I’m back in the dark tunnel, and no matter how hard I try to press forward, I’m not able to break through and get any more glimpses into Cleo’s mind.
But I heard enough.
The East Pack.
My heart flutters in my chest as I think of Malcolm, lying in his sick bed and unable to fight for his pack. Turning on my heel, I race into the darkness back toward my own mind and away from the bloodthirsty witch at the other end of the bond.
I open my eyes to find that Archer is sound asleep, curled against my side. Trystan—for all his ranting and raving—is passed out on the other side of Archer, arms and legs akimbo as if he flopped onto the ground and fell asleep where he landed.
A soft, dark warmth on my other side tells me Dare is resting against me, though I can tell he’s awake and watchful. Ridge is the only one of my men not lying down. He’s sitting a few feet away, his nose tilted toward the sky and his mind probably a million miles away.
“Ridge,” I whisper urgently, standing up and extricating myself from the pile of warm, furry bodies that surround me. When I’m clear of the others and won’t disturb them, I shift back to wolf form.
Beside me, Dare’s ears perk up. He’s clearly awake, but he remains still even as he listens carefully.
Drawn by my voice and my movement, Ridge turns and looks over at me with his beautiful honey eyes. You should be sleeping.
I saw into Cleo’s mind again.
Tension ripples through his body at my words. He stands and pads closer, his hackles bristling up along his spine. What did you see?
I relay the few words I managed to hear and finish with, I think they’re going to attack the East Pack first.
He nods once, and even his wolf’s face looks grim. Then we readjust our course for Archer’s pack.
18
Ridge
I’ve never been more happy to see another pack’s territory than I am when we race into the East Pack village.
I lost feeling in my legs ages ago. I’m running on fucking autopilot, putting one paw in front of the other because I have no other choice. If I feel this exhausted, this much like a worn out piece of shit, I can’t even imagine how Sable feels. She had no time to get used to her wolf form before we ended up racing all over the fucking state of Montana.
But she hasn’t said a thing. Wolves are built for running, and shifters can go harder and faster than most, but even still, we covered more miles in the past twenty-four hours than I ever thought possible. I want to get her to Archer’s cabin where she can rest and recuperate. All of us, really. We don’t need to be racing he
adlong into war while our bodies collapse.
The East Pack village is untouched since we last saw it, and for that I’m thankful. The whole way here, I worried we would be too late. I worried we’d find the village in flames, bodies strewn everywhere, Malcolm dead in the hospital-like bed in his house…
Whatever held the witches back long enough for us to reach Archer’s pack was a godsend. Because as much as it sucks to admit, Cleo is right—the East Pack is the weakest, the smallest, and the easiest to overtake.
We slow outside Archer’s small house. Only when I’m no longer running does the pain kick in. The pads of my paws are on fire, and my joints ache. I want nothing more than to fall onto Archer’s couch and crash for days.
Not gonna happen. The day’s not over yet, and I gotta be ready to run again.
In the cool, dim living room, we all shift back to human form, and it’s almost funny how we all look just as strung out in our human forms as we did in wolf. Archer has dark circles under his eyes, and Trystan’s slumped over like his shoulders don’t even want to hold him up. Dare limps casually to the couch and sinks into the cushions, oblivious to the fact he just put his bare ass on another man’s sofa.
Sable looks between all of us. “What now?”
Her eyes are red from sleeplessness, and she stands gingerly as if her feet hurt. I want to gather her into my arms and fix it all. Take away the pain from running, take away the worries she harbors over the witch she’s been psychically bound to. I just want to fucking rip all that away and leave her with only the good stuff.
That’s impossible though. So the next best thing I can do is fight for her. Keep pushing until we come out of this one the other side—hopefully all alive and whole.
“I have to go prepare the North Pack for war,” I tell her, a note of apology in my voice. “But I’ll be back.”
Trystan holds up a finger where he’s still hunched over catching his breath. “Yeah. Same. My pack.”
I draw close to Sable, breathing in her scent, now coupled with sweat and sunshine and fresh earth. It’s an intoxicating smell. I tuck her long, wild hair behind her ear, wishing I could stay longer. I haven’t even left yet, and already I’m worrying about her. Plus, she looks sad, like she’s carrying the weight of something even heavier than everything else.