Ridge leans on the arm of the couch and levels his calculating gaze on Dare. “What were you doing out this way?”
“Patrolling,” Dare says shortly. Inside the cabin, his voice booms, even deeper than I realized outside. “Hunting for a witch who’s been sniffing around the boundaries.” His gaze cut to me. “I was nearby when I caught Sable’s scent. I followed it to her, and my wolf felt the mate bond.”
Trystan groans, laying his head back on the edge of the couch, but Ridge says, “It’s not your job to patrol the boundaries.”
“No, it’s not,” Archer adds, his brow wrinkled with annoyance. “What happens when you get yourself killed?”
Fury rises on Dare’s face, and he crosses his arms, glaring at each man in turn. “If the packs were doing a better job of fighting the witch threat, I wouldn’t feel the need to patrol.”
“We’re doing all we can,” Ridge argues.
“Then why are your wolves dying?”
Four voices rise in anger as they start arguing and talking over one another.
“You’re all completely unaware of how bad things are!” Dare roars, pointing at them. “Your sheltered fucking pack life, completely out of touch with how bad things are getting—”
“Hey, fuck you,” Trystan snaps, leaping up from the couch with his hands balled into fists.
The yelling gets louder.
There was a time when Trystan’s looming show of brute force would have sent me spiraling into a panic attack. And for a moment, his giant hands curled into weapons do raise a hint of terror in me. But I do what Archer always tells me—deep breaths, in and out, until the sight of Trystan’s fists don’t alarm me anymore.
I don’t get why they’re all so worked up over this. Clearly, the witches are a threat, and they all already work together for the good of the entire local shifter nation. Why is it such a bad thing that Dare was patrolling?
There’s too much energy in this room. Too much “alpha” and not enough logical thought.
“Hey!” I blurt, my voice almost falling flat under the rise in volume. I raise my tone that much more and shout, “Knock it off!”
The cabin goes silent. All four men look at me as if they’re surprised to learn my voice can get that loud.
“What on earth is going on?” I say, looking around at them all and trying not to blush under their combined gazes. “You’re all on the same team here. Why are you ganging up on Dare?”
Trystan, still looming over the couch with dislike twisting his facial expression, sighs. “Dare was the alpha of the South Pack—before it was splintered and destroyed by witches.”
“What?” My voice drops to a whisper.
“It happened a few years ago. They must’ve planned it for months. It wiped out most of the pack and sent the survivors fleeing into the mountains.” Ridge speaks evenly, but his controlled tone only serves to highlight the awfulness of his words.
I blink several times, absorbing this new—and alarming—information.
Dare’s entire pack was destroyed by witches?
I look at the black-haired man for confirmation, hoping he’ll tell me that Trystan’s just being an asshole. That Ridge is just exaggerating or making things sound worse than they really are. But for the first time in the short time Dare has been arou
nd me, he doesn’t have that wild, cocky confidence in his expression.
He looks haunted.
Pained.
It’s true. Witches eliminated his entire pack, leaving him all alone.
I cover my mouth, tears pricking my eyes. That horrible expression on his face makes my heart ache. I want to go to him, to fix him, to heal him somehow from that level of hurt. He’s all alone in the world, and clearly carrying an insane amount of guilt and heartache.
Before I can make a decision to get up and cross to him, he turns away from us all. I watch, heartbroken, as he shakes his head and appears to be gathering himself from the depths of his emotions.
“The reason I patrol,” he says, voice soft and dangerous as he speaks over his shoulder, “is because what happened to my pack could happen again. It is my privilege to hunt the witches and protect my race.”