7. Bastian
CHAPTER SEVEN
BASTIAN
T he old blacksmith, who had been reduced to nothing more than a severed hand, had been woefully behind on his work.
Bastian had already been in Bloodhaven for a fortnight by the time the beast got the old human.
He’d contemplated asking for an apprenticeship at the forge, but the villagers were generally suspicious of outsiders, so he’d opted to wait.
Then the old smith had died. It had seemed insensitive to take over the shop right away, and when Bastian finally moved in, he’d been met with a mountain of overdue work and a line of impatient customers with new commissions.
On top of it all, the tools the old blacksmith had left behind were all shit, and Bastian kept having to halt his work to either make new equipment for himself, or venture out to buy new things.
The latest casualty in the shop had been the last pair of leather gloves—and, consequently, the palm of Bastian’s hand.
The watery morning sunlight stung his eyes as he made his way through the village toward the tanners, cradling his freshly bandaged hand against his chest. Between the fresh, stinging burn on his palm, the lack of sleep, and the sheer quantity of arrowheads he had to make, Bastian wasn’t sure the day could get any worse.
And then, as he crossed the town square, a rough hand closed on his shoulder.
Bastian spun, his hand flying to the sword at his hip. He bit back a curse as his injured palm closed around the hilt?—
“I’d really prefer if you didn’t run me through, brother,” said a familiar voice.
Everett’s hand closed over Bastian’s, guiding his sword back into its sheath. Bastian didn’t resist, too stunned by the sight of his adoptive brother to do much more than stare.
“What are you doing here?” Bastian breathed.
He hadn’t seen Everett for more than a month. When he left Lake Hall, he’d told no one where he was going. Not Everett, not any of the other Wolves, and certainly not Anselm. He hadn’t wanted them to know—hadn’t wanted them to be able to find him.
“I’ve been looking for you for weeks,” Everett said.
He sounded tired—looked it, too. Bruises darkened the skin beneath his hazel eyes, and his black hair was a tousled mess.
It curled against his collar, longer than Bastian had ever seen him wear it.
He’d never known Everett to go a day without shaving, either, but the shadow of a beard darkened his jaw. “You left without a word.”
Bastian shook his head, taking a step away. “I told you not to look for me.”
“In that piss-poor excuse for a note, you mean?” Everett demanded. “ Can’t stay here anymore. Don’t look for me. I’m sorry.”
Bastian said nothing. He’d written more than that in the note he’d left Everett, but… well. That was the gist of it.
“You abandoned the pack,” Everett snapped when Bastian still didn’t say anything, his voice rising with anger. “You snuck out in the middle of the night and came here , alone, to live among humans? You’re a Wolf, Bastian. You belong?—”
“Would you keep your voice down?” Bastian hissed. He seized Everett by the arm, hauling him into a narrow, empty street off the town square and away from the wary eyes of the humans passing by. “The humans are already suspicious enough without you coming here and shouting that I’m a Wolf.”
“But you are a Wolf, and you don’t belong here, anyway.”
“Maybe not,” Bastian bit out, “but I can’t go back there.”
He grit his teeth against the memory of that horrible night.
The first bite—those powerful jaws closing around his shoulder without any warning.
The agony of his tearing flesh as Wolf after Wolf tore away a little piece of him.
The hurt—the betrayal —had almost been worse than the physical pain as he lay there for hours on end, waiting for the moon to reach its zenith.
“Father would take you back,” Everett insisted. “You’d have to endure the Punishment to atone for leaving, but he feels terrible for what he did to you. He’d?—”
“I can’t go back, Everett!” Bastian shouted, cutting him off. The words echoed down the street, startling a pair of birds off a nearby roof. Then, quieter, Bastian said, “You know why I left. Why I can’t. Go. Back.”
Everett stared at Bastian, his expression pained. He didn’t understand—he never had. Everett had always wanted to be a Wolf, and couldn’t fathom why Bastian didn’t. He’d never pressured Bastian to make the shift, at least.
Then again, neither had Anselm.
Everett deflated, blowing out a sigh. He leaned against the wall of the building they stood beside. “Things aren’t right at home, Bastian,” he said, thrusting a hand through his hair. “Some of the Wolves have been talking about abolishing the Pact. They want to start hunting Vampires again.”
“That’s been going on for years.”
Bastian could remember some of the older Wolves talking about it when Anselm first brought him home.
He’d been only six, with no idea that Vampires even existed, but he’d never forget the way Anselm had drug those Wolves out of the feast hall, or the blood stains on the backs of their shirts the next day.
“But it’s getting worse,” Everett said. “And Father isn’t doing anything about it.”
“He’s not?”
“No. He’s been… absent. I’ve been doing half his work already, but I can’t discipline the Wolves in his place. I don’t have the authority to deal Punishments without his approval, and I can barely find him to even ask if he’ll give it.”
Bastian shook his head. The Anselm he’d grown up with had been strong, steadfast, and bound by duty. He lived by Wolf law but ruled the pack with his heart. He was a good, infallible leader.
This? Bastian couldn’t fathom it. He couldn’t think of a single thing that would pull Anselm away from his duty like that. Not even his own sons—adopted or blooded—had been enough when Bastian and Everett were boys.
But that wasn’t Bastian’s problem anymore. It had stopped being his problem the minute Anselm betrayed him.
“Why are you telling me this?” Bastian asked, not quite succeeding at keeping the bitterness out of his voice.
Everett hesitated. He pressed his thumb and index finger against his eyelids, and didn’t meet Bastian’s gaze as he said, “Because I need help.”
“Help?” Bastian asked, incredulous. “From me ?”
“Yes. Father will listen to you—all the Wolves will.”
“I have no authority at Lake Hall. I never did, and I certainly don’t now.” Bastian folded his arms over his chest. “You’re the heir, Everett.”
Everett had never wanted to inherit the pack, though.
Bastian had talked him off the ledge more than once as they got older, as the weight of his duties got heavier.
He’d be a good pack leader eventually, Bastian thought.
His instincts were good; he just needed to learn to let them guide him sometimes, and not place quite so much stock on the word of Wolf law.
“ Please , Bastian,” Everett begged. His voice cracked. “Please come back home. You’re my brother. I can’t do this without you.”
For a moment, Bastian considered it. Everett might not have been his brother by blood, but he’d been Bastian’s best friend since he was six and Everett was four.
They’d grown up together, learned to fight together, been nearly inseparable almost their whole lives, and Bastian had never seen Everett so vulnerable. So scared .
But Bastian couldn’t go back there after everything. He couldn’t bear it.
“I can’t, Everett,” Bastian said, as gently as he could. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”
Everett shoved his hands through his hair again, and Bastian saw that they were shaking. “Bastian?—”
“Everett.” Bastian took him by the shoulders, forcing his brother to look at him. “You are the heir to the pack. You have the authority to act in Anselm’s stead if he’s not there to carry out his duty. Use it . You’re more than capable of doing this without me.”
Everett stared into Bastian’s eyes for a moment, his shoulders heaving.
Then all the vulnerability from a moment before melted away.
His expression locked down, a stoic mask settling into place.
If Bastian didn’t know him so well, he might have thought Everett was angry, but he could see the hurt behind the hazel of his eyes.
“Alright,” he said stiffly. He shrugged Bastian’s hands away and stepped out of reach. “I’m sorry you felt like you had to leave Lake Hall.”
“It’s not your fault,” Bastian assured him.
Everett gave a sharp nod. “I won’t tell Father you’re here,” he said, then turned on his heel and hurried back into the town square.
Bastian went after him, his stomach churning with a potent mixture of dread and regret and homesickness, but Everett had already disappeared.