We stop at the Two-Tone River to drink and recuperate, if only for a few minutes, enough to keep us from collapsing. The sun is sinking into the forest ahead of us, and we’ll lose light soon, but there’s not a chance we’ll be stopping for very long.
Tell me again what you saw, Ridge says as he laps up water beside me.
I’ve already gone over it twice now, but I can tell he’s hurting. Worried about his brother, worried about his pack. Just fucking worried. If rehashing my vision helps him cope, I’m okay with it.
Lawson escaped his cell in the North Pack jail, and he left pack territory where he was captured by witches, I say, stepping into the shallows to let the cold water run over my aching paws.
I repeat everything Cleo and Lawson said as quickly as possible, without delving into the stomach-churning details of his torture. That part, I’m not keen to relive—and Ridge doesn’t need to hear it again either.
The massive wolf lifts his head and stares out over the river. The pack wanted to banish him for his crimes against me. I wouldn’t do it, because I didn’t want him to run afoul of the witches. We have safety together, in packs. Out there on our own, we’re prey. Yet he ran and got captured anyway. Idiot.
The last word should sound angry, but there’s too much grief in it for that.
In wolf form, the connection of our mate bond seems strongest, even more clear and pure than when we’re human. It’s so strong that I can sense his emotions in every word.
Anger. Pain. Betrayal.
He’s furious that Lawson ran away, that he got caught and spilled all their secrets, putting all three packs in terrible danger. But he’s heartbroken for his brother too. Lawson was still alive when I raced away from Cleo’s mind, but that doesn’t mean he’s still alive now, or that he will be for long. And we both know it.
The water splashes beneath my feet as I go to him and rub my cheek along his, projecting my love and support through the bond. He returns the nuzzle, letting out a soft whuff as he leans into me.
I’m with you, I tell him. No matter what comes. No matter what happens. If you have to walk through hell, I’ll be there by your side. Always.
Our break by the water is too short to be truly refreshing. My body protests when we get moving again, but my mind is already lamenting the lost time.
We continue moving as fast as we can possibly run, stopping only for food or water, or to rest long enough to keep moving. We run late into the night, and into the morning, and by noon the next day, I’m so exhausted I can hardly stay on my feet. I’ve done my best to keep up, to not complain even when my legs ache and I feel as if my body will collapse, but Archer is the one to notice me flagging and demands we stop to rest.
An hour. Trystan pants heavily, pacing along the edge of a small mountain stream where we just rehydrated. We have no time to waste.
I’m just as exhausted as Sable is, Archer says. Even in my mind, it sounds like a groan. And you are too. Lie down and shut up for a while.
We’ll be no good to anyone if we aren’t rested. Ridge shakes out his fur. I’ll take watch. Get a little sleep.
He needs sleep just as badly as the rest of us do, but it’s too risky for us all to let our guards down. As the other three men settle in around me, I curl up between them on a bed of soft pine needles, feeling as if I could fall asleep immediately.
But there’s something I want to try first.
As Ridge walks a perimeter around our temporary encampment, I shift back to human form, not even bothering to dig into my pack for clothes. I don’t expect to be in this form for long, but I need to access my magic, and it’s pretty much impossible for me to call up and control when I’m a wolf.
Without Gwen’s magic giving me a boost, it’s harder to find the room inside my mind that leads to the tunnel. I get a few false starts and dead ends before I finally dig deep enough into my own magic to find that place.
The tunnel is just as shadowy as it was when Gwen helped me through, and I can’t help but remember all those terrible nightmares again. Always walking dark tunnels, always afraid for my life because of what was waiting for me on the other end. Were they premonitions of this?
Maybe every step I’ve taken since I ran for freedom from my uncle’s truck has been leading me to Gwen and discovering this bond with Cleo. Shit. If I look at it like that, I fear the bond between me and the coven leader even more. It feels… inevitable in some way.
But I want to know what’s happening. Too much time has passed since I saw Lawson being tortured, and I’m terrified we’re too late. I want to know where the coven is and what their next move is, so that we can adjust our plan accordingly. All we know now is that Cleo has the information; we don’t know how she’ll use it.
But when I come out of the tunnel and into Cleo’s mind, the images and sound are fractured. I don’t get the whole picture. I only get hints of sound and dialogue. It has to be because Gwen isn’t here to buoy me up with her magic, and it stings that I’m not skilled enough on my own to handle this.
Will I ever be? Is my lack of control due to a lack of training, or is it because of the fact that I’m not a full witch?
“—closest?” Cleo’s sharp voice cuts through my thoughts. I catch a flash of a man’s broad face and a table covered in a map.
“East Pack, prob—” The man’s gruff voice fades out before he finishes speaking, and colors blur and fade around me.
“—weakest too,” Cleo muses, the words coming in loud and clear once more. The room flares back into view as she taps a segment of the map with a long nail. “We leave at—”
Then they’re gone again.