44. Bastian
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
BASTIAN
L etting Isolde walk away from him was the most painful thing Bastian had ever endured.
It was worse than the shift, than the night he’d been turned into a Wolf, or the Punishment, or the searing fucking betrayal of Everett being the beast of Bloodhaven. It was worse than the knowledge of what he had to do next.
But he let her go. Inside him, every single instinct he possessed railed at him to chase her down, to follow that delicious fucking scent of hers through the trees, to catch her and claim her and make her see that he hadn’t known, he hadn’t lied, he’d never betray her like that.
But he’d seen the way her eyes swam with tears, with hurt and betrayal, and he’d known he had to let her run. To let her go back home, where she’d be safe until dawn.
Until he could end this, once and for all.
Still, he followed Isolde all the way back to the cabin at a distance. He wouldn’t let her run through the forest unprotected. Not with Everett still running free.
Everett .
It had occurred to him that it might be Everett when Isolde had told him the beast of Bloodhaven was a white Wolf. After Everett dealt him the Punishment, he’d considered it again, wondering if his brother really hated him so much that he’d seek to destroy Bastian’s new home.
But Everett had come to Bloodhaven all those weeks ago to warn Bastian that the Pact was in danger—to beg him to come home and stop the other Wolves from violating it to hunt the Vampires.
Bastian had believed that Everett was too loyal to Anselm—or at the very least, to Wolf law—to violate the Pact himself.
More than that, Bastian had believed that Everett wasn’t capable of something so heinous. The Everett he’d grown up with would never slaughter innocents, especially not for his own petty vendetta.
Despite everything, despite what his brother had done to him in that cellar at Lake Hall and what he’d tried to do to Isolde at the forge, Bastian had trusted him. He’d loved him.
That had been his mistake.
But he wasn’t going to let Everett hurt anyone else—least of all Isolde. So he watched her through the trees as she ran back to the cabin, and didn’t turn away until she was safely inside.
Only then did he set off to find Everett.
He wouldn’t turn him over to Selene, even though Anselm had promised her she could be the one to kill him. Everett deserved to die for what he’d done, but Bastian wasn’t going to let a Vampire brutalize him. No matter what he’d done, no matter who he’d killed, Everett was still his brother.
And so Bastian knew he had to be the one to kill him.
Everett found Bastian first.
On the outskirts of Bloodhaven, his brother leapt out of the shadows and barreled into Bastian’s side.
They careened into the snow, claws and fangs tangling.
Everett was already bleeding—from his shoulder and from the gash Isolde had opened up along his snout.
Bastian couldn’t be sure, not with Everett’s jaws snapping at his throat, but he thought Isolde might have blinded him in one eye.
Bastian landed a good swipe to Everett’s chest, opening up a river of fresh blood that stained his brother’s fur and the snow beneath them. Everett rolled away with a yelp, retreating a few steps, lowering himself down in preparation for his next attack.
But then, just like he had while Bastian lay helpless in the snow, begging himself to shift before anything happened to Isolde, Everett turned and galloped off into the forest.
A primal snarl tore out of Bastian as he gave chase. He wouldn’t let Everett get away. Not after everything.
Through the trees, along the edge of the village, Bastian tracked Everett. Everett was faster than Bastian, more familiar with his Wolf form, but Bastian was angrier.
Everett had murdered dozens of humans. He’d Punished Bastian within an inch of his life. He’d sunk his claws into Isolde’s back on the Night of the Bleeding Moon—would likely have killed her then if Selene hadn’t showed up and led him away.
Bastian would end this. Before that ominous shadow eclipsed the moon and turned it bloody, he would end this.
Everett led Bastian through the forest, through deep, undisturbed drifts of snow, far to the north of Bloodhaven.
Each time Everett’s stamina seemed to fail and Bastian drew closer, his brother sped up again, racing out of his reach.
They ran for what felt like miles, so far that Bastian thought they must be nearing Vampire territory.
Warning bells began to sound in Bastian’s head.
Why would Everett be leading him north ?
And why had he heard Anselm howling from the north before?
Bastian dismissed the thought. He’d deal with that later, once he’d torn Everett’s throat out.
Everett’s pale silhouette disappeared over the crest of a hill, and Bastian picked up his speed, racing up the slope.
He couldn’t let Everett escape. By the time Bastian made it to the top of the hill, he was nowhere in sight.
Bastian’s paws skidded in the snow as he careened down the other side, barreling toward a row of trees. He shot between the trunks?—
And skidded to a halt in a stone courtyard.
Ivory pillars surrounded the circular expanse of gray rock.
They tangled with the trees, whose gnarled branches stretched toward the center of the space.
On either side of the circle stood two massive altar stones with dark, rusty stains marring their tops.
Those stains spilled down the sides of the altars and trickled toward a shallow hole carved into the center of the courtyard.
Bastian sniffed the air. The scent was old and faint, but unmistakable. Blood .
This was the place Isolde had told him about all those weeks ago. The trees, the altars, the bloodstains on the stone. There had been Wolf prints here, she said. Wolf prints—and human ones.
The hair along Bastian’s spine stood on end.
Everett stood at the opposite side of the circle, his eyes glowing in the darkness. Bastian prowled a step forward—then paused. The way Everett was watching him, not running, not attacking…
It was like he was waiting for something.
A moment later, Bastian saw what.
Not what— who.
From the trees behind Everett, a second white Wolf stalked into the courtyard. A Wolf with the same wide, blunt snout. Only their eyes differentiated them: where Everett’s were a glowing green, the other’s were dark and depthless.
Anselm.
Bastian couldn’t stop the growl that tore free of his throat as his father came into the moonlight.
Anselm snarled back, louder, and Bastian had no choice but to lower himself to the stones.
This was his pack leader, his Sire, and beneath the dominance of Anselm’s stare, Bastian had no choice but to obey.
He laid his snout on the icy stones, right over that ancient bloodstain, and stared up at Anselm. In his primal, animal form, he could do nothing else, cowed into submission by the power of his bloodline. He couldn’t even look away.
Slowly, deliberately, Anselm crept forward. Everett watched, his own head lowered, as their father approached Bastian. Anselm dropped into a crouch, preparing to pounce. Everett gave a sharp bark, surging forward, but a growl from Anselm had him sinking back onto his haunches.
Anselm lunged, locking his jaws around Bastian’s neck.
Bastian heard the snap of his spine, but he didn’t feel it. He didn’t feel anything anymore.
In his human form, this would have killed him.
In his Wolf form, it only paralyzed him.
He could do nothing but stare, barely able to breathe past the sensation of his heart rending in two as Anselm drug him toward one of the altars.
Anselm closed his teeth on the loose skin between Bastian’s shoulder blades, hauling him up onto the stone like a pup.
Fear gnawed at Bastian’s insides as Anselm prowled circles around the courtyard. Everett stared at Bastian, his uninjured eye unblinking, but Anselm kept his nose turned to the south. Watching for something.
And when Selene appeared with Isolde hanging limp over her shoulder, blood soaking her moonbeam hair, Bastian could do nothing but stare.