Chapter 18

The sky is streaked with shades of violet and orchid when Eldridge returns to camp. Our fire, still gleaming with brilliant shades of orange, cracks and spits between us. The others promptly excuse themselves soon after he plops himself on the sideways log across from mine, knowing the conversation between us isn't going to be pretty.

Neither of us speaks for a few minutes. Instead, we stare into the snapping flames, as if we could find the words to say hidden within them. When the silence becomes unbearable, I raise my eyes to his and force him to meet my gaze. His stone eyes, the color of the smoke rising above us, are set deep in his sun-kissed skin, framed by his long, tousled red hair. Eldridge is a mirror to the glowing embers in the pit—fiery and wild. His braided beard, the same red-orange as his hair, hangs all the way to below his chest. It's a rare sight to catch Eldridge not fighting to keep his temper on its leash, and judging by the tightness of his jaw, today is no different.

Zorina told him of our discovery earlier in the day—when she had left Galen with us and went to shift in the woods—no doubt to sniff out her brother and make sure his caged anger wasn't getting him into trouble.

"I wish there was another way," I finally say, needing to shatter the silence between my friend and me.

A quick burst of something like laughter erupts from him, and he rubs a large hand across his jaw, his stiff posture telling me he is anything but in a laughing mood. "It's my fault. I should have gone with her when she went looking for you."

"No, you shouldn't have. You did what you had to, what I would have wanted you to. You stayed here to protect the pack."

There is no doubt Eldridge is the strongest of us physically. Morrinne is aging, and her body does not move as fluidly as it once did. Zorina is the smallest of us all, not to mention her focus will always be on protecting Galen in any kind of altercation, as it should be. Theon is a skilled fighter. His slender body shifts into a lanky, sinewy beast—swift, but not as powerful as the sheer mass of Eldridge in his other form—the golden furred animal with a head and body as wide and muscled as a bear, and four legs as long and powerful as a draft horse. Eldridge is strength.

He runs his hand along the length of his beard. "I should have been there to protect you."

"I should have never gone hunting alone. I knew better, and I got cocky and did it anyway. What happened to Cosmina is my fault, and mine alone. But I will get her back." The truth of my words sinks into my bones, and I know that if the moment comes and I must choose, I will shed blood for her.

"You can't save her if you're dead. If that cowardly bitch kills you…" he stammers off, rage igniting in his stormy eyes.

I stand and erase the distance between us, sitting next to him on his log. He radiates as much heat as the popping fire in front of us, and I put a hand on his forearm, the cords of muscle there pulled tight, his fingers laced together between his knees. I've seen that anger in his eyes before—that glowing promise of something lethal and savage—the night Cosmina brought me home, and I told them what happened to me. What Cathal had done to me. I had to do nothing short of begging for days, pleading with him to not hunt them down and rip out their throats, one by one. Eldridge doesn't think clearly when his temper flares, and I have lost too many people to risk losing him too. My friend. My protector. And maybe something more if I hadn't been so broken my first several years here.

There is a connection between us—the rage we both fight—mine an innate struggle against my nature, and his a more raw hunger for those that would wrong us and dare to hurt us. That wrath he wrestles every day, every time someone darts a nasty, disapproving look in one of our directions, I feel that same violent desire every time I smell blood. If I hadn't been so damaged for years after I came here, our relationship may have developed into something more. But when I did finally choose to trust someone outside our pack, it ended with Cosmina bringing home a bloodied, beaten, used husk of a person, and no amount of Eldridge's softly spoken words of comfort could warm me on those nights I woke screaming, fighting off invisible enemies in the chilled air. I know my sanity was the only thing that stood between him and Cathal's intact throat.

"I will handle Singard. Nothing you do can help me now. What I want, what I need, is for you to stay and look after them. Keep them safe, please."

"How are you going to handle him? That whole lot of them has done nothing but hide behind castle walls their whole lives, killing anyone they don't like. There is only one way to handle a cunt like him," he spits.

"I don't know," I whisper. And the truth of those words quickens my heartbeat, each one now precious and numbered.

"If he hurts you, Wren—"

"Then what?" I cut him off. "You can't very well march on the kingdom and cut them all down. They'll kill you without a second thought. They have iron arrows, weapons."

"Then I'd rather die fighting than sitting here and cowering while they continue to slaughter our kind."

Ourkind. Transcendent and bloodwitch, but united by a singular enemy. We are the same in kingdom eyes—the dead kind.

"I will do what I must to get Cosmina back. I promise you that. But I cannot give you my word I won't go after that son of a bitch if he hurts you. He shows his face in the cities every now and again, winning their praises with his promises of protection against the enemy he created. I can wait. And when the moment is right, I'll rip his godsdamned heart out." The snarl in his voice is pure transcendent, pure predator.

I don't bother arguing with him. Nothing I say will cool the wrath coursing through him right now, so I resort to a miserable attempt at humor instead. "I'll make you a promise. I will try really hard not to die."

A slight smile tugs his lips upward, but it doesn't meet his cold, gray eyes. "Die, and I'll fucking kill you myself."

* * *

There is no escaping the Rut. The magic that simmers in their transcendent veins responds to it whether my family wants it to or not. Eldridge has been grumpier than usual, and earlier, he and Theon got into it over whose turn it was to bring in more wood for the stove. They won't hold it against each other—they both know where their renewed irritability is stemming from. The outdoor festival is tomorrow. It feels wrong to attend an event designed for blowing off steam while our sister is in peril, but if my brothers don't attend, they'll tear the cabin apart before nightfall. And while Eldridge would never try anything, his lingering glances in my direction don't escape my notice. He's horny, and I'm not ignorant to his feelings towards me, though he's never explicitly expressed them. He knows I'm not ready to return them.

I had no reason to attend the gathering every year other than that it was too dangerous for me to stay and be alone while a warmongering army with a proclivity for bloodwitches runs around. And while I'm likely the safest I've ever been with the Black Art at my side, staying would make my family suspicious of our ruse. Plus, I have limited time to see them, and I'll be damned if I waste a single second of it away from them.

I'm joining my family at the Rut, and I look forward to spending more time with them. Almost as much as I look forward to seeing the look on Sin's face when I tell him we'll be attending the event dedicated to shifters engaging in raw, primal activities.