18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

N atalie

The door slams, the sound like a gunshot in the sudden, ringing silence. For a moment I can only stand here, frozen in place, my heart hammering against my ribs as though it might break through bone.

He's gone. He's gone and it's my fault. My stupid, cowardly, selfish fault.

A sob wrenches its way out of my throat, raw and ragged. My knees buckle and I sink to the floor, heedless of the way my ankle screams in protest. Physical pain is nothing compared to the agony shredding my insides, the sick, twisted knot of guilt and grief and self-loathing.

I should have told him. Should have been brave enough, honest enough, to lay out the truth from the beginning. But I was selfish. Wanted to cling for just a little longer to this fragile, precious thing that was growing between us.

And now it's too late. I've lost him, lost the one person who's made me feel seen, feel alive, in longer than I can remember.

Shaddai whines, butting his head against my limp hand. Absently, numbly, my fingers card through his thick ruff. He's trembling, confused, and frightened by the shouting, the overpowering stench of hurt and anger.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, though whether I'm talking to Shaddai or Fury or myself, I couldn't say. "I'm so fucking sorry."

As I recall, "sorry" was the first word I said when I opened my eyes and saw that beautiful wolven standing nearby, somehow knowing that he'd rescued me. Before my brain was fully back online, I knew exactly what he was and exactly how badly his people had been hurt by humans, specifically my father.

Swiping roughly at the tears blurring my vision, I force myself to breathe. In, out. In, out. Fury is out there somewhere, alone and hurting, and probably halfway to hypothermia by now. He was so angry he left without even putting on a coat.

I have to find him. Have to make this right somehow, even if he never forgives me. Even if he can't bear to look at me after this.

I owe him that much, at least.

Hauling myself upright with a hiss of pain, I limp to the window. The world outside is a swirling vortex of white, the darkness of night compounding the storm's renewed fury. The wind's too powerful for him to leave tracks. There's no trail to follow. Just a blank, howling emptiness that mirrors the void in my chest.

"Okay. Okay, Tally, think." I press my forehead to the frigid glass, forcing down the panic that's clawing at my throat. "He can't have gone far in this weather. And he's a survivor. He knows how to find shelter."

A traitorous voice in the back of my mind whispers, does he want to? Does he even care anymore, now that he thinks you've betrayed him?

I shake my head sharply, dislodging the thought. No. I can't afford to think like that, can't let myself wallow. Fury needs me, whether he realizes—or wants—it or not.

Stumbling to the closet, I dig out every scrap of winter gear I own. Heavy coat, snow pants, boots, gloves, scarf, hat. I bundle up methodically, grimacing as I force my swollen ankle into the rigid confines of the boot.

Shaddai watches me with wide eyes, whining, tail thrashing in agitation. He knows something's wrong, can sense the urgency thrumming through my veins.

"I'm going to get him," I tell the pup, sounding more certain than I feel. "I'm going to bring him back, I promise."

Hobbling to the door, I hesitate, glancing back at Shaddai. He's too small, too vulnerable to come with me into the force of the gale. But the thought of leaving him alone, even for an hour…

"I'll be back." My voice cracks on the words. " We'll be back. Both of us. Just… stay warm, okay?"

And with that, I wrench open the door and plunge into the roaring storm.

The cold hits me like a sledgehammer, stealing my breath and stinging my eyes. Snowflakes swirl and eddy around me, disorienting, blinding. It's like stepping into a freezer, or another plane of existence entirely.

I'm chilled to the bone before I've taken a dozen steps. The urge to turn back, to seek the warmth and safety of the cabin, is almost overwhelming.

But I can't. I won't.

So I put my head down and force my leaden legs to move, my breath visible in the air. The snow has already erased any trace of Fury's passing, a smooth, unbroken expanse in all directions.

A relentless voice in the back of my mind whispers that I could search for hours out here and never find him. He has enhanced senses, survival instincts honed by generations of his people. If he doesn't want to be found…

Gritting my teeth, I shove the thought down. I can't think like that. Can't give in to despair or fear or the ache in my ankle that's escalated to sharp biting pain with every step. Nor can I surrender to the insidious numbness creeping through my limbs.

"Fury!" The wind snatches the name from my lips, whipping it away into the swirling white. "Fury, can you hear me?"

Nothing. Just the mournful keening of the storm, the creak and groan of labored tree limbs. The world narrows to the few scant feet surrounding me, my existence contracting to the simple, brutal act of putting one foot in front of the other.

"Please." It's more than cold now; it's pain, needles of ice stabbing my exposed skin. My ankle throbs in time with my heartbeat, the agony a distant, disconnected thing. "Please, I'm sorry…"

I'm not sure how long I stumble blindly through the frigid darkness. Minutes, hours, a small eternity. Time has no meaning here. Nothing does, except the driving need to find Fury. To bring him back.

To tell him…

To tell him I love him.

The realization hits with a clarity so sharp it steals my breath. I love him. I love him so much it's like a living thing inside me, fierce and bright and unrelenting.

And I'll be damned if I let my father's sins—or my own weakness—destroy the best thing that's ever happened to me.

Fury is out here somewhere. Alone, hurting, lost in his own personal hell. And I will find him. I will.

Even if I have to search all night, even if I freeze solid in the process. I won't leave him out here. Won't abandon him to the pitiless cold and the even more frigid grip of the past.

So I keep moving. Keep calling his name until my throat is raw and my voice is nothing more than a thin, reedy rasp. The wind seems to mock me, snatching away my cries and hurling them back in my face .

But I don't stop. I can't. Because this, this desperate need to make things right, even at my own expense… is love. In all its strange, messy, imperfect glory.

It's worth fighting for. He's worth fighting for.

And damn it, I will not let him go in a huff of anger. Although he's acting angry, I know it's more than that. He's hurt. My father abused him physically, but I hurt him more by withholding the truth, violating his trust. Despite all that, we can figure this out together.

If I can just find him.

If I can just bring him home.