted and was offering his hand to help Dave to his feet.
Wary of putting any weight on his ankle, Dave found to his surprise that it was a manageable sharp ache, rather than the agony that had flared before. Maybe it was just a sprain after all.
He found a corner to take care of business, then limped over to where Christian was looking out over the gradually lightening land.
Pink tendrils stretched across the sky in promise of the day to come.
The sun’s first rays touched Christian’s hair with red and outlined the curving muscles of his body, and he looked almost too beautiful to be real.
“I guess I can see why they settled up here,” he said as Dave came up behind him.
Dave slid his arms around Christian’s waist and pressed up close.
To keep them both warm in the cold of dawn, of course.
Not because he was still haunted by last night and Christian’s terrible, wrenching sobs as he’d held on to Dave with the desperation of a drowning man.
Christian’s voice was steady, but Dave could feel the tremor in his body.
Maybe it hadn’t settled in him yet, all that had come loose.
At least he now understood Christian’s sudden desire to join Barton’s pack. It wasn’t about here. It was about getting away from the old ghosts that had been reawakened for him in Elk Ridge.
He nuzzled against Christian’s neck, wanting him to feel their connection, to know that he wasn’t alone any longer.
They’d find somewhere to start again, together.
His heart ached at the thought of leaving Matt’s pack, the people who had made him welcome, become his family.
But Christian was leaning into him like a man relearning how to stand, and Dave couldn’t leave him.
They watched the land come to life before them, the strangely shaped blocks of black lava scattered over the landscape making it seem like something from another world.
“It’s how it must have looked at the dawn of time,” Dave said. “Makes you realize how insignificant our lives and our problems really are.”
Christian leaned further back into him. “You’re not insignificant,” he said quietly, and Dave’s breath seized in his throat.
It wasn’t just the words. It was the way Christian said them, like Dave mattered in a world that rarely noticed him. Christian didn’t compromise. He loved completely and fiercely, and he’d burn the world down for Dave.
He’d believed that before, in theory. But hearing Christian say it? That was everything. No longer did he have to gather clues, to second-guess—and always to wonder, somewhere deep inside, if he was just seeing what he wanted to see. Now he knew, beyond any shadow of doubt.
All those times he’d wished Christian would show his feelings like he did—openly, easily—he hadn’t understood just how much Christian had already been giving, in every protective gesture, in his fierce loyalty.
It hadn’t looked like what he’d dreamed of, but that was because it had been something deeper than words.
Yet it had taken him hearing the words to finally see all the ways they’d been there all along.
Christian was stepping away, taking action while Dave was lost somewhere in his head. That, at least, hadn’t changed.
“I’m going to find another way back to the car,” Christian said. “You can’t climb the path.”
After shifting, he took himself back through the tunnel toward the old shifter camp. Dave sat at the bottom of the path and watched the sun come up, his face turned to the growing light.
CHRISTIAN
When Christian got back to the ledge, he found Dave curled up asleep on the hard rock of the path. His hair was tangled, he was snoring slightly, and there was the suspicion of drool in the corner of his mouth.
Christian hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath until he saw Dave was safe.
Not just safe—asleep, and trusting him to be there.
Dave had always trusted him, and Christian had been there.
He’d answered when Dave called, stood by him when it mattered, and protected him.
But now he saw that Dave had been doing more.
He’d noticed what Christian needed before he said a word, not because he was psychic but because he paid attention.
Being there when Dave asked wasn’t enough. Loving him meant noticing before he had to ask.
He crouched beside Dave and studied him, the battered hands curling loose beneath his cheek, the steady rise and fall of his chest. Dave didn’t want to live here. He’d said so. And Christian couldn’t understand why he hadn’t said it sooner, but the thing was—he’d said it now.
He’d thought staying in this town, with the opportunity to keep fighting and winning, would give him everything he wanted. But now, it felt so thin, like paper held up to the sun. What good was any of it if it made Dave unhappy?
He sat back on his heels. Somewhere in these last few weeks, Elk Ridge had stopped feeling right. It had gotten too complicated. Too full of old memories, stirred up from a time he thought—he’d hoped—he’d forgotten.
But while all of that was true, the other reasons he’d stayed were still there. Matt’s steady, unshakable leadership. The understated care between everyone. The way people there knew him—knew when he needed space, or an argument, or just time with his horse.
Because there was Diablo, too. Aside from Dave, he was the first thing in years Christian had really loved.
As he studied Dave, watching the way his nose was twitching as a tiny but determined beetle attempted to scale it, the prospect of being back in Elk Ridge, with his pack, his family, sounded right.
Yeah, things there were still complicated, but that wouldn’t always be the case.
And there was more holding him there than driving him away.
Dave stirred in his sleep, blindly batting at his nose and knocking the beetle away, without waking.
Christian’s heart ached with how much he loved Dave like this, sleepy and warm.
As much as he loved him in every other moment of his life.
Somehow, in the span of one night, this had gone from a crossroads to a straight road home.
They should get going if they were leaving—the airport was some drive from here. He pushed to his feet and kicked the sole of Dave’s boot on his good foot.
“Some of us have been busy while you’ve been snoring.”
Dave blinked blearily up at him, before grimacing and groaning as he sat up. Christian stopped him when he would have stood.
“You sure you’re okay to walk?” he said. “I can always go get food and water and bring it back here.”
For an instant Dave looked horrified, like the idea of staying here a minute longer was unbearable. Christian got it. At least he’d had something soft to lie on last night.
“I’m sure,” Dave said firmly.
Christian studied him for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay.” He really had to stop making the calls for both of them. He hadn’t even realized he was doing it. He’d always figured if Dave didn’t like something—or if he wanted something—he’d just say so. Turned out, he’d been wrong.
Making their way through the claustrophobic tunnel in human form wasn’t the most fun Christian had ever had, but finally they were out the other side, and he drew in a shaky breath of fresh air, face turned to the open sky.
They moved slowly through the silence of the old camp, Christian helping Dave over the uneven ground as he steered them both away from the tunnel, toward a narrow canyon carved through the rock.
“Like it was made to hide people,” Dave said, slightly breathless.
And then Christian saw something that stopped him dead, forcing Dave to brace awkwardly beside him.
“What—” he started, before falling silent.
It became suddenly obvious what he was looking at. A cave mouth in the sandstone was choked with broken rock, but the fragments were wrong for a natural rock fall, their spread too neat. Somebody had sealed it, turned it into a burial chamber.
What made it unmistakable was the stack of stones just in front of the cave, a conical pile that clearly wasn’t natural. He leaned down and brushed his fingers over a large piece of shale, leaning against the base. A single word had been scratched into its surface.
Loved.
The silence grew heavier, and when he looked up at Dave, he saw his eyes were wet.
That inscription suggested someone who knew the pack.
Someone who’d been part of it, even. Maybe there’d been another survivor besides Jesse, one who’d done the best they could for their packmates even though they must have been looking over their shoulder the entire time, not knowing if the murderers might return.
“Does this mean—d’you think one of them survived?” Dave asked, voice low.
Christian shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe others got away like Jesse did. Or maybe someone else found them and did the decent thing.”
He rose, brushing grit from his palms. “Do we tell Jesse?”
Dave didn’t answer right away. The wind was picking up, tugging at his hair, moaning around the cliff and reminding Christian how far they were from the rest of the world.
“I don’t know,” Dave said finally. “There’s no way of telling who did this, not for sure. But maybe it would help Jesse, knowing they’d been laid to rest. That someone had cared.”
Christian frowned. “But what if he thinks it was someone from the pack and it wasn’t? If he thinks his family might still—” He broke off.
They stood there a moment longer.
“We don’t need to make a decision right now,” Dave said. “Maybe Matt’ll know whether to tell him or not.”
Christian didn’t answer, but he turned to look at the cairn again. Then he reached down and adjusted one of the smaller stones that had slipped out of place, his hand lingering for a second longer than it needed to.
They bowed their heads for a moment, before moving on in silence.
* * *
By the time they reached the truck, Dave was leaning into him, damp with sweat and clearly hurting, though he wasn’t complaining.
“Whose truck is this?” he asked, once he’d chugged the water Christian passed him.
“Stefan’s,” Christian said, and for the first time thought what that meant. “I should probably get it back before he reports it stolen.”
“He doesn’t know you’ve got it?”
“Not exactly.” Well, he’d only planned to use it long enough to get to the motel and back. It wasn’t his fault he’d ended up spending the night out here. He guessed he should fill the tank as an apology before he returned it. “I’d better smooth that over before we leave.”
Dave didn’t move, but Christian felt the sudden tension in him.
“We’re leaving?” Dave asked quietly.
Christian looked at him. Really looked. The patience in his face, the quiet way he waited. The very Daveness of him. There for Christian, like always.
“Yeah,” he said, voice low. “You said we’ve got the info we need. I figure it’s time to go home.”
Dave smiled, wide and joyful, and Christian felt it like warmth on his skin. He made himself a promise then and there to keep that look on Dave’s face. Whatever it took.