Chapter 13
By the Cross
ELLIOT
I’ve been reckless. Too reckless, it seems, pushing her past her limits.
In my defense, I’ve grown so used to my own demons; I forget not everyone was raised to embrace theirs. Some people are afraid of them. Some people hate them.
It never occurred to me that Iris might be one of those people.
She is so confident, so striking. It seemed ridiculous to even consider that there was any part of her she did not wholeheartedly embrace. But there was no mistaking the look on her face as she shouted our safe word.
Deep in her dark eyes, doing its best to remain hidden, was something I’ve only seen in her once before, back in the grove. Something I’d very much like to never see again. It was fear—plain as day.
For a moment, in the time between hearing the words “cheese fries” and the fraction of a second it took for me to release her, I thought it was me she was afraid of. And for that single second, I felt sick to my stomach.
But then I looked at her, saw the panic in her eyes, and thought, maybe she was afraid for me. And for one singular breath, I heard bells ringing in my ears.
Then she stood and threw those words at me like knives, and I realized as I listened to her shuddering heartbeats, there is only one thing Iris is afraid of: herself.
She is quiet the whole way home, and without her smart mouth to occupy my thoughts, I listen to her body instead.
I listen to the heavy thump of her heart and the soft inhale and exhale of her breath. I listen to her fingers scratching the canvas fabric of my jacket as she clings to me. And I listen to the warmth of her cheek pressing into my back.
Her every movement is slow, deliberate, as she works to calm herself. Although truthfully, I don’t think it’s working.
I can still smell the sweet musk of fright clinging to her. It makes me want to throw up.
As we reach Whitehall, I just think I might.
I set the bike down on the roof, as far from the edge as I can manage, cut the engine, and dismount with the intent of helping her. But before I can so much as offer a hand, she is ripping off her helmet and storming down the stairs.
“Iris!” I call out.
But she’s gone. Shut out by the heavy metal door.
Still, I wait until her footsteps grow faint before kicking the engine over and pointing the bike West.
The manor is about an hour outside of town, just before you reach the enchanted forest. Mother thought it better to live on the fringes. More space to roam. Fewer people looking in.
Vanessa always complained that it was too far from campus. I’ve always thought it isn’t far enough.
“He’s late. Again!” Mother shouts as I step into the foyer.
Her voice reverberates across the domed ceiling and pristine marble flooring, cut off only by the sound of the front door slamming shut behind me.
I don’t announce myself. In a house full of wolves, you don’t need to.
Besides, their attention will soon revert to me anyway, no need to expedite my demise.
On cue, Vanessa comes trailing in from the kitchen, champing at the bit, and I think perhaps I should not have given Iris so much of myself.
“Where were you?” she snaps.
Here we go.
“Work,” I say, pointedly.
“Work?” She sniffs the air. “Doesn’t smell like work. It smells like…”
Shit, Iris.
Her scent is all over me. I’ve practically been bathing in it for the last three weeks.
I sidestep as Vanessa comes closer, placing the entryway table and Mother’s ridiculously large flower arrangement between us. But she follows, sniffing dramatically and making a gagging face.
“Smells like desperation,” she finishes.
I sigh.
“Nice, V. Real nice.”
I yank my jacket off and hand it to Jeffery. He stands ready and waiting at the far end of the foyer, eyes trained on the floor in front of him, and I pass him a subtle nod, patting him on the back.
“Thanks, Jeff.”
He says nothing in return before disappearing down the hall to my right.
I don’t take offense. I’m pretty sure Jeffery has only said three words to me in all my life. In his mind, they are the only words that matter. And since he’s already said them, he now has nothing left to say.
“Seriously,” Vanessa grumbles, pinching her nose. “What is that smell? It smells like burnt sugar.”
I shrug, but I know what she’s referring to.
Iris is always sweeter when we’re together. Although to me, it smells more like honey. Maybe Vanessa cannot smell her the way I can. The thought makes me want to hide the fragrance away even more.
“Where’s Mother?” I ask, ignoring her theatrics as she waves her hand in front of her face.
“In here!”
Mother’s voice comes from the east wing, and I don’t need to guess which room she’s in.
The “office” is her favorite room in the house. She says it’s because it’s quiet, but Vanessa and I both know it’s because of the shield she has spelled around the room.
I make my way through the house with Vanessa hot on my heels, but when we reach the office, we stand just outside the open door, idling in the hallway.
“You may come in,” Mother says.
Vanessa and I nod, and it takes us a moment before our feet move. But as the oldest, Vanessa goes first.
She winces as she crosses the threshold, and I suck in a deep breath before I follow her.
On the other side, we are met with a suffocating shroud. An invisible fog so thick you could choke on it. We manage to stand straight as it settles over us, but it is several minutes before my lungs feel full again.
“You’re late, Elliot,” Mother declares, not looking up from her pen.
She is scribbling something furiously across the family letterhead, and I don’t speak until she is through.
“I know,” I say. “Forgive me.”
When she nods, I step forward to place an obligatory kiss on her cheek, then stand aside as Vanessa does the same.
“The family is already here,” Mother adds, rising from her chair.
So there is an announcement after all.
“What is this about?” I ask. Though I’m still not sure I want to know.
“There’s been a challenge,” she says simply.
I don’t need to ask who the challenge is for. I already know. It’s never for anyone else. But for some reason, I still want to hear her say it.
“For who?” I ask.
“You.”
* * *
“Remember, he carries all his weight in his right leg. And his left knee never regrew correctly. If you hit it just right, it’ll pop right out.”
I groan as I finish wrapping my hands.
It won’t do much. The tape never holds, but it’s better than nothing.
“I know, V. I’m the one who broke it.”
“I know,” she mutters. “I’m just saying…”
“What? What are you just saying?” I ask.
“I’m just saying…be careful.”
I chuckle as I stand.
“Always am.”
Her eyes roll.
“No, you’re not.”
Nope. Never.
She follows me out to the simple dirt patch about one hundred yards from the back steps, where the family now waits, forming a half-moon circle. They all stand, arms crossed, or hands held behind their back as they wait.
In the center, Mother stands, and as we draw closer, she begins to recite the rites.
“As of this night, Adrian Cross has issued a challenge to Elliot Cross. The challenge is a Cross challenge. No boundary. No rule. No healer. No judge. Death or submission is the way. By the Cross!”
“Or by thy blade!” we all answer.
Mother waits until the echo dies down before stepping off to the side and clearing the ring.
“Begin when you are ready,” she says.
My opponent steps in first.
Six years older than me, about twenty pounds heavier, and taller by just a hair, cousin Adrian has never bested me.
None of them have.
“Why do you wear that stupid thing?” he spits, gesturing at my neck.
“To keep from killing you,” I say, reaching for the clasp at the back.
The heavy leather falls away, and I suck in a steadying breath, preparing for the onslaught while cousin Adrian merely laughs. Poor cousin Adrian.
From deep in my core, my wolf stretches to life. I fist my hands as it claws its way to the surface, burning a path through my soul.
My shoulders don’t feel as heavy, and my spine relaxes for what feels like the first time in months.
It settles in my chest, like fire, and greets me with a single question.
Kill?
Nah.
Killing a Cross wolf is not easy, even for another Cross.
The youngest among us can go for hours. Sometimes days. The greatest Cross challenge in clan history spanned one week and three hundred acres. Only to end in a bloody mess and several missing limbs.
So no, I don’t have time to kill cousin Adrian. But with enough skill and enough pain, you can put anyone down in a few minutes. You just have to know how.
I claim the advantage and rush at him, darting across the ring to strike a barrage of blows before he can even find his footing. It proves effective and more efficient than I anticipated when Adrian immediately lapses into throwing blind haymakers.
When two wolves are equally matched in strength, the only thing that matters is skill.
I take care of his knee in a single blow, followed by a bone-shattering strike to his right eye. He staggers backward, disoriented, and I take the opportunity to drive my fist into his stomach.
As he doubles over, I bring my knee into his face.
There’s a collective, “Ooo” from the family as a sickening crunch flits through the air. But Adrian is quick to collect himself.
He straightens before swinging at me in a wild arc, aiming for my left eye.
I let it connect, but only so I can keep him in close range. He’s less effective at a short distance. Too big for his own good.
His fist meets my jaw, and I can feel it dislocate, but I ignore the ear-splitting pain and wrap my arm around his free hand, yanking him forward, and slamming my forehead into his nose.
Blood flows freely as it breaks, and I follow through with another blow to his eye, this time targeting his left.
With the rapid swelling, he’ll be blind in a few seconds. Until that happens, I exhaust him by blocking his blows, and eventually he steps back, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.
“You done?” I ask, squinting at him with my one good eye.
He’s getting tired, I can tell. But his pride is bigger than his brain.
He spits, blood, saliva, and a few shards of teeth, collecting in the dirt as he shakes his head.
“You wish,” he growls.
I shrug and chart my path forward.
He grunts, “Oof!” as my shoulder connects with his stomach, and his elbow comes down over my head, striking me repeatedly. But my wolf absorbs the pain, feeding on it to push on.
Gravel crunches beneath my weight as I lift him from the earth and plant him on his back.
With my right hand, I pin him down, and with my left, I drive him into submission.
In the crowd, someone is cheering my name, probably V or Mother. But I’m not thinking about them. At this point, I’m not even thinking about Adrian. All I’m thinking about is her.
The look on her face as I pulled her out of the mud.
The unshed tears as she saw herself reflected in the blood and broken bone.
The frantic thump of her heart as the walls of the archive closed in on her.
It is all I see as my fist meets Adrian’s face over and over again. And with every blow, cousin Adrian looks less and less like cousin Adrian and more and more like Oliver St. Grey.
“You broke her!” I growl.
But Adrian doesn’t say anything. He can’t. The blood is already pooling in his throat.
I bring my fist down on his face until his body goes limp, at which point Mother’s voice rings out from the crowd, declaring me the champion.
No one cheers as I stand, and no one comes to collect Adrian. The crowd simply disperses in silence, heading back toward the manor as I turn for the stables.
Behind me, quiet footsteps follow, but I ignore them.
My head hurts, and my ears are ringing. My jaw is definitely broken, maybe my left eye socket too. I’m not sure. But I need to sit down, and I can’t do that in front of the family.
I keep my chin high and my shoulders back as I cross the grounds, but as the stable doors close behind me, I am suddenly aware of every aching part of me, down to the throbbing in my teeth.
“Oh, fuck…” I groan, leaning up against an empty stall.
“Nicely done,” a voice calls from the doorway.
I don’t open my eyes to watch Mother slink into the room. I’m too busy trying to get my jaw back into place so the healing will kick in.
“Slow down next time,” she directs. “Let them see how painful it can be.”
I groan. You’d think there wouldn’t be a next time, considering they never win.
“Sure,” I mutter, doing my best not to move my mouth too much.
Mother’s hand comes around mine, planting my dampener back in my palm.
“Do not be long,” she says. “Or they will talk.”
I nod and wait until I hear the stable doors shut before sliding down to sit in the clay dirt and letting out a singular groan.
My gods, I hate this family.