One more question to add to his mile-long list of Ellen-related questions. The last three and a half months had been the most interesting, exhausting, and confusing of his life. Because of her.
Still, he liked her. Without sound reason and against logic, he trusted her. She fought against his reliance on knowledge and his methodical attention to detail, but she respected his opinion and the way his mind worked. And while she insisted that magic and fate held as much weight as more concrete science, he couldn’t deny their world might have room for both. Perhaps that’s why they worked so well together.
While their fundamental ideals were opposite, they’d been working toward a common goal: keeping his Alpha’s mate, Jessa, and the baby she carried alive and well through pregnancy and delivery. They’d succeeded in something Hollis thought was impossible and Ellen had never, ever doubted.
Today had changed everything—again.
When or why, he didn’t know. Maybe it was when they’d moved the Others’ bodies and she’d jumped away from Byron’s touch. Maybe it was the slow easing of her posture as the Others’ remains disintegrated in the roaring flame. Or maybe it was before that. When she’d delivered Jessa’s baby and he’d seen hope in her eyes. Hope and joy.
That, he’d liked.
His gaze returned to Ellen. Mismatched eyes were closed, his shirt pulled tightly together, the slight flex and stretch of her hand was the only proof she wasn’t sleeping. He reached for her hand without thinking, curious. As he suspected, the skin of her palm was blistered.
“Did you burn yourself?” Which might be a plausible explanation if she’d helped them burn the remains of the Others. She hadn’t. These welts and blisters were caused by whatever the hell had happened between her and Byron’s corpse.
She tugged her hand from his and pulled it inside the shirt, out of sight.
“I’ll get you some salve when we get back to the lodge,” he offered.
Not a word.
“Jesus, what happened?” Mal asked. “I can’t take it. Call me an asshole or threaten to cut my nuts off again. Say something.”
Hollis smiled, appreciating his attempt to break the tension.
“Is she sleeping?” Dante asked, glancing over the front passenger seat to check.
“Only explanation,” Mal agreed.
If she were asleep, she wouldn’t be smiling. And she was, slightly.
Dante and Mal kept up a steady stream of conversation for the rest of the drive. Mal was on a high—not the norm. But then again, he had taken out the fucker who had kept him chained to a wall and used him as a carving board. Reason enough. Dante, like Hollis, was just relieved. Today had been high stress from the get-go. Knowing that no one else was coming, that they’d wiped out a small part of Cyrus and his Others, was just that. A huge, fucking relief.
Even if they all knew it wouldn’t last long.
If his time with the pack had taught him anything, it was to enjoy every victory, no matter how big or small.
Today had been pretty big. Killing three Others, Cyrus’s right-hand torture master included, was pretty big as far as he was concerned. Jessa’s early-morning delivery of a he
althy baby girl made it even better.
Their pack was growing, which meant more to protect. More for the Others to target. It was a sobering thought. All the more reason to find answers.
He missed life before Finn was turned, before Finn had turned them, even if it had been predictable and boring. More than anything, he missed not having a pack of motherfucking monster wolves out to kill those he cared about most.
That’s why he was working so hard to develop a cure. If he could cure them, this would all be over. Life would be normal again—as normal as could be expected after living this way for a decade. He could spend all his time researching things that affected the world, not a small, violent group content to rip one another apart.
Not that his pack wanted to rip anyone apart. The only fighting they engaged in was defensive. They’d spent the first few years hiding their secret and attempting to live normal peaceful lives. But once Cyrus and the Others knew of their existence, that became increasingly harder to do.
Today’s attack? With Jessa in labor? It was too convenient, too easy. He didn’t want to believe someone on the inside had been waiting for just the right moment to tip-off Byron.
His gaze shifted to Ellen. Would she be blamed? She’d been an Other—well, she’d lived with them. That would make her a suspect. Not that it made sense. She’d put up with his pack, their questions, jeers, and cynicism for Jessa and her unborn baby. She wanted their species to survive. She’d never willingly endanger Jessa and the baby, especially at such a crucial time. No. He was certain Ellen hadn’t done this. And he wanted to prove it, somehow.
But if it wasn’t Ellen, who? Finn was careful about who he brought here. The refuge was a safe place for them, where they could be themselves—away from society and their enemies. Only the pack, Brown and Gentry, Finn’s security team were the only ones welcome here.
As soon as they pulled into the yard, Ellen slipped from the back seat and ran into the house.
“She’s acting weird,” Dante agreed. “Not that I like her bitchy sarcasm but this…” He shook his head. “Guess she was friends with them.”