Chapter 18 - Devon

Rain pelted down, slicking his fur to his sides. It beaded off his muzzle as he ran and turned the ground beneath his paws slick, making him work for every step. At his side, Beth kept pace. The two of them moved almost as one, necks stretched, legs loping over the forest floor.

A peal of thunder split the air. Beth's ears twitched, flattening back against her head as the lightning followed, turning the world a brilliant white. It was close, the storm passing just overhead now, and the rain turned torrential. He regretted his decision to take Beth out, but the morning had dawned an indecisive shade of grey, the sort that might burn off to a lovely blue. Instead, the clouds had rolled in darker, stacking like towers.

Far from the White Winter house, they had opened up into a rainstorm. First, fat droplets had struck the canopy above, and they'd been safe enough beneath its umbrella. Then, the rain parted the leaves, too heavy to be slowed, and drenched them.

Beth was not flagging, and neither would he. He shook his head, clearing the water that rolled into his eyes. Worry for the baby gnawed at his stomach. Should she be out in this, getting cold and wet? Should she be running flat out? He tried to remember if the books had said anything about that. Exercise was okay, but rain?

She was so young, so headstrong. When the rain had started, he'd asked if they should turn back, but she'd only run harder, forcing him to catch up or lose her. Wolf mothers weather far worse than this, she'd reminded him.

They neared the clearing where his brother was buried. He prayed that this day, the Rosewoods would be far, far from there. Maybe the rain was on his side after all, keeping anyone sane inside. Another crack of thunder. He looked up, ready to shove Beth aside if a tree was struck, and caught the flash of light with open eyes. Blinking away spots, he slowed.

Seeing him flag, Beth broke to a trot beside him, head cocked in confusion. Scents were muffled by the heavy rain, but he could find his way by sight to this sacred place. Trees swayed around them, yanked this way and that by the wind, sending broken branches plummeting down. Most were thin, but he shuddered at the thought of a larger one catching Beth, crushing her.

They scrambled over wet rocks up the hill, claws scratching against stone, to the clearing. Here, at least, there were no branches directly overhead to fall on her, but the rain beat down harder without the protective boughs. They slunk toward the stone, Devon leading the way.

Today, he wouldn't shift to pay his respects. Being soaked as a wolf was one thing; his thick fur could keep him warm, but as a human, he'd be miserable, and he needed to keep an eye out for Rosewoods. He wouldn't smell them coming in the rain. He circled the stone, and Beth stopped in front of it, tail low.

She approached it, touching it with the smooth black end of her muzzle. He wondered if she'd ever crossed this spot before, in her Rosewood days. Had she run across this clearing, never knowing what it meant to him? How many times had their paths almost crossed?

Beth asked no questions, though he'd expected them. In her gentle way, she seemed to understand it all, to take it all in as the storm roared by them, taking no notice of the weather as she contemplated the grave. It had been a risk taking her out there when she was meant to be a prisoner, and the White Winters might question the excursion, but he felt no regrets about the decision. He owed her the truth in everything: his mate, his luna.

We have a sacred place too, she said, at last, her voice a whisper in his mind. Though it's a tree, not a grave. I don't know that you'll ever convince the Rosewoods to leave it, as they wouldn't be able to convince you to leave this.

Devon hadn't considered that. His first instinct was to scoff. How could a tree be as precious as a grave? But the way she spoke of it made it clear that the tree was important, intrinsic to being a Rosewood.

Is it possible for us both to come out of this satisfied? Can the land be split in such a way?

He rubbed his body up against hers, hoping his heat would soak into her. She leaned against him, curling her head pressed against his neck.

We'll have to look at the maps. Are you ready to head back?

Devon took a last look around the glen. The mossy ground was a brilliant green in the rain, dotted with tiny puddles. If only his brother were here. He would have loved Beth. Why couldn't Emma see that their brother wouldn't want this?

Lightning was coming more frequently now, flash after flash with thunder that he felt in his chest. Reluctant as he was to leave Beth's affectionate embrace, it was time to head home.

He led the way back, the sounds of the storm feeding his anxiety. An entire pack of Rosewoods could surround him and wouldn't notice until they were nearly on top of them. They'd drag Beth away, and this time, they'd never let her wander alone to where the White Winters could take her again. He'd never see his child.

Every snapped branch made him growl. Nothing else moved through the woods; no prey ventured out in the ferocious weather, and the eerie stillness grated on his nerves. He was on edge, desperate for something to lunge at or tear into.

Was it enough to keep Beth there? She'd asked about leaving, and the thought made him sick to his stomach. He couldn't even blame her for wanting to, not with the way she was treated by the pack. And he had his own guilt to shoulder. Kidnapping her, forcing her to be his mate. It sickened him now that he cared for her so deeply. Maybe even… but no, he couldn't think the word. If he felt that way for her, his own guilt would undo him.

His fur stood on end. Devon skidded to a stop, pushing Beth to the ground just as he was blinded. A sound like gunshots peppered the air, and the tree in front of them lit up in red and orange, like a sword pulled from the fire.

Are you alright? His legs quaked, but his focus was all on Beth.

She gave a full-body shake. We should hurry home.

Practical as ever. He ran the rest of the way home on watery legs, pressing the limit of his speed and still she kept pace with him, never once dipping back. The open field surrounding the house gave him pause, and he hesitated on the forest's edge. They would be the tallest thing out there, and the storm clouds overhead were black as soot.

We have no choice but to chance it, Beth said, breaking from the cover of trees for the field, knowing he would follow her. He did, face spattered with the mud she kicked up. Though the rain beat on their backs, it was the least of his worries, and he kept one eye up at the sky as if he could anticipate the lightning strike and, even if so, do anything to avert it.

Then they were under the house's eaves, sides heaving with exhaustion, both wide-eyed and thrumming with energy, with the ecstasy of surviving. They took the stairs in wolf form, pushing the door open and running inside, their shaggy coats spraying water across the hardwood.

Jonah looked up from his book. "Are you going to shift, or should I get towels? God, you guys are filthy. Why did you go out on a day like today? I saw lightning strike a tree just past the edge."

He sounded so like an exasperated parent, seeing their children come inside all covered with mud, that Devon barked a laugh. The adrenaline draining from his body left him feeling strung out, buzzing but exhausted. Beth seemed to feel the same. She rolled onto her back and shimmied on the floor, smearing it with mud and wet.

"Alright, both of you, out of here," Jonah said, hands on his hips. "If you're going to make a mess at least do it in your own rooms."

Again, they took off, this time down the hall, crashing into Devon's door. Inside, they finally shifted. Hair stuck to their faces, clothes sucked to their skin. Beth peeled hers off, then Devon's, and they warmed each other in the shower until their fingers resembled raisins, and Beth's head began to spin.

He wrapped her in towels and left her at the edge of the bed to get them cups of coffee, something to warm their insides, as well as the shower had warmed their outsides. She was dressed when he returned. Seeing her in his clothes, drowning in them, made his heartbeat quicken.

"How do you feel? Are you warm enough?" He handed her one of the cups, decaf for her, then turned on the fireplace in the bedroom. It flickered to life with a soft whoosh.

Beth clutched the mug with both hands and blew on the surface, sending the steam swirling away. "Tired, exhilarated," she said, slowly, "maybe a little… sad? I wish you had told me about your brother. I wish I hadn't heard it from Emma. It feels like yet another thing you kept from me, another thing you couldn't trust me with."

He spilled into the tufted armchair beside the fire, the tight leather creaking. He drank his coffee, wincing at the burning liquid on his tongue, but he needed it to calm his crackling nerves. "I've made a mess of things."

What else could he say? She was right. He should have told her, and there was no going back to do it properly now, no reason for her to forgive him yet again. But he prayed that she would.

The storm continued to rage outside the window, lashing against the glass as if trying to get in. Thunder shook the panes. He wanted her to come to him, to curl up on his lap and tell him that all was forgiven, aching at the space between them.

"You have, but you were given a mess to start with. I think you've done your best with what you had."

But it wasn't enough. Devon finished her sentence for her, silently. The implication hung in the air. Was he the only one to see it there? She kept her eyes on her coffee. Devon wanted to cross the room on his knees and beg for her, but there was something else he needed to do.

"Beth," he said. She looked up at the sound of her name or the strangled way in which he'd said it. His words came out in a rush, as if he hesitated, he'd never manage to get them out. "I will help you leave, if that's what you want. I'll fund the entire thing, and you won't have to tell me where you go. I just want you to be safe. Happy. Even if it's not with me."

Her mouth, those perfect, kissable lips, parted in surprise. She rubbed circles on the side of the mug with her thumb. "And our child?"

Devon's chest felt carved out, hollow. He forced himself to say the words, his mouth dry. "I know they'll be safe with you. You'll be an amazing mother, Beth. I can picture it so clearly."

The fire did nothing to warm him in that moment. His blood felt like ice water, and he found that he couldn't look away from Beth, that he hung on her lips like a man awaiting the drop of the gallows.

"Why would you let me go now? After everything you went through to get me here. After everything you put me through! Now you'd just let me go?" She was angry, or hurt, her knuckles white where she clutched her coffee.

"Because I love you."

"Oh." Her response was quiet, barely audible over the crackle of the fire beside him.

He barreled on, drowning the sting of her response in a deluge of words. "Please, I only ask that you don't use what you know of us now against us. Don't tell the Rosewoods that we're eating ourselves alive, how few of us there are, how delicate this entire thing is. I could never forgive myself if my weakness spelled the end of the White Winters, even if it served me right."

He wished he hadn't emptied his coffee. The caffeine mixed with the fear pulsing through him, until he felt his heart would pound its way out of his chest. Unable to look at her, he watched the raindrops on the window. Antithetical to his feelings, the storm had begun to mellow.

"I won't leave," she said, over a desultory rumble of thunder.

Devon couldn't trust his own ears. Perhaps in his yearning, he had heard only what he wished.

"I won't try to track you down," he said, daring a glance at her.

She was looking at him, and he recognized the proud tilt of her chin and the fire in her eyes. How quickly he had learned to read her.

"I won't be leaving." She rose and leaned against the mantle, the glow illuminating her face. "I won't pretend I didn't consider it, after Emma attacked me, but I was only fearful for our child's safety, and of the decision you'd be forced to make. Between me and Emma."

"It would be you, of course. How could it be anything but?" He held back from repeating his declaration of love, though it stuck to the tip of his tongue.

She hadn't reciprocated, and that was her choice, he wouldn't push it. He could hardly blame her for not falling in love with the man who had kidnapped her, but the hope that she would come to one day bloomed.

Finally, she came to him. Beth settled onto his lap, curling up in his arms, and he rested his chin on her still-drying hair. The physical closeness was a balm. If he could not hold her heart, at least he could hold her.

"We both want to protect our packs," she said, tracing the patch of hair at the center of his chest. He shivered at her touch. "How can I blame you for doing the same thing I've been doing? But I think it's obvious now that we can't continue until our goals align. Not happily, anyway."

"What will it take for you to be happy staying here? What can I do?" Devon was ready to promise her anything, but knew that empty promises wouldn't suffice. Whatever he said, he had to mean it. Could he truly exile Emma, his own sister? He would lose both of his siblings then.

It was quiet for a long time. He held her, beginning to wonder if she'd fallen asleep with her head on his chest, the fire warming their sides.

"I don't want to lie to the pack about us anymore. They must accept a Rosewood as one of their leaders. Tomorrow, we'll stand before them together."

It would be a hard sell. They might accept a Rosewood as their alpha's mate, but accepting her as a leader was another thing entirely, and one that would be hard for them to swallow. Their deceptive plan was intended to skirt that, but Emma's reaction to the pregnancy had proven that the plan was a flimsy one. Better to be honest and deal with the fallout, then continue walking on cracked glass.

"Very well," he said, and the words hung in the air, drying like ink on a contract, sealing his fate.