Chapter 16

Briar May

Brooke Wind stayed for three days. She never once seemed afraid or let her fear of defeat show. She never hesitated or wavered, not even when Castor’s fever refused to break and rose dangerously high. She stayed right beside Briar May, bathing his brow, draping cool cloths over his body, spooning what herbs he could take in his barely conscious state into his mouth. They salved his wounds together. Bandaged and rebandaged.

After the first few hours, after she’d assessed how bad the situation was, she’d shocked Briar May by taking an IV and a bag out of her large black bag. Antibiotics. Because they didn’t live in the dark ages, and she had a contact who would sell her almost anything she asked for. Herbs only went so far, and while she liked to rely on them, that was how they lost people. They might not be able to go to a hospital unless it was the most extreme of circumstances, and even then, many of them would rather die than risk it, but she did what she could to bring the hospital to them. Often, it was only her standing between death and life, and she damn well wasn’t going to let death win without one hell of a fight.

Castor wasn’t going to die. Brooke said she forbid it.

Briar May believed her. The woman was called a witch by some, and even though she’d stated time and again that she was no such thing, and Zora had also reiterated the fact, Brooke had an eerie sort of inner light that seemed to shine from her petite human body. She seemed not to age. Her hands and face were smooth even though she had to be nearing seventy.

Brooke and Zora both said that her mother’s knowledge of herbs came from her own mother’s prodigious knowledge. Zora’s grandmother kept meticulous records. She could grow anything, just like Brooke. She’d learned the ancient arts of herbs and plants through hard work, not witchcraft.

Briar May didn’t know what she believed. Brooke was magic. She knew that with her whole heart. She still had the childish belief inside her that the older woman could make anything better, even though she knew that to be false. They’d lost members of their pack from old age, disease, and accidents. She hadn’t been able to bring Rome’s beloved back to life. She couldn’t really defy life and death. She just had knowledge that had long ago been forgotten and that was her secret weapon. Knowledge of healing. Not black arts.

Though as far as Briar May was concerned, Brooke Wind could have been the worst sort of demon that ever plagued all the nine hells and she would have happily sold her soul to her for those words she longed to hear.

Castor would not die. His fever would break. His wounds would heal.

All of it came true on the third day. Three days of barely being conscious of doing anything other than lending her strength to the wounded man hanging on by what seemed to her such a perilous thread. Three days of food tasting of nothing, of forcing herself to swallow water and tea, of dragging herself to the bathroom down the hall only when she needed to use it.

She gave herself no respite, but as though the new life growing in her sensed that she needed all her energy and strength for the task at hand, she hadn’t felt ill or tired. Not in the way that she needed to sleep. Though she hardly did that at all, drifting lightly on the bed beside Castor for only a few short breaks when she knew Brooke was right there keeping watch.

Castor’s fever broke at five in the morning. Brooke was sitting immobile in the hard antique chair at the foot of the bed. She hadn’t asked for anything softer. If she’d eaten or even had a sip of water in all those long days, Briar May wasn’t aware of it. Brooke always seemed to be keeping watch. Her eyes glowed as they swept to Briar May. She was on her side, hands tucked beneath the pillow, watching Castor. There was something different about the way he seemed to rest easier and breathe easier, but she thought she was imagining it until she saw Brooke rise and walk over.

Instead of hovering her hand above Castor’s face—she’d never touched him other than to apply bandages and salve, and even then, Briar May did most of it under her careful instruction—she smoothed a tangled lock of Briar May’s hair.

“It’s always the calm ones who turn out to be the fiercest mothers and protectors. It’s always there at the heart, cushioned by that outward softness until it’s needed. Don’t push all the gentleness away from you, child. Let it come. Let it flow back into you.” She nodded to Castor. “His fever is broken. He’ll be awake in a few hours. I’ll make sure that I have something made up for the pain. Tell him it’s for the wounds still festering and poisoning him. He won’t drink it otherwise. He’s been taught that pain is a sanctuary, but he’ll find no peace there.”

“Where are you going?” She felt suddenly helpless, now when Castor’s fever had finally broken, and he was breathing regularly for the first time in days.

“I have to get back to my cottage. Not because I want to leave you, dear, but because there are others who need me, and my work here is done.”

“Ah, okay.” Her cheeks flushed. She was ashamed at her selfishness.

“That’s alright. Of course you’re only thinking about your mate right now.”

“He’s not my mate,” Briar May snapped quickly, remembering her promise to herself. She had to let him go, even if it tore her apart. If they were together then whoever did this to him would surely come and finish the job.

“Make sure you try to eat more than you’ve been eating. I’ll leave some herbs for you as well, some tea to help settle a tossing belly. If you ever need anything else, you don’t hesitate to come or send someone over for me.”

Briar May dipped her head. She had no idea how to thank this woman who had given her everything, including Castor’s life. Just because he could never be her mate didn’t mean she wouldn’t do anything for him.

She gazed at Castor’s face. For once, the lines in his face had smoothed. There was no sweat beaded on his brow and no flush in his cheeks. He wasn’t shaking or shivering. He wasn’t muttering things about stars and fire, explosions and burning. He was practically dead when he’d arrived here. She couldn’t imagine even enduring a tenth of that pain. He’d probably faced it all without so much as flinching. That was the warrior’s way. The only time he made any noise was when he was so far gone to the fever that he had no notion of it happening.

She had to stop herself from stroking his cheek gently. The tenderness simmering in her ached. She needed an outlet. It wasn’t hers to have. He wasn’t hers. How very true that stupid saying about loving and setting things free was. He’d been sent here, but perhaps that was only because they’d assumed he would die from his injuries. If they learned that he’d survived, would they come to finish the job? Even if she left with him, they wouldn’t be safe anywhere. It was clear that his pack was brutal, and no matter how much it hurt her, she couldn’t risk it. She couldn’t have his death on her conscience.

“He deserves peace. He deserves rest.” She let her words wash over him when she refused her hand what it needed most.

He was still bruised, still bandaged, still cut up and carved out. It was going to be weeks before those injuries completely healed.

Brooke bent and gathered up her bag. “So do you.”

The old woman’s wisdom wasn’t something to be taken lightly, and she left Briar May with that.

She’d never felt more useless. She didn’t know what to do with herself. She got up and paced the room. She finally stopped and stared out the window. It was dark. When the heck had it grown dark? It was the middle of summer and night came late. How could she have lost track of time like that? She’d lost track of everything. Kieran. Zora. The twins.

Zora must have joined the twins at her parents’ cabin because the big cabin was completely silent. She wasn’t aware of guards coming and going and switching out, or even of Kieran existing there, but she was sure he did. She was sure he was doing that now, carrying on with running the pack. Castor was there in the alpha’s home, and for that to happen, he must have told everyone in the pack that he was more than a guest. What did the rest of their pack know? So far, only Kieran, Zora, her parents, and Brooke Wind knew about the baby.

She should have talked to Kieran about this. But instead of using the time wisely, she sat in silence, lost in herself.

She felt the weight of the past few days, and not just the sleeplessness. It was all there, hitting her hard. The rage, the horror, the thirst for blood. She’d once been gentle. Her hand hovered over her belly. How could she bring a child into the world when there was nothing but vitriol and bitterness at the heart of her now? She needed to go outside. Sit on the porch, maybe. She needed to let the moonlight soak back into her. She needed to stay there until morning when the sun rose so she could soak those healing rays deep into her skin. She needed the nourishment of life to grow life and love back into her.

On the bed, Castor’s breathing shallowed out, more like his fevered breaths. There were times when he was practically gasping for air, though it was probably because he was breathing through endless pain, like rain driving down in blinding sheets all around him. He wasn’t just fighting the infection off. He was fighting to heal wounds so severe that even Brooke was taken aback when she saw them, though she had incredible composure.

Her heart stopped as her eyes flew to the bed. She expected to have to race downstairs and see if Brooke was still there. She’d said she was leaving something for the pain, but what if the fever came back? She needed Brooke at her side, fighting for Castor’s life.

The fever wasn’t back.

Castor’s breathing had changed because he was no longer asleep.

Her hand flew to her heart and hovered there. She’d been unable to touch him, but she also couldn’t touch herself there. Not when he was watching. Not when it would signal to him the completely wrong message. She quickly got her face under control before he saw her despair.

She’d just spent days fighting for his life, but now she had a different fight ahead of her. She would have to fight with her body to let him go. Her body that had claimed him as her mate and the body that was now carrying his child. She wanted to rain kisses over his face and watch over him until he was well. But now she had to be distant.

His eyes swept straight to her. Hers locked with his. The first time she’d seen them in the woods felt like a lifetime ago. They were hard and dead, so cold a blue that they were like the bones left by a scavenger—stark white, bleached into nothingness, a different kind of chilling. Even then, she’d been wrong. Even when she feared the worst, she hadn’t felt normal fear around him. Those eyes should have turned her to ice, but instead they’d made her burn. They made her burn now, her skin erupting into white-hot flame.

She straightened and hugged her arms around herself. Castor held her gaze still. She felt like even though he wasn’t looking at her body, he could see everything. That he knew everything. He didn’t seem in a fit state to know anything. If he knew she was carrying his child, that would be it for her. She’d never be able to convince him to leave, and she needed to. She couldn’t stand to see this happen again. She couldn’t stand to lose him or for those people to return to finish what they started.

She was skewered clean through by the intensity of his gaze. Before, his vision was all wrong, burning fever bright and seeing nothing. Now, his focus was a deadly thing. Even from the bed, he looked every inch the brutal killer that he was. She’d always known that, known what he did, but it never repulsed her. There was probably something incredibly wrong with her. She couldn’t overlook it or excuse it. It hadn’t stopped her from clenching up on the inside before and it didn’t stop her now.

She carefully dropped her eyes, hoping that would break the spell. One wasn’t supposed to look a dangerous predator in the eye like that anyway. She studied the gash on his cheek, healing over now, that would turn into a raised scar. It would mirror his facial expressions for the rest of his life, if he ever allowed himself to have any. If he allowed himself to feel.

She’d once wanted to convince him that he could, but now she knew she had no right. It would be far easier for the both of them if she got herself under control and forced herself to be dead inside, so he’d be convinced of her plan.

“Briar May.” His voice scratched over his parched throat. His mouth must be like dust.

She rushed for the cup of water on the nightstand, but he threw out a hand.

Even though he’d just been out of his mind, burning with fever, hurt to the breaking point of even his unthinkably brutal standards, he pushed himself up and turned to where she looked. He got the cup and tipped it to his own lips. He drank slowly. So slowly. He knew his limits. Knew exactly what he needed to do for himself and how to care for himself.

Like this had happened before.

Like he’d been doing it his whole life.

She couldn’t stand anymore. She let her legs give way as she crumpled into the chair by the window.

“Do you know why you’re here?” She looked out the window, like a coward. She didn’t have his strength or his will. She’d break down. She’d give in. She’d beg for a solution when there wasn’t one, except the one she’d already contrived in her head. “I mean, how you got back here?”

He set the glass down hard, which drew her attention. She was careful not to meet his eyes again. She couldn’t look anywhere at him. If she did, she’d never be able to resist the pull of her body to his, his darkness calling out for her light and her light more than willing to make a sacrifice of itself to spark as a beacon to his thorny, boulder-strewn path. He needed her still. He was still hurting even if he’d never show it. He still turned her into a liquid inferno.

He was and would always be the only man she’d ever want.

“I…” He wasn’t one to waste words. He never was.

She finally looked and saw the way his body tensed. He was struggling to put everything together, including the days he’d been out. Before that, though, he must have been incandescent with pain and that must have blotted out everything else.

He scraped a hand over his beard before she could warn him. He didn’t wince when his fingers brushed over the horrible cut on his cheek. He kept his back carefully away from the headboard or even the pillows. He leaned forward enough that nothing made contact. He lowered his hand and brought it to his chest, tracing the letters he’d bear in his flesh as a scarred reminder of a crime that wasn’t his.

“It’s all because of me, it’s all my fault,” she moaned. She covered her face to hide her tears. They were hot and slippery against her palm. “You almost died because of me.”

He tried to push himself out of bed. Tried to get to her. She dropped her hands and yelped out a warning as she fumbled to the edge of the bed. She fell on her knees, fingers digging into the blankets. “Please don’t do that. You need to rest.”

The way he looked at her made her want to throw herself the rest of the distance. She wanted to tumble into his arms. She wanted to rain down tears all over him, a healing rain in hopes that something beautiful could bloom out of all the darkness and decay that had been his life.

“I don’t remember anything other than being taken down in the cave. Agnor, my alpha, he came in and my… he said that I was coming back here.”

“And nothing else? You know nothing more?”

“No.” It looked like he wanted to. He didn’t like being out of control. He didn’t like not knowing that hours of his life, full days, had vanished from him.

It was the worst deception she’d ever made, and she’d hate herself for it. She already did. But he’d confirmed her worst fears. His alpha had sanctioned this, he might have sent him back. But it was clear that he’d intended for him to die on the long journey to Wyoming.

Her heart was a tattered, worn-out thing and this was her taking it out and plunging endless knives through it until there wasn’t anything left. But, for him, she’d tear it out and make a sacrifice of it over and over again. This was all her fault, and only she could make it right and keep him safe.

She took a chance and looked him dead in the eyes. She couldn’t flinch. If he sensed once that she was lying, it would all be over. “I begged my brother to get you back as part of a continued peace. I didn’t trust that your pack wouldn’t harm you. He told your alpha that an eye for an eye soon leaves a lot of sightless eyes and wasted life. Your brother took my brother’s mate, even if they hadn’t done the official ceremony. Your alpha understood why Rome did it and why we protected him and will continue to protect him. Kieran ordered a blood oath of peace going forward if you were returned. That was his demand. Just that he return you, so you could answer for what you’d done by taking me.”

She stopped for breath, but she held those icy, unblinking eyes the entire time.

That was what Kieran had told his alpha, there had been no mention of her pregnancy, just that she had been defiled. Kieran had sworn that no harm would come to Castor, but their pack law demanded that he admit to his crimes. It seemed the safest way to get him away from his pack—and considering he arrived half dead, Briar May dreaded what would have happened if Kieran had told them of the pregnancy. His pack was barbaric and lived by some archaic warrior code.

Would they have demanded her baby?

She took another steadying breath. Everything hinged on her delivery of this. Everything.

“We can’t be mates, Castor. Never. You aren’t safe here. You aren’t safe anywhere in the world, especially not with me by your side. I don’t trust them to keep their word. Maybe this alpha will, but what of the next one? I see now, after days of watching you fight for your life, seeing how you were brutalized by your own pack, that I can’t take you as a mate. I have to reject you, even though my whole being is sick at the thought of it. I am beyond broken by this, but you’ll be free. We’ll tell your alpha that you died from your injuries. Burn and bury your clothes to leave just enough of a scent. You can leave, and this time, no one will be coming after you. You can finally know peace.”

“No!” He turned and inhaled sharply. His wounds might not be weeping blood anymore, but the pain was still very real.

It took everything she had not to surge forward and see to him. “Please, just lie still,” she begged. “You could hurt yourself all over again.”

He ignored his own body. He looked like he’d get up right then and shake sense into her. “That’s too high a price to pay.”

“Nothing is too much for me to pay for you.”

He cracked wide open without moving a muscle. Without a single expression. She didn’t even know how she knew it was happening, but she knew that he no longer felt nothing. The scales had tipped inside himself, and he was coming down on a side where everything rushed in at once.

“I won’t leave you again,” he promised. It sounded more like a dark oath than a threat. “I won’t be parted from you one more time. We can—”

“What?” She cut him off. “Fight?” She couldn’t let him say anything more. Not when it was everything she wanted to hear, and she knew her bravery and resolution only went so far. “Fight until we’re dead and the people who love and care about us are hurt? I can’t leave. They’ll know we’re lying if I go. It would be so obvious.”

“Your brother would lie for us. He could say that you needed to get away from here, that you needed to heal. Your mate is gone. Dead. You’ve gone away to find solace.” He didn’t sound like he was buying into anything. He was just plying her with options.

“They wouldn’t believe that. They wouldn’t even believe that you weren’t a traitor. I need to be here. Alone. You can never come back. We can never see each other again. Now that you’re well, or at least not in danger of…” She couldn’t say that. Not ever. “We’ll figure out how to get you out. It’ll need to be soon as—”

“I don’t think you heard me, Briar May.” His face was alive. Feral. “I’m not leaving you.”

She drew herself up off the floor. If he wouldn’t listen to reason when she was down on her knees, then she was done begging him to accept her plan. She needed to be the one in command. It was the only way, and it was breaking her heart. When did it happen that he’d become like air for her? That she needed to breathe him in so that she could live?

“I reject you, Castor. I’m not even sure I’ll ever want a mate, but I certainly don’t want one now.”

“What happened in the Jeep, the bonding scent, the—”

“It was a fear response. Nothing more,” she took a deep breath for the worst lie, “I have no feelings for you. What we shared was… well, I don’t know what it was, but it’s not enough to base a lifetime on.”

“A lifetime has to be built.”

“It’s not enough to build anything on. A few days, that’s all we had.”

He lost control then. It was a marvelous thing, watching the storm clouds gather on his face. The fresh scar on his cheek, jagged and brutal, looked like a lightning bolt coming alive. He looked every inch like a brutal, angry god. “I know I’ll never be the kind of man you deserve, but I could defend you. I could protect you. I would happily die for you.”

“That’s the thing.” She thrust her nails into her palms. It seemed to be the only trick that could steady her. “I don’t want you to die for me. I don’t want you at all.” The lies scalded her, but there was nothing that could cauterize the way she was bleeding out inside. “Not that way. You saved my life and I had to be sure yours was spared. I could never have lived with myself. It was something I did based on my own code of honor. We were compatible for a night, but a lifetime is more than just a good time. A lifetime is what my parents have. Respect. Wisdom. They talk to each other. They guide each other. They relate to each other and have common experiences and goals. They’re united like one body. That’s what I want in a mate, and I know we’ll never have that. We’re as different as can be. We came from different worlds. We’ll never have peace with each other.”

His eyes were blazing with fury now. He wasn’t going to throttle it back. He was losing her, and he hadn’t arrived at the truth yet, but it would sink in when he was done denying it.

“That’s bullshit.” He swung his legs off the bed and stood up like he hadn’t just been riding a razor thin line between life and death for days. He towered over her and there was zero softness about him. He wasn’t the hardened killer with a heart of gold. He was the brutal warrior who’d had to be nothing short of a beast his whole life in order to survive. There was almost nothing human about him. He was thunderously, darkly, well and truly angry and he was about to unleash himself on her.

A dark, thrilling shiver tingled through her muscles as she tensed. She didn’t fear him, she wanted him to hate her, because if he did then he’d be free.

He grasped her jaw between his fingers tight enough to bruise. She winced, but he didn’t let up for a single second. An arrow of pleasure traced from that punishing grasp straight down between her thighs.

She leaned into his touch, aching to be closer. On his part, he did nothing to hide what he was from her. She’d never been properly afraid. She still wanted him, even the worst of it. She’d read so many romance books, but she’d never wanted a prince charming or a white knight. Her brother was that for Zora. He was the tender, caring, doting mate. But even he had fought for her. Even he would be an insane beast if anyone ever even threatened to harm Zora or the kids.

She barely knew this man holding her so tight and so close, a flaming pillar barely holding himself in check, but she could see how he tried to hide his true feelings. How he guarded himself. He might be a warrior. He might be a savage animal, more wolf than human. He might have done unthinkable things, but he’d done them to survive. Even as a child. Right now, she could see the naked agony on his face. She could feel the slight tremble in his fingers and knew it wasn’t from his fever. She could smell the need in him.

Apparently, opposites did attract. Maybe it was something about body and brain chemistry, or maybe the universe just had a funny sense of humor, but it was clear to her that good girls often fell for really bad boys. It was more than just the allure of the exotic, something beyond the narrow sphere of a life barely lived.

That’s not what drew her to Castor.

She didn’t have a good explanation for it, but all of her wanted all of him. There were no exceptions. Full stop.

“You don’t fool me, little wolf. You’re saying this because you think that’s what I need to hear so that I leave. You care, so you want to save my life. You’ve just seen me… seen something awful. You’ve seen the worst of what one man can do to another. I don’t need you to save me, though, Briar May. I don’t need you to lay down your hopes and dreams. You aren’t a sacrifice on some altar. You’re a real person.” His touch turned gentle. He cupped her face in that one huge hand. “You’re the one person in the world I care about, and who I think cares about me. I never thought I’d have that because I never wanted to have it. My life has been my own, and through a complete accident, it’s now yours. It’s yours and I won’t leave to save it.”

She needed to push harder. Push him away. She needed to break him, even if it meant hurting him, because being tender and soft and having hope would get him killed.

Then she’d be like her brother. Rome was irrevocably broken.

“Briar May.” Castor’s hands grasped her shoulders, and not gently. He didn’t shake her. He just held her. “Please. Tell me the truth. Are you trying to reject me because you truly don’t want me, or are you trying to save me?”

“That’s something I’d like to know as well.” Kieran.

The door was open slightly. It had been open the whole time. Briar May felt all the blood drain out of her face. She had to stop her brother. Castor didn’t know, but Kieran didn’t know that he didn’t know.

“Especially given that you’re carrying his child. We’re not about forcing a mating just because of a pregnancy, and we won’t do that, not ever. But I have to know, are you saying these things because you truly don’t want this, or are you trying to fix a situation in the only way you think you can?”

If Castor appeared cracked open before, that was nothing to the utter devastation on his face now. He wasn’t in shock. He wasn’t furious. He was hurt, and it should have been impossible to hurt a man like him, but of course it wasn’t. She’d hid that from him because she knew he would never abandon his child. And now he knew. It was one more wound on top of a lifetime full of scars, maybe the greatest one, because he’d opened himself up enough to let her wound him.

As naked as it was, that hurt quickly vanished. A punishing, cold, unforgiving glower took its place. He said nothing, just shut down, dropped his hands, and waited for her response.

Kieran stood there, sensing something was wrong, but Castor hadn’t given himself away. He hadn’t given her away either.

When neither of them spoke, Kieran stepped in. “I think we need to go downstairs and talk about this. My preference would be to have a family meeting, with Mom and Dad and Zora, but if you don’t want that, I understand. I think that they might be able to suggest other solutions, if you’re willing to hear them. You can express your opinions and of course, we’ll listen. I want to see you happy, little sister.” He didn’t mention Castor, but then, he wouldn’t.

To him, Castor was a stranger who had caused nothing but trouble.

Still, Kieran would be more than fair. He’d already gone to great pains to try to make her happy. In a way, he was the one responsible for saving Castor’s life.

Briar May swept her hands over her face and then twisted her knotted, unkempt hair. For the past three days, she’d completely neglected herself and it must show. Whether Castor was up to a meeting or not, it was clear that he would go, and like a predatory animal, hide his pain at all costs.

“Just let me get cleaned up first and then we’ll talk. Mom, Dad, Zora, you, and us.”

She had to brush past both men to get out of the room and then she fled down the hallway and locked herself in the bathroom.

Once she had the shower running, she was free to break down. The water would wash away her tears and cover any sound she made.