Chapter 24
We rode until dusk, stopping to make camp near a small river so the horse, or Cinnamon as Trey named her, could get a drink.
Cinnamon shifted nervously when the wolves began howling again.
They didn’t sound any closer, but they also didn’t sound farther away.
Both Trey and I stopped making camp to listen.
“Do you think they’re followin’ us?” I asked Trey in a low voice.
He frowned. “They should have plenty to hunt without needin’ to track us down, but I’ve heard stories of packs sometimes gettin’ bored and goin’ after humans for the challenge.”
I shuddered, the hair on the back of my neck rising.
“It’s okay,” he said. “They’re still not close enough to be a threat.”
“And if they get close?”
He glanced out at the dark woods for a long moment before meeting my gaze, his face grim. “Then we’ll have to be prepared to fight. You know how to shoot?”
“Yeah. Well, I didn’t get much practice with Juck, but Wolf taught me.”
“I’ve only got the one pistol, but hold on.”
He moved into the trees, searching for something, while I stood with Cinnamon. A loud crack sounded, and the horse and I both startled.
Trey returned, holding a large dead branch. “We’ll make this into a torch. Animals have an instinctive fear of fire, so that can be an effective weapon.”
I nodded as we moved back to our campfire, taking a seat beside him as he stripped some of the smaller branches off.
“If Cinnamon takes off, let her.” He glanced at our horse, regret clear on his face. “The wolves will probably go after her instead of us. They want their prey to run, so no matter what, don’t run.”
Nausea swirled in my stomach, but I nodded.
“And if I tell you to climb a tree, you gotta promise you’ll do it, even if it means leavin’ me behind.”
My eyes shot to his face. “No.”
“Bones—”
“No,” I snapped. I fixed him with a fierce look. “I’m not gonna leave you behind. So don’t you dare fuckin’ ask me to do that.”
He stared at me for a moment and then sighed, rubbing his face. “Can you at least promise that you’ll try to stay safe? Remember you can heal me, but if you get hurt”—his voice broke—“I can’t do a damn thing about it.”
“I’ll try to stay uninjured, but please don’t ask me to promise anythin’ else,” I allowed, throat tightening.
He took a deep breath, and I watched him swallow the argument he wanted to have. “Okay,” he muttered. “Okay.”
In the silence, the fire crackled and Cinnamon chewed her oats. We studied each other, and I wondered if he also wished we were still back in our warm, safe room at the Plum Creek Mercantile like I did.
“Why wouldn’t you heal yourself after you were whipped?” he asked.
“What do you mean, why? You saw what it did to Sam.”
“So, what, you’re never gonna do that again? Even if the alternative is dying?” His voice sounded even, but a strong emotion flickered in his eyes.
“Yes,” I said shortly. I didn’t know why the hell we were even having this conversation.
“Bones,” he pleaded, and I recognized the emotion in his gaze. It was fear.
“Trey, I’m not gonna drain the life out of someone to save my own skin,” I said softly. “Sam almost died. He was still mostly bedridden even when we left.”
His expression pinched.
“Would you honestly do it?” I pressed, and he didn’t respond, but we both knew what the answer would be.
“I can’t watch you get hurt again,” he finally confessed, “and be fuckin’ helpless to do anything.”
The emotion in his voice sent a ripple of unease through me. I’d never seen him like this before, and my body wanted to back away.
Instead, I rose from the log and stepped between his long legs, crouching to meet his gaze. My heart hammered. “Trey, it’s gonna be alright.”
He stared at me and the air seemed to crackle with tension. I lifted my hands before I could talk myself out of it and cradled his face, grounding myself in the familiar roughness of his beard.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I repeated.
He sucked in a deep breath, then turned his head to press a kiss into my palm. “Sorry. I—” He cleared his throat. “I saw my dad’s body after he was killed by that bear, and I keep picturing it happenin’ to you.”
I ran my fingers through his hair, and his long eyelashes fluttered closed. “I’ll be careful.”
He smirked, his eyes still closed. “That’s not really reassurin’ comin’ from you.”
I snorted. “I never promised to be careful before, so don’t go actin’ like that’s a promise I’ve broken.”
He cracked his eyes open, his grin widening. “Sorry. You’re right. But if you bein’ careful actually looks like bein’ careful, I will eat my damn hat.”
I glanced up at his knit hat, raising my eyebrows. “Hope you’re hungry.”
His arms snaked around me, pulling me tight against him. “I am hungry,” he said in a low voice that made my blood heat, “but not for that.”
I grinned and pulled his head down so I could kiss him deeply, sucking his bottom lip into my mouth. He groaned and held me even tighter, but the eerie sound of a wolf howling made us both freeze again.
“Did that one sound closer?” I asked, dread spreading through me like ice.
“Yeah,” he muttered, staring out into the darkness as answering howls sounded.
“Do we wait or do we go?”
Trey hesitated. “Probably better to go. If we travel through the night, maybe we can put some distance between us without pushin’ the horse too much.”
I nodded, getting to my feet. Together we packed up the few things we’d set out.
Cinnamon shifted, staring out into the darkness.
When we set out, she moved forward at a trot like she was eager to leave.
Thick clouds covered the moon, and the darkness pressed in on us, our small lantern only illuminating a few feet ahead.
I could feel the tension in Trey’s body, and I wished I could do something to get his mind off animal attacks.
I remembered the story about him and Mac when they were teenagers.
I frowned, trying to think of a lighthearted memory.
I didn’t have very many, but then one surfaced.
“For a while when I was really little, Dune used to insist he had a friend named Ash. Anytime he got in trouble for somethin’, he’d try to say it was Ash who did it.
Used to drive Wolf crazy, I guess. Then it kinda became a joke between the three of us.
If somethin’ unusual happened, we’d always say, ‘Must’ve been Ash. ’ ”
I hadn’t thought of that in a long, long time.
I tried to avoid thinking about the good memories I had with my brothers because it hurt so bad, it made it hard to breathe.
For the first few months with the Reapers, I’d been haunted by those memories.
I missed my brothers so much that I started contemplating turning myself in so Wolf could kill me.
They could bury me beside Dune, and I wouldn’t hurt anymore.
That was about the time when Wolf’s lessons on survival started manifesting in his voice growling at me in my head.
One night as I lay crying in my bedroll, I realized I couldn’t hold on to those memories and survive.
So I forced myself to shove them all down and pretend they didn’t exist. I got so good at it that sometimes I did forget.
“Ash,” he repeated in an amused voice. “Me an’ Mac tried to blame Clarity for a broken lamp once.”
“Did your mom believe you?” I asked.
He chuckled. “No, ’cause Clarity couldn’t even sit up by herself, much less throw a ball. I don’t remember which one of us came up with the idea, but it wasn’t our best.”
“So I guess you’ve always been a bad liar.”
“Hey,” he said, indignant. “I’m not a bad liar. I just don’t lie much.”
I let out an amused huff. “ ’Cause you’re bad at it.”
“I bet I could tell you a lie right now and you’d believe it.”
“Try me.” I grinned.
“Alright. I’m gonna tell you three things and one of ’em will be a lie, and you have to guess which one.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “I hate mice. I don’t like goat cheese. I can’t swim.”
I had to resist laughing. His voice changed on the last statement, a clear tell, and besides that, I doubted the Safeguard training would neglect swim lessons. “You can swim.”
“How did you know that?” he demanded.
“You’re a bad liar,” I repeated, tilting my head back to grin at him. “It’s okay. I love that about you.”
He glared playfully down at me.
“You don’t like—”
A howl interrupted me and we both fell silent. The horse’s ears flicked back, listening. They still sounded close, but not closer.
“Should we be quiet?” I whispered.
“Probably wouldn’t hurt,” he muttered.
I tried not to think about the wolves, but they kept howling like they wanted to remind us they were there. I couldn’t help thinking how horribly fitting it would be if I spent most of my life afraid of Wolf killing me only to be killed by actual wolves.
The night seemed to stretch on forever. I dozed off a few times, usually jerking awake in a panic and startling Cinnamon and Trey.
He kept insisting I could sleep, but I didn’t want to make him stay awake alone, so I fought it the best I could.
The wolves howled until the sky began to lighten.
Poor Cinnamon plodded through the snow. We would have to take a break soon.
As the sun rose, we listened for the wolves, but the mountains had fallen silent again.
“Hey, look!” Trey said, pointing in front of us.
Faint plumes of white smoke rose from behind the next hill. My heart seized in anxiety. “Is that a fire?”
“No.” I glanced up to see him grinning. “I’m gonna make it a surprise if you don’t know.”
“Okay,” I said with suspicion.
It took us several more hours to reach the white smoke, but we didn’t hear the wolves at all. As we drew nearer, I wrinkled my nose. Something smelled foul.
“What is that smell?”
“Well, it’s part of the surprise,” Trey admitted. “I promise it’s a good surprise.”
“A good surprise that smells like that?” I asked, but he just laughed.