Chapter 4
G alen.
That scream came from Galen, I’m sure of it. We’re out of the river and dressed in seconds, and I don’t look back as I dart through the woods with Sin on my heels.
The river isn’t far from our house, and I don’t stop running until I barrel through the front door. Zorina looks up at me from the couch, her right arm slung over Galen’s shoulders as she tucks his head against her chest. Eldridge kneels before them both, his attention wholly fixed on his nephew who stares back at him through a curtain of fat tears.
“Listen to me, kid. You see her?” Eldridge points to his sister on the couch. “Your mama needs you. You take care of her just as much as she takes care of you, more in some ways. And when people depend on you, kid, that’s something you need to think about before running off and putting yourself in harm’s way.”
I look at Morrinne hovering in the kitchen, clutching a mug of tea to her chest. It isn’t steaming, which means she’s been too preoccupied to drink it. My mother only sips her tea at a temperature too hot for any sane person to drink, but then again, Morrinne has never claimed to be sane. ‘Cold tea is piss water,’ she always says.
“I need to fight them. That way they can’t come back here and hurt us anymore,” Galen says, his voice trembling.
I let out a quiet sigh, his words hammering my chest. Galen hasn’t adjusted well to Eldridge’s loss. He is young, so damn young , and having to watch his favorite uncle forgo so many of the activities he once enjoyed has not settled well with him. Eldridge will adapt, eventually learn other ways to do the things he once loved, but it will take time—something that has never been on our side.
“No one is coming back here to hurt us, Galen. You want to know why? Because while some of us—like Auntie Wren and Sin—are leaving to go fight them, the rest of us need to stay here to defend the homeland. They won’t come back because they know we’re here ready to protect it if they did.”
Galen sniffs loudly. “But you can’t defend us anymore.”
Eldridge huffs. “Bullshit.”
“Eldridge,” Zorina says pointedly, combing her fingers through Galen’s blond curls.
“What—you think because I’m down a silly hand and half an arm that I’m suddenly fodder for the horses, is that it?” Eldridge pokes him in the belly, pulling a grin from my nephew. “But you’re right—I do have a lot of learning to do, kid. That’s why I need you here to help me. On special assignment for the Red Wolf.”
Galen perks up at that, and Zorina gives a subtle nod to her brother.
“If you’re up for it, that is,” Eldridge amends. “It’s hard work and a huge responsibility. I only take on the best of the best, and if it’s too much for?—”
“I’ll do it!” Galen interrupts. “I’ll stay. Defend the homeland, like you said. We’ll be partners?”
I glance to Eldridge and find his expression stern. Though he’d never admit it, I think Galen’s continued idolization of him after his injury means as much to him as it does to our nephew. Eldridge is a provider. Always has been, always will be. And for him, providing inspiration to others is just as important as bringing home game and securing our shelter.
Eldridge would have taken exceptional care of me if I had chosen him instead of Sin. And he would have been a fine choice indeed. But Eldridge deserves the kind of all-consuming, toe-curling love that I feel for Sin, not merely a friendship that’s long teetered on the brink of something more.
“You’re damn right we’re going to be partners, kid. And I need you at your best, so why don’t you go comb that wild hair you have going on there, and hop your butt into bed.”
Galen nods enthusiastically, jumps out of his mother’s arms, and darts out of the room without another look at any of us. We already said our goodbyes earlier. I won’t make him go through that again, so I merely watch as he skips down the hall to the room he shares with my brothers, and I ignore the clenching of my heart as he does.
I take his place on the couch and sling my arm around Zorina, laying her head on my shoulder. She exhales loudly, and Eldridge climbs to his feet, his movement a tad awkward as he hasn’t quite adjusted to the uneven distribution of his weight now.
“Would anyone care for some tea?” Morrinne asks. “I need to heat more water; this tastes like piss.” She hurries to put another kettle on the fire, and Eldridge makes his way to the kitchen, offering me a grunt as he passes by.
“Are you all going to be okay?” I ask. My voice comes out lower than I intended, but I suppose that’s a benefit of living with a pack of shifters. They always hear me, even when my words are meek. And in the moments I lack the courage to speak at all, they hear the unspoken words through the pounding of my heart.
“How could we not be? With the mighty Red Wolf here to protect us and all,” Zorina snickers. She cranes her neck over her shoulder to look at him, and Eldridge has a vulgar gesture waiting for her.
“Keep running your mouth, and I’ll take my services elsewhere, female,” Eldridge mutters, grabbing a few mugs out of the cupboard.
Zorina sits upright and settles back into her own seat. “Call me that again, and I’ll take your other arm.” She flashes him a smile that’s sickeningly sweet.
I move to the kitchen and grab a couple of Morrinne’s jars, sprinkling some of the dried flowers and fruit into small pouches. Eldridge ladles water into three of the cups, and I plop a pouch, now containing a blend of jasmine petals and dried orange peels, into each of the steaming mugs. He plucks out the bags from the last two cups he didn’t bother to fill, and tosses them back on the counter. He says nothing as he leans beneath the counter and pulls out a slender neck bottle, rips the cork out with his teeth, and fills the last two cups until amber liquid is nearly splashing over the lip.
Eldridge crosses the room to Sin with the two cups hooked between his fingers.
The air is thick between them, but not as tense as it once had been. As much hatred as Eldridge may still harbor for the Black Art, he saved my life. Twice. When he shifted to take the bolt that was meant for my heart, and again when he pulled me from the ravine after Torin’s men launched an attack that sent me tumbling into an abandoned ditch. But despite the respect that Sin gained with him, I don’t miss the tightening of Eldridge’s muscles every time he looks Sin’s way, and I’d be surprised if a part of him doesn’t blame the Black Art for his injury. While Sin didn’t hack Eldridge’s arm off himself, it was his war that baited the attack in the first place.
And Sin knows it.
His expression is reserved as he takes one of the cups from Eldridge, but there is a subtle shift in their body language. Sin’s lips thin as his jaw tightens, but the muscles along his neck and shoulders are relaxed. Mostly.
His stance isn’t as defensive as it usually is, and I know Sin well enough to know the position he takes is one he forces. The Black Art has spent his entire life being honed into the warlord that runs people through without sparing a second glance as he mists the night with their blood. And now, even at rest, his every instinct has been hammered into one of defense.
It's a habit I’ve noticed he still hasn’t been able to let go of fully, even around me. I love Sin, and I would throw myself into the craggiest ravine or dive into the deepest sea if it meant keeping him safe. But even so, the way his body adjusts to counter mine whenever I approach does not escape my notice. Nor does the way he jolts awake when I absentmindedly hitch a leg over his hip in the middle of the night.
Sin trusts me, of that I am sure. But the trust between us is newfound, and trauma has a way of embedding itself into the tissue of your bones until the marrow runs as black as starless nights.
Eldridge breaks the silence between them, his voice restrained when he mutters, “Take care of her.”
To an unfamiliar ear, they may miss the pain masked in his tone. But I hear it. The longing to board alongside us tomorrow. To serve and protect and fight .
I want to go to him, but I curl my toes downward as a reminder to remain planted. It’s not the right time, because no matter what I say to him, Eldridge knows me just as well as Sin does. Maybe better, in some regards. And that means he knows there is no threat I won’t hurl myself in front of to protect the ones I love.
Sin’s stare hardens at Eldridge’s words. He’s searching for something, perhaps trying to determine if Eldridge’s words come from a purely platonic heart or something more, but he doesn’t voice whatever it is he’s thinking. Instead, Sin gives a rigid nod and says, “With my life.”
My heartbeat falters at that, but if my Bonded-to-be hears the lapse, he doesn’t show it, giving Eldridge the respect he deserves by holding his stare.
Eldridge seems to accept his answer because he blows out a breath then turns to face me again. “And you,” he growls before taking a deep pull from his drink. “Don’t”—he waves the cup in front of himself as if he were cautioning a wild beast—“Just don’t do anything stupid, Wren.”
I arch one hip to the side and fold my arms across my chest, raising my chin slightly. “When have I ever done anything stupid?” My tone is littered with tease, but my attempt to thin the tension in the room falls short.
Eldridge fixes me with a hard look, the kind he reserves for when he’s really serious about something. That look doesn’t come often from him, and every time it does, it terrifies me. Because Eldridge only looks like that when he’s about to kill someone, and lately, that someone has been me. “I swear to every miserable fucking god, Wren, you get yourself hurt by pulling some shit, and I’ll finish the job myself.”
Sin takes a step forward in my periphery, but he stops himself, his hand fisting at his side. His reaction isn’t purely from the transcendence taking hold of him—it’s the primal need to defend me. His Mate, as he seems intent on referring to me as, even though we’ve not yet snapped that Bond into place.
Eldridge’s threat is as dead as the animals whose hides insulate our windows, and the Black Art knows it. If Sin thought for a second it held any merit, Eldridge would be losing his other arm tonight. But it’s how my friend and I have always communicated best—through idle threats and lighthearted mockery at the other’s expense.
“Then I suppose I’ll either make sure I succeed or let them kill me fully. Wouldn’t want you to pull your back out trying to do someone else’s job, old man.” That pulls a smile from him. Eldridge is only a handful of years my senior, but I’ve never let him forget it.
I grab two of the mugs of tea and hand one to Zorina before sipping my own. The warmth does little to settle my nerves, and I tune out the conversation Morrinne makes with my sister in an attempt to distract from the reality of what we all face tomorrow.
I hear none of it, too plagued with the echo of my own thoughts as Sin’s words from earlier whirl violently through my mind, a threat all their own.
With my life.