Chapter 19 — Ethan
We’re lying here under the stars, as naked as Adam and Eve in the Garden. I cradle Rhiannon’s wolf-warm body as she sleeps peacefully in my arms, willing the sun to take its time rising.
It’s still hours before dawn, but I keep wondering if she’ll suddenly get up, put her clothes back on, and head off to training as if nothing happened.
She doesn’t owe me anything, but I guess I just don’t want this to end. Last time was wild, frantic. But this time, it was different. More real than anything I’ve known. As if our souls became connected.
God, I sound like a crazy person.
I tuck a strand of hair behind Rhiannon’s ear as she stirs against my chest. Her golden-brown eyes flutter open, catching the starlight.
“Can we just stay here forever?” I ask, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Forget about Kortan, the summit. . .all of it.”
She shifts in my arms, her warmth ebbing onto me. A look of longing surfaces in her eyes before she blinks it away and straightens.
“As amazing as that sounds, I can’t leave Jayme to rot in that dungeon,” she says. Her fingers draw lines on my skin. “What kind of Commander would that make me?”
“I know.” I clasp her hand and kiss it. “I don’t want to leave him like that either.”
“Speaking of which, didn’t we come out here to talk through everything we’ve learned so far?” Those golden-brown eyes blink up at me.
I brush away a leaf clinging to my shoulder as I sit up. “You’re right. Where do we start?”
“Do you really think Haron is telling the truth?”
“I believe that she believes she is telling the truth.”
“Well, either Haron or Jayme is lying.”
I shake my head. “Not necessarily. As far as I could tell, they both believe they’re telling the truth.”
“Don’t start that again, Ethan.” Rhiannon gives me a look. “Jayme said he didn’t attack Haron and Haron says it was definitely Jayme who attacked her. That means one of them has to be lying about what happened. They can’t both be right.”
I let out a long breath. She’s not wrong. And things are looking bad for Jayme, given that Haron almost died and he can’t seem to remember exactly what happened.
Maybe that’s the key.
“You know, Jayme said he has no memory of what happened,” I say. “Is it possible that he blacked out or something? Maybe he had too much to drink at dinner and—”
“And randomly attacked a dignitary in a drunken state? Unlikely.”
I blink at her. “Why? Lycans can’t get drunk and disorderly?”
“Drunk and disorderly isn’t the same as wantonly violent.”
“Okay, let’s back away from the violence part of this and focus on the whole time loss part. Why doesn’t Jayme remember what happened? If he wasn’t drunk, could he have been under the influence of something else?”
She scowls at me. “Like what?”
“Like a drug? Or maybe hypnosis or some other kind of mind control.”
Rhiannon shakes her head vigorously. “Impossible.”
“Impossible?”
“Mind magic does not work on Lycans. It is known.”
I slump my shoulders a little. I feel like I’m onto something here, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. “Something had to affect him if he doesn’t remember, Rhiannon.”
She sighs. “Maybe you’re wrong about him and he is lying. That’s actually preferable to him being controlled by someone else.”
“I don’t think I’m wrong, though.”
She just stares at me. “Ethan, there’s an implication behind the idea that Jayme simply can’t remember the attack.
And that kind of revelation could unravel this summit faster than if he had done it willingly.
It would mean he can’t control his wolf.
This pack prides itself on being more man than wolf.
It’s an image we fought hard for throughout the Moon Curse. ”
“So what’s the alternative? Either he’s lying and doesn’t want to admit it because he is responsible, or he’s telling the truth and he genuinely has no memory of it. And if he doesn’t remember, there has to be a reason, which could ultimately exonerate him.”
She bites her lip, thinking that over for a long moment. “Perhaps . . . perhaps he was sick. Some condition might exist that could have caused him to lose consciousness. If something like that happened, Haron would have been vulnerable to someone else’s attack.”
I shrug. “It’s a start. Listen, I’m not thrilled about any of this either, but I don’t think we can dismiss any possibilities. Maybe I should talk to Branson about it. If Jayme has some hidden condition that could make him do something like this, maybe he’ll tell me.”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll come with you.”
“No, no. He’ll feel more comfortable if he thinks I’m asking him purely out of concern. Let me do this alone.”
Rhiannon nods. Then she smiles at me and leans in, pressing her mouth softly against mine without warning. I meet her halfway, forgetting my troubles for a brief moment.
“What was that for?” I ask when our lips part.
“For gracing us with your gift.” She leans back, her gaze steady on mine. “You might just save us all, you know.”
I’m at a loss for words, but she doesn’t wait for me to answer. She just moves in closer, rolling over onto me with the easy confidence of someone who knows exactly what she wants and has decided to take it. Her mouth finds mine again, and the conversation ends.
The fading moonlight sparkles on the surface of the water beside us, throwing pale ribbons across her skin as she pulls me to her, and I stop thinking entirely.
We lose ourselves in each other all over again.
Afterward, she lies against my chest and what remains of the night settles around us. Her breathing slows. Her body is warm against my side — unreasonably, impossibly warm, and her fingers rest loosely over my ribs like she forgot to let go.
Then she looks up at me and smiles. A small, meaningful, pure smile.
I am so fucked. The thought arrives in my head with the calm clarity of a man stating an obvious, undisputable fact. Like noting that the sky above us is dark or the pond is wet.
And I don’t mean it in the physical sense. It’s the kind of fucked that rewrites your whole life.
Morning comes too quickly. My body aches from our night in the woods, but it’s the good kind, the kind that reminds me I’m alive.
The hot spray of the shower beats down on me back in my quarters, and I let it wash over me as my mind stays fixed on Rhiannon. The way her amber eyes practically glowed in the moonlight. How her laugh vibrated through my chest as I held her. The feeling of her soft skin against mine.
We snuck back into the fortress separately — her idea, not mine. I only managed a few hours of sleep, but even then, Rhiannon was there in my dreams, too. I could still smell her sweet honeysuckle scent.
All of a sudden, I can picture a life here: Watching Thea’s kids take their first steps, Rhiannon’s hand resting on her own rounded belly, carrying my child. Helping Conan, nervous as hell, plan his engagement proposal to Akila.
The whole thing unfolds before me like a video montage produced by my mind.
This is insane.
It’s a nice fantasy. Rhiannon is everything that I’ve ever dreamed of in a partner and more.
Certainly, there’s a part of me that’s a little afraid she might accidentally murder me.
I have no illusions about that. Especially now that I’m thinking about this whole business with Jayme possibly blacking out and killing someone.
Lycans are still wolves...at least part of the time.
My mind keeps circling back to Haron’s story, and what disturbs me is how logical it sounds.
The Shaman children stood tall but were rail thin, like walking fluorescent bulbs with fragile skin.
I’m surprised Jayme didn’t shatter the girl completely in a spray of glass and mercury vapor.
He’s not massive, like Branson, but he’s got more than enough size and strength to do serious damage.
It’s not far-fetched to believe he could kill someone like her.
I’ve watched how the others react to Jayme: the subtle shifts in their behavior they probably don’t even notice themselves. When he approaches, Lycans drift away or give him a wide berth. When he speaks, some flinch.
Still, it doesn’t add up. He keeps reaching out anyway, keeps trying to connect. Especially with Rhiannon. The way he looks at her when she’s not watching, it’s as if her approval is the one thing that might finally prove he belongs. It’s not hard to see how much their acceptance means to him.
I can’t help but think of him like I would a spider. Everyone acts frightened of him when he’s the one who’s terrified. That thought sobers me. I need to talk to Branson later, like Rhiannon and I discussed. If anyone has insight into what happened with Jayme, it would be his brother.
But I barely have time to change before Rhiannon appears at the door of my room, this time with Conan in tow.
“Let’s go,” she says, all business now. There’s no trace of last night’s tenderness in her voice. Only the slight softening around her eyes gives her away.
“Where are we going?” I ask, falling into step beside them.
Conan grins, his blond hair bright in the morning light. “Perimeter patrol. Commander thinks you should see more of our territory.”
“Is that right?” I glance at Rhiannon, who keeps her eyes forward.
“You should understand our defenses,” she says stiffly. “Especially with tensions being high during the summit.”
I bite back a smile. She wants me close, but can’t say it in front of Conan. I get it.
We pass through the main gate, nodding to the guards who straighten as Rhiannon approaches. The fortress walls — impressive slabs of stone that must be ancient — stretch high above us. Beyond them, a dense forest spreads in all directions.
“We have guards on the walls at all times,” Conan explains, gesturing upward. “We also go out to patrol the outside perimeter every four hours, looking for anything unusual — tracks, scents, disturbances.”
“What exactly am I supposed to be looking for?” I kick a rock. “I don’t have your super-senses.”
Rhiannon glances back at me. “Just watch and learn, human.”