Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
The ice carving demonstration drew a decent crowd despite the grey sky and the bitter wind. Ryker stood at the edge of the gathered tourists, scanning faces on autopilot while a master carver transformed a block of ice into a wolf.
He hadn't slept. Hadn't eaten. The coffee he'd choked down that morning tasted like ash and old pennies, and there wasn't enough of it in the world to quiet the howling in his skull. His wolf had paced all night, reaching for the bond and finding nothing. Just cold where she should have been.
Tourists pressed close to the demonstration area, breath fogging in the air.
A kid in a puffy red jacket pointed at the emerging shape, tugging her mother's arm.
Normal life was happening all around him.
People laughed, took photos, complained about the cold.
None of them knew that everything had ended twelve hours ago in an old cabin on the north end of the island.
The carver's blade scraped against ice, sending chips flying. The wolf taking shape under his hands was frozen, still, perfect. Everything he wasn't.
His wolf reached again. Searching for the bond that should connect them to her. The emptiness made his stomach lurch, and he locked his knees to stay upright. Breathed through it. In and out.
You did this.
The poker chip was in his pocket. He didn't remember grabbing it from the distillery floor where he'd dropped it last night, but his thumb found the worn edge through the fabric.
He recalled Cal's words from the other day. You're being an asshole. Cal had not been wrong.
Cal had, however, understated it. He wasn't just an asshole. He was a fucking asshole who'd destroyed the only good thing that had happened to him in years.
Movement caught his attention across the festival grounds. His head turned before his brain caught up, some animal instinct locking onto a figure near the booths.
Willow.
She was helping Faith at one of the vendor booths, arranging jars of honey on a display table. Her bright red hair was pulled back in a loose braid. She wore a cream sweater that made her look soft and warm, and she was smiling at something Faith said. A real smile. Relaxed.
She looked fine.
Their eyes met across the crowd.
For a single heartbeat he couldn't move. His wolf surged forward, desperate and keening.
She gave him a polite nod, then she turned back to Faith and continued her conversation.
The ground dropped out from under him.
His wolf howled. The sound tore through his chest, trapped behind his ribs where no one could hear. His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms as he tried to find strength to hold everything together.
This was what she’d felt.
And he hadn't just been indifferent. He'd been actively hostile, piling coldness and cruelty on top of the rejection his broken wolf couldn't recognize. She'd walked through fire for him, and he'd fanned the flames higher.
The ice wolf was nearly finished now, elegant and frozen in mid-howl. Tourists applauded. The carver bowed.
He turned and walked until he couldn't see her anymore.
Security rounds took him past the vendor booths twice more before noon.
He kept his eyes forward, not looking for a cream sweater or red hair or a smile that wasn't meant for him.
His wolf whined every time her scent drifted past on the wind, that lavender and honey with a touch of vanilla threading through the festival smells like a blade between his ribs.
He spotted Neve struggling with a heavy crate near her booth before his brain registered what he was seeing.
One of the sanctuary witches, Willow's people, trying to maneuver supplies too awkward for one person.
A pack member walked past without slowing.
Maybe deliberate, maybe not. The witches were still outsiders to some, and after what he'd said at the meeting, that suspicion had grown.
He didn't think as he moved quickly to her booth.
"Where do you want this?"
Neve froze. Her eyes went wide, darting around like she was looking for the trap. Not that he could blame her. He was the man actively trying to get her exiled.
"Behind the table." Her voice came out tight. "Please."
He took the crate. It was heavier than it looked, jars packed tight with straw. He set it where she pointed and turned back. "There's more in the cart?"
She nodded without speaking.
He moved the other crates without making conversation or trying to apologize. Words were easy. Apologies were nothing without action to back them up.
When the last crate was in place, he gave Neve a quiet nod and walked away.
The wind shifted as he crossed the square, bringing something familiar on the edge of it.
Honey. He didn't turn around, didn't look.
Probably just a remnant caught in his clothes, his imagination filling in what wasn't there.
She wasn't his to look for anymore.
Gray found him behind the distillery an hour later. He was sitting on an overturned crate, staring at nothing, the poker chip clicking between his fingers.
"How bad is it?" Gray leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
"My wolf won't stop reaching for her." His voice came out raw. Wrecked. "Every few minutes, this pull toward a bond that isn't there anymore. Just cold. Empty. And I can't make it stop."
Gray waited.
"I keep scenting her everywhere. In the crowd, on the wind. I don't know if it's real or if I'm losing my mind." He turned the chip over in his fingers. "Years my wolf was silent, and now it's howling nonstop for a woman who looked at me like a stranger today. It's driving me fucking insane."
Gray's eyes dropped to the chip.
Shit. He shoved it back in his pocket. Of all the people to sit here clicking that thing in front of, feeling sorry for himself. Neither of them said anything.
"Your wolf finally woke up and now it has to deal with what you both did while it was busy ignoring reality."
"You know the worst part? My wolf being broken wasn't even a good excuse. I felt the pull anyway. From the first week she was here, I couldn't stop noticing her. Couldn't stop wanting to be near her even when I was being an asshole about it."
Gray didn’t answer right away.
"My instincts were screaming at me, and I managed to convince myself they were broken. That I couldn't trust them without the wolf.”
The wind cut through the alley. Festival noise drifted over the rooftops, distant and strange.
"So, what's the plan?" Gray asked.
"Plan?"
"You're not the type to sit around feeling sorry for yourself forever. What are you going to do?"
He stared at Gray. "She severed the bond. There's nothing pulling her toward me anymore. No magic, no instinct. Just months of me treating her like shit followed by publicly accusing her of sabotage."
"I didn't ask what you're up against. I asked what you're going to do about it."
He didn't have an answer.
Gray pushed off the wall and crouched in front of him, forcing eye contact. "You remember what I was like before Lily? Walking around half-dead, convinced I didn't deserve anything good after what happened to Ash?"
"You weren't half as bad as me."
"I was worse. You just didn't see it because you were too busy blaming yourself for the same thing." Gray's voice was steady. "Lily didn't fix me. She gave me a reason to fix myself. And I had to earn her trust every single day, even with the bond pulling us together."
"You didn't publicly accuse her of being a threat to the pack."
"No. But I was still an idiot. You saw it. I just kept pushing her away because I was terrified of what loving her would cost." Gray's mouth twisted. "Different flavor of stupid, same result. She could have walked away. Hell, she probably should have. But I’m damn glad she didn’t."
He looked at Gray. Really looked. Lily had changed him. And after everything, he was still here. Trying to help him.
"The pack meeting today," Gray said. "Some wolves are pushing to exile the witches. They intend to finish what you started."
His stomach dropped.
"That's on you." Gray's voice was matter-of-fact, not cruel. Just truth. "You vehemently accused her in front of everyone. You gave them permission to distrust the witches. Now they're running with it, and it’s up to you to stop it."
"I know."
"Do you? Because those wolves aren't coming up with this on their own. They're repeating your words and making them stronger. Your evidence. Your case." Gray's jaw tightened. "You lit this fire. Now go put it out."
"And then what? Words don't mean anything. I said words to her too..."
"This isn’t about getting Willow back. It’s about doing what is right.
Fix your shit. Then back the words with action.
Every day. Without any guarantee she's watching, or that it'll ever be enough.
Then you wait. And wait some more." Gray stood.
"You help the witches when they need it. You defend them when someone talks shit. You show up and do the work without expecting anything in return. It’s the only way. "
"That could take..."
"Years. Maybe forever. Maybe she never lets you in again." Gray's eyes were hard, but not unkind. "But you're not doing it to win her back. You're doing it because you have to. Because you were wrong, and wrong has to be made right whether she knows about it or not."
He thought about Neve's face when he'd offered to carry her crates. The wariness, the distrust. The tiny crack of confusion when he'd just done the work and walked away. Gray was right, he couldn’t give up.
"Come on." Gray jerked his head toward the distillery. "Meeting's starting and you’ve got work to do."
They walked in together. The place was packed, wolves crowded around the copper stills, tension thick enough to taste. He found a spot near the back while Gray moved toward the front where Damien stood waiting.
He'd barely settled against the wall when Marcus took the floor.