“Where is Grant?” Broden called out to his brothers.
“Ha! At this hour?” Lachlan chuckled, “Most likely in bed with a village wench… as ye should be, as well!”
Broden snarled at that. “Unlike the lot of ye, I take the responsibility of this pack seriously!”
Lachlan pouted. “Responsibility?”
“Aye!” Broden growled, “With Mother and Father away we need to work to stay united; to stay strong!”
“Aye, and we are,” Lachlan assured him, his tone growing serious, though he was still just as relaxed as ever. “Brother, ye know I can help with the pack, why do ye no’ try to relax? Perhaps find a nice lass to—”
“Ye canna say we’re united and strong when the whereabouts of Grant are unknown! An’ ye canna tell me that all will be well with the touch of a simple lass!” He narrowed his eyes. “Do ye truly believe that a lass—any lass—would want to even look upon me, let alone share a bed with me?”
“Aye, I do, brother. The girls these days, they’re into scars. Find ‘em sexy, they do! But that’s not what’s stoppin’ ye, no’ really!” Lachlan glared. “Ye keep denying yerself! If no’ lying with a lass, then at least go find something to eat! The ladies won’t mind the scars, but a skinny twig of a man—”
“I am no man!” Broden snapped.
“Then yer a starved mongrel, and neither man nor mutt has earned a lass’s love as nothin’ but skin and bones! Go! Eat! Ye look like death!”
“I will eat when there’s enough for me to eat!” he shook his head.
Lachlan rolled his eyes. “There’s enough for the rest of us to eat.”
“Aye! Because I doona eat any there is enough!” Broden defended. “I always eat last, brother. And if there is no food left, then I will go without!” He hurried to turn away. “Now I’m going out to find our brother!”
As Broden made his way out of the cave, he spotted Lyle and Kade lying atop the mouth of their cave, their legs swaying just in front of its opening. Passing them by, he gave them a single nod, which they returned before returning their gazes on the horizon; keeping a lookout. He considered giving them the added order of keeping a lookout for Grant, but thought better of it. After all, what sort of job would they be doing of keeping an eye out for anything if they had to be told to keep an eye out for something?
Besides, he knew full-well that Grant wouldn’t just be sauntering back on his own.
Heaven forbid he make life that simple.
Heaven forbid anything be that simple.
Simple would have been a pack that knew its place; a pack that worked as a unit.
Simple would have been brothers that knew that there was a time for play… and a time to pray.
Simple would have been… well, simple.
The village was already growing suspicious of what they’d deemed their beast problem. That there’d been “beasts” roaming those Scottish hills since before their granddads had been fitted for their first kilts was a lost fact to them. Or the fact that the beasts hadn’t been able to call upon their beast forms for an entire generation. For all intents and purposes, there had been no beasts for over two decades, and yet now—now, after centuries of Broden’s family keeping themselves hidden from the humans; now that they were all broken and unable to assume their true forms—the humans were practically rabid about the monsters lurking about the outskirts. It was their beast problem now, and, despite Broden and his brothers being unable to occupy that role like all their kin before them, that made it a problem for them, too; made it a problem for their pack.
A village on high-alert for beasties made for paranoid, trigger-happy villagers. It made the innocent process of sneaking in for the bare minimum nearly impossible. Before, their kin could come and go with relative ease—slap down the furs from their hunts or the gold and valuables of the bandits who’d been foolish enough to escape their raids up in those hills—and none would question them as they bartered for supplies. But times changed. Men wandering down from the mountains with the bounty of the land or the wears of the dishonest made for wary merchants. And now that there were beasts up in those hills… well, none would believe an outsider who wandered in for grain or wool or a spot of mead if they claimed to live elsewhere, especially if they claimed to live out there. Yes, times changed, and the time of casual travelers and innocent bartering had changed to a time of suspicion and, for Broden and his brothers, a time of thievery.
But they only took what was needed!
And only the bare minimum!
Broden growled and clenched his fists at his side.
Except for Grant…
Grant, who interpreted “bare minimum” as the number of layers worn by a member of the fairer sex and “what was needed” as challenge to ensure that his fleshy saber was sheathed more often than not. Simple would have been simple—aye!—and with Grant gallivanting off to bed wife and daughter alike of a suspicious and paranoid village was so far from simple that Broden was certain his daft brother wouldn’t know the word if it was painted on a board and broken over the top of his head.
Which was exactly what he was poised to do at that point.
Nevermind that, despite all his efforts at keeping their pack united and safe and fed, it should have been him down there pursuing the attention of a lass—no, not just any, though; the lass. His lass. Teeming with responsibilities, it was the demand to find a mate—undeniably the most important responsibility, as far as his father was concerned—that he could not bring himself to tackle. He gazed downward as he made his way towards the village. He was the oldest, and, as such, he was expected to find his mate first. More than just the expectations of a boastful family, finding his mate—the one that fit him as perfectly as a key to the lock holding within it treasures beyond fathom—was to be the first step towards breaking their family’s curse. He’d heard it his entire life:
“Find yer one and we might be free of this damnation yet!”
Now he wasn't sure…
Being the oldest meant more than superstitious expectations or romantic fantasies. It meant being the strongest, it meant making sacrifices, and it meant going without so that his younger brothers wouldn’t have to. And on the occasions that he’d encountered a woman with an eye to see past his scars or his glower, he’d often shrug her aside for the momentary pleasures of his brothers. Or he’d go completely unaware. Then, scaling the hills once more, he’d hear all about his missed chance from one of his other brothers, who’d then explain that Grant had scooped up what he had not and would likely be a while longer in the village. Every year, he grew more hopeless in the search for a mate. Because of this, it had become that much easier to pass off the demand; to focus on his responsibilities as the eldest brother. And, as such, none was surprised to see him skip meals to preserve supplies or go uncaring about his looks as he leapt into certain peril against bandit and beast alike to keep the others safe. It was simple, he realized, to excuse his responsibility to breaking the family’s curse by shadowing it under the immediate demands of their pack.
Nevermind that the latter was purposefully holding him back from the former.
But still the guilt of his parents’ demands clung to him. Until he found his soul mate, they’d never be whole. He was to be the first link in the chain, and without a lass—the lass—under his arm, that chain would never have a chance to even begin. And their damnation would stretch on because of it…
“HELP! PLEASE! SOMEBODY HELP!”
Broden found himself in a sprint across the hilltop before he’d fully registered the cries. So long he’d been immersing himself in the role of the protector that instinct outweighed all question of who he was protecting… or from what.
Such was the urgency in the cries, which sent a chill of terror rolling down his back the likes of which he’d not known in some time. And the terror elated him. He’d allowed himself to become a rock, turned his mind into such an emotionless void focused on structure and demand that it only recognized anger and boredom.
But this voice—these cries—made him feel alive again.
It sparked something inside him he thought long gone.
And whatever threatened it would be torn apart!
Grass and stone pitched underfoot as his legs pumped, his previously bored muscles aching with the glorious demand. Broden was practically soaring across the highlands. The fibers of his being—the very threads that seemed to stitch him together—were pulled taut and thrumming with excitement.
Had terror always felt this good?
Round a great boulder, under a rocky overpass, into the sea of blackness where the canopy of trees swallowed the light of the spilled-milk moon. Moss underfoot, vines hanging—as though for a better look at his passing—from the outstretched branches. The sounds of the woods called to him; heeded him. Told him he was home. These calls, and the ongoing cries, seemed to echo a name that was his… and at the same time not. Something in him—something he, himself, had never known—felt the call.
And he let it answer.
A sound emanated from deep within his chest, something he neither could nor cared to identify.
Ahead of him, a great river roared and rolled alongside a looming cliff, its waters sloshing along the opposite bank before arching sharply into a waterfall that carried it over the edge like a lover succumbing to their better half. Broden leapt the first and fell into a dive over the second.
Water swallowed him like a hungry mouth, his body slicing through its depths until he emerged from the bank, returning to his sprint and letting the kisses of lake water roll off of him. Ahead of him, the moonlight and the cries called him out and back into the vast expanse of the opposite side of the hilltop, where the sharp inclines and weak roots made the landscape undesirable for any who didn’t wish to plummet to certain death.
At first he saw nothing but the vast blanket of the starry sky and the jagged earth that led, far below, to a rocky chasm.
Then… movement!
Small, pale hands, clinging to a modest clump of upturned ground and the roots below, worked to climb, only to drag more of the ground free and drop the owner further over the edge, earning more cries in the process. Despite his burning lungs, Broden’s breath caught in his throat and, ignoring the perilous drop ahead of him, dove straight for the cliff, throwing a blind hand over the edge and grabbing the owner by the wrist. With her grip compromised, the woman’s free hand clung harder to the roots, which, at that moment, sacrificed their hold to the ground and erupted from the earth by Broden’s face, spitting soil into his eyes and blurring the world. The weight in his grip multiplied as he became the only thing holding her, and he marveled at how, despite the demands he had pushed on himself just to arrive there, he did not feel burdened by this. Instead, rising to his feet and using a free hand to wipe some of the dirt from his face, he easily hoisted the woman over the pass and planted her beside him.
The sound of labored, albeit relieved panting chimed beside him, each breath tolling her safety and resounding within Broden as a victory bell. Satisfied, he went about wiping the dirt from his face and eyes. Much as it discomforted him, it was the temporary blindness—the all-consuming haze that the earthy grit burdened him with—that he was most eager to be away with.
He wanted to see her.
For all the reasons he could understand and so many more that he could not.
“I… I canna—” her voice, beautiful as an angel’s, sang around the fading panic. “I canna believe I’m no’ dead.”
“Believe it,” Broden coughed, still wiping at his face, still eager to see hers. “I got the aches and pains to show fer it.”
A pause. Broden resented his response if for no other reason than making her go silent. Then, “W-well, yes. Th-thank ye for that.”
“Ye doona need to thank me,” he offered, willing tears—an uncommon thing for him—to the surface to help wash away the dirt. “I heard ye callin’, an’ came runnin’ fast as I could.”
“Ye heard?” she sounded shocked, almost disbelieving, “I was certain that no one would hear…”
Broden opened his mouth to answer, but then glanced back, mapping out the path he’d taken. Halfway around the mountain and through the great mass of trees and roaring rivers…
How could he have heard her through all of that?
Turning back, he caught sight of her for the first time—the world around him still hazy and blurred—and the largest, brightest eyes, like two of the most perfect pools, stared back at him.
Then, like before, the feeling of exhilarating terror overtook him, yanking the breath from his lungs, and he had to teach himself to breathe all over again.
She was beautiful, easily the prettiest he had ever had the fortune of seeing. Hair the color of sunlight sweeping down her shoulders and back. Curves that would’ve challenged the highland winds. And a scent like flowers.
She was like the perfect day, standing there in the middle of the night.
And Broden… he looked like a dirty, sweaty arse.
Shite…
It was then that he realized that he’d yet to answer her, and, with a clumsy shrug, he said, “Got lucky, I guess.”
“Well,” she let the word stretch on as a smile took to her berry-red lips, “luck or no’, thank ye… again. I doona kno—” her voice trailed off as she looked back up at him.
Broden, worried that his scarred face had suddenly offended her, looked away. “It was no’ a problem,” he assured her, “but, if ye doona mind me askin’: what is a young lass like yerself doing out here on her own?”
“I…oh, it was silly,” she looked down. “I…ye might laugh at me.”
“I willna laugh at ye, lass,” he took her chin in his hand and lifted her gaze to hers. “I’m no’ exactly the laughin’ sort.”
She regarded him then with a palpable skepticism, as though expecting him to laugh at his own claim at any moment. “Ye promise?” she finally asked, though, between her still labored breathing and waning skepticism it sounded more like a demand.
Bold lass… Broden though, fighting a smirk—worried that it might work against his “no laughing” statement, which was soon to be a…
“Aye,” he said, “I promise. Now, why are ye out here?”
“I…” she was embarrassed, reluctant, and this made Broden all the more curious; he found himself taking a step forward—as though being nearer might draw the answer from her faster—then thought better of it and planted his feet.
“I was looking for the beasts of the village,” she finally spouted, looking everywhere but towards him.
Her breathing was no longer labored; her lips pursed and nostrils flared as she held her breath.
Broden realized that he, too, was no longer drawing in air.
A breeze passed, seeming to taunt his screaming lungs. The space between them demanded a response from either, and until that debt was paid neither could breathe.
Without the rhythmic rise and fall of her breasts with each breath, he noticed, she looked like some sort of statue, like something perfect immortalized in stone and more at home in a shrine. Then, reciting these thoughts to himself, he wondered what was the matter with him. That question, in turn, was just as quickly answered, and then Broden felt his heart skip a beat as he began to wonder—”pine,” was the word his brain chose; one that he’d never used before that moment unless in regard to the trees—if she could ever look at him the same way.
Was she feeling the same attraction he was to her?
Perhaps as a response to his burning lungs, Broden’s brain demanded he focus on the subject at hand, and he reminded himself of the subject at hand.
The lass was looking for his brothers? For him?
What for?
Had Grant told her about them; gotten shite-faced and said something he shouldn’t have?
And, most importantly, what did it mean for them that she was out there looking for them? Would there be others? Had the village finally decided to grow a pair and come for them?
“Well?” the word was more of a gasp as she broke the silence, “Say something!”
“The beasts, eh?” He narrowed his eyes at her, “And what would ye be looking for them for?” he demanded, then, shuddering at a thought that dragged a burning jealousy on its shoulders, blurted out, “Are ye infatuated with one of them?”
He instantly regretted the question, but thinking of Grant and the potential for his loose lips spurred him onward. His brother, randy bastard he was, had made it a personal challenge to make sure every available (and some unavailable) lass in the village knew who he was. And while Broden hoped that Grant would know better than to let it be known what he was, he knew that hoping only went so far.
And if that was true, then Broden really didn’t have a—
“Wh-what?” she seemed insulted by the question, disgusted even.
Somehow that hurt a little less than the idea of her with Grant.
Still shaking her head, she went on: “N-no! I’ve never even met one—doona even know if they exist!—but… I’ve been fascinated by the stories of them.” She blushed at her confession and shrugged a slender shoulder. “I suppose I just wanted to see if there was any truth to the stories.”
“Fascinated?” he raised an eyebrow at that. “How did ye learn about”—he caught himself before saying ‘us’—“er, them?”
He couldn't seem to think straight, and as she finally looked back up at him and his gaze found her eyes he felt a jolt pass through his body as if he’d been caught by lightning. A part of him he didn’t recognize roared and demanded more…
Another part—a part he knew all too well—screamed at him to run.
He decided to ignore it, for now at least.
“I’ve been hearing of them my entire life, honestly,” she finished with a soft sigh, one that seemed almost longing.
So much for ignoring it…
“Lately the stories have been different, though. Less whimsical and more… horrific.” She shrugged again and glanced back in the direction of the village. “They warn everyone no’ to be out too late; they say the beasts are dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” he raised an eyebrow at that. “So if that’s what everyone’s saying, then why are ye out here?”
The village’s tall tales about Broden and his family had never been a concern. The splinters of truth that might have clung to the skin of their stories weren’t thick enough to demand much attention—never had been before, at least—and it was better to let them talk than give their rumors substance. But dangerous? Talk of sightings were akin to a fisherman’s tale; exaggerated and openly known as such. But, just as the fisherman never finished his tale with the fish eating his mates, the stories of Broden’s kin weren’t meant to end in bloodshed. Those sorts of stories demanded action. Whether from those seeking vengeance, glory, or—he lingered on the lass a moment—simple curiosity. Sure, he and his brothers had snuck into the village to steal a few bare necessities, and he was sure that plenty of husbands and fathers had caught sight of Grant’s pink arse scurrying off after a romp of debauchery, but why should any of that lead to rumors of violence? And, moreover, why would a few accounts of theft and adultery suddenly be tied back to the old tales of the beasts?
“I doona…” she let out another small sigh, “I doona know. I suppose I felt like I had to see fer myself. Something inside me… it just screamed that this was something I needed to do.”
That caught his attention. Though it was a more recent turn for him—mere minutes, if he was being honest with himself—he, too, shared her strange “inner screams” that seemed to connect her to him; that had driven him to act as he had. He tilted his head, further examining the girl, and, as he did, she shifted her feet and looked away again. He didn't want to believe that his appearance was the reason she wouldn't look up, but he wouldn't rule it out either. He knew his scars were not subtle and as much as Lachlan assured him that scars were the “in thing,” he wasn’t going to believe his brother.
Especially not when Grant, the vision of perfection, still got all the boasting rights.
Watching the girl shift nervously again, he wondered if there was a nonthreatening way to ask her if he was making her uncomfortable. Maybe he could put her at ease if he acknowledged her unease. Or, at the very least, maybe it wouldn’t make him feel quite so monstrous watching her squirm like that.
“Am I… do I make ye uncomfortable?” he asked, unnerved by the alien nervousness in his voice.
Since when am I so docile?
“No! No’ at all,” she blushed and finally lifted those blue eyes back up at him.
He could get lost in the liquid pools of blue her eyes were and he held back the sudden urge to lean down to get a better look into them. As if she sensed that, her chin jutted forward in invitation. He paused at that before stepping back and looking away. He had to believe that he was just seeing things—misinterpreting her gestures—so that he didn’t make an arse of himself.
“It’s… ye should be home,” he finally said. “It’s no’ safe out here this late at night.”
“Because of the beasts?” her voice was a whisper, and he almost wondered if she had spoken at all.
Something in her voice, though…
Broden realized that she didn’t want to believe that the beasts she’d been hearing about her entire life were something to be feared. There was awe and intrigue there; awe and intrigue that refused to let terror and dread replace them.
“I did no’ say that,” he whispered back before nodding towards the ledge he’d saved her from. “I just said that it’s no’ safe.”
“Oh,” she followed the gesture and bit her lip at the reminder, “right…”
Broden nodded. “And while I doona know about yer beasts,” he dragged in a deep breath around the sheer depth of the lie he’d just told, “there are other threats—other manner of creature and peril—out here that could hurt ye.”
“Hey now! Enough of that!” she scolded, glaring back at him. “I lost my footing, aye—and I cannot thank ye enough for saving me—but that doesn’t mean I doona know how to handle myself! Might I remind ye that I came out here in search of beasts, so doona think me some frail thing!” she squared her shoulders and jutted her chin up towards him.
He smiled—actually smiled!—at the gesture. If his brothers were here, they’d probably be frozen in shock before surrounding him to figure out what was the matter with their otherwise stoic, stern brother. At that moment, feeling his jaw and cheeks tense with ache from misuse, he felt just as bewildered, though. He may not have chosen his role—that of the perpetually glowering, self-sacrificing, bossy downer; a miserable shepherd looking over the flock of his cursed brothers—but somebody had had to occupy it, and none of the others seemed willing or able. And, after years of passive searching for the “right girl”—a process that was more a pandering act that he’d halfheartedly committed to solely for his father, never investing much faith in either the belief that there would be an end to their curse or that there could ever truly be a “right girl” for him—taking up the mantle as a provider and protector seemed a quick way to put all that nonsense behind him. He left the fairy tales to his father and mother—let them worry about the curse and cling to the hope that they might find a way to reverse it—and busy himself in more productive ways. And, while he hated to admit it, the job came easy; rigidity and structure always having come easy for him.
“Were it no’ for all the work and planning to be done,” his father would often say, “I’m no’ sure what else would hold ye together.”
There had been a time that he’d missed being lighthearted and free to busy himself with irrelevant matters. At least, he had to believe there was. But certainty at that moment, when his face actually hurt from but a few moments of smiling, was frail and growing flimsier by the second. Truthfully, the role he’d taken—because it hadn’t really been assigned; none had forced him into it, after all—seemed more and more like an excuse: an excuse to be sullen, an excuse to be self-sacrificing, an excuse to be isolated. In short, an excuse to be miserable. Because so long as he had the excuse that he had to do all of that for the sake of his family, then he’d never have to blame himself for not being happy. So long as there was an unending and ever-tolling task at hand, Broden would never need to admit that the emptiness he’d felt his entire life was his own fault.
But now he was smiling.
Now he wasn’t burdened by the demands of tracking down Grant; wasn’t burdened by any of his normal demands.
Now…
Now the emptiness was gone.
No, he may not have chosen the role, but nor did he resent it. Now, however, looking down at this girl and feeling the new swell of life that he’d never known before, he had to wonder what he’d been missing.
Had to wonder if his father had been right…
“… I came out here in search of beasts…”
Aye, Broden thought, and found so much more.
“While I’m sure ye can handle yerself,” he forced a confident tone despite feeling anything but and gave her a light chuck under the chin with his fingers, “I will’na be held responsible for letting ye stray into danger.”
“Then doona,” her eyes held his as she spoke with confidence and determination, and a tremor of excitement rolled up Broden’s spine.
“Lass,” he sighed, fighting his own desires, and resigned once again to rigidity and structure—“Were it no’ for all the work and planning to be done, I’m no’ sure what else would hold ye together.” “It is late,” he offered, still hearing his father’s words echo in his thoughts like a taunt. “Come back tomorrow, early ‘nough that ye can enjoy the sights by daylight, and I will help ye search for yer beasts.”
That caught her attention, and the resulting smile threw his thoughts into another spiral of hope and elation. He knew he shouldn't be seeing the girl again, especially with her out searching for his kin and coming from a village that was, apparently, out for their blood. He knew he should send her back, deny the beasts existence—strike the possibility from her thoughts—and hope that, in her discouragement, she might convince the others to stop believing, as well. He knew all of the things he should have done. He did none of them; committed to none of them. Shite, he stared off at the horizon of all the things he should have done and intentionally turned away from it. Instead, he invited her back and, moreover, offered to help her track down the creatures she sought to discover. He was offering to help her track his family!
Aye… I’ve truly lost it.
Not that she would’ve stayed away. No, no amount of insanity could convince him that sending her away would be that easy. From the determination and confidence the female held, he felt at least a little better knowing that, even if he had committed to what he should have done, he’d only be delaying the inevitable. She’d come back. Aye, she’d come back, and she’d come back all the more determined, possibly with others.
So, in many ways, Broden was choosing the lesser of two evils.
At least that’s what he told himself.
Nevermind the swell of excitement and that increasingly familiar howl echoing in his chest.
Even she seemed to bounce with the same excitement he was feeling as she squealed and asked, “Ye will?”
He shrugged, trying to act much calmer than he felt on the inside. “Why no’? If it means ye will be safe and will go home for now, I will. Ye have my word.”
“Alright,” she dragged the word out after a painfully long, tension soaked stretch of silence wherein her skeptical, studying gaze seemed to challenge Broden’s offer. “But doona go thinking I won’t be coming back!” She grinned, “Especially now that I know that ye’re out here.”
Though Broden wasn’t sure what to make of that, he didn’t have long to dwell on her words before she turned away to head back down the hill, noticeably keeping a healthy distance from the ledge she’d been saved from as she did. Watching her go, Broden’s eyes drifted to her backside before instantly catching himself—visions of Grant’s leering, knowing grin haunting his thoughts—and forced himself to adjust his gaze as she spun around to face him again.
“Abby!” she called back.
Broden blinked at this, still lost in a haze of his own thoughts. “Eh?” was all he could manage as a response.
She laughed at this. “My name,” she clarified, beaming her addictive smile as she did. “It’s Abby. Just thought ye should know that.”
The name seemed to slam the breath from Broden’s chest, and, fighting the urge to gasp for breath, he stammered out, “Ye can call me Broden.”
Abby smiled at that. “Well it’s a pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Broden. Thanks again.”
Abby…
Once again his thoughts steered towards his parents’ stories of love at first sight. He remembered enjoying the stories, but thinking of them as only that: just stories; fairy tales. Even the story of his mother and father and their family’s curse had felt like a fairy tale. This one featuring his father as the “big, bad wolf” and, in an ironic twist, the role of “Red” being occupied by a jealous witch. Their father, however, though big, was more arrogant than bad, and it was this arrogance in the face of the witch’s declaration of her love for him that started their family’s troubles. Choosing another, their mother, over the witch, she cursed the two of them and any that their union might create to never again know the freedom of their race. The blood of beasts ran through their veins, the drive—the need—to transform and bask in the freedom that entailed, was what defined them. But the witch’s curse stole that from their parents, and Broden and his brothers had never even gotten to know it. They only knew that there was an emptiness there; a part of them that was caged beyond their reach. It was a twisted and horrible fairy tale, and one that they were all stuck living.
All his life Broden had been told that the means to break their family’s curse rested in he and his brothers finding their mates—the soul that perfectly complimented their own; the lone key that fit what was locked away from them—and, when they’d all found this perfect love, they’d be free. Unrequited love birthed the spell, his parents had explained, so a life condemned to tracking and obtaining such a specific love seemed the perfect punishment. It fit the fairy tale perfectly, he thought, but it all still rang just as a fairy tale; life didn’t really work that way, though, and the curse, like a crippling injury, wasn’t something that magic would just wisp away.
Except that it just had.
Standing before Abby—gazing upon her—had freed Broden! All the emptiness, all the things that his father had described that had been locked away from him and his family, everything that the curse had robbed from them had, in that instant, been lifted.
Excitement flooded him all at once as a whole new world of possibilities opened themselves up to him. Then, just as quickly, Abby’s distance grew too great—as though the night was swallowing her away from him—and the emptiness he’d known his entire life came back. For a long time he stood, hand clutched over his chest, unsure how to explain the dying howls and withering elation that seemed to react to the growing distance between him and her…
Between him and Abby.
* * *
Broden chose to give up his search for Grant. It was strange and uncharacteristic of him, but he figured that was already the tone the night had set for him and resigned to letting his encounter with Abby be the only memory—the only thought—that would carry him back up the mountain. Lyle and Kade, still perched over the mouth of their cave, were the first to see him as he made his return. The twins, as would be expected, shared the same shaggy black hair and bright green eyes—“two pines hiding under a night sky,” their mother would say as she worked to brush the bangs from one or both of their faces—but it was there that their similarities ended. Though one would believe they were seeing double to look upon them, the reality was that they were total opposites. Kade was, by far, the most brash and vocal of the siblings—not just the twins, but among the entire group—while Lyle preferred to say as little as possible, letting his loyalty speak for itself. In many ways, the two relied on one another to maintain a balance that could otherwise cast the extremes of their personalities out like a wayward ship. This was why one was never too far from the other, and why they were so good at keeping a lookout—caution and skepticism paired with an aggressive defensiveness was a sure way to prevent an attack without the risk of false alarms. As he had before leaving, Broden gave the two a nod. They returned the gesture, Kade offering a knowing scowl as he jabbed one of his dangling feet back towards the cave while Lyle wore something more apologetic across his features.
Broden had a good idea what it meant, and, sighing, he passed under the two pairs of legs and headed past the mouth of the cave.
Time and a great deal of work had transformed the cave. A network of tunnels had allowed their family to construct makeshift rooms for themselves, and it was, though just a cave in outward appearance, a lovely home for them. And while the labor it took to turn the layers of rock and earth into something livable belonged to the males of the family, much of the credit was owed to their mother, who managed to turn the otherwise dark and gray interior into something else entirely with colorful tapestries and thrifty, homemade furnishings. They even got to boast artwork on the walls, though these were mostly of wolves and bears and large cats and had a tendency to make the emptiness in Broden’s heart feel that much emptier.
A short distance away, trembling from obvious nightmares, Callum was curled up in a corner where the “room” funneled into a small, tight pocket. Though it wasn’t the “room” that held his things—that part of the cave was empty more often than not—it was where the youngest chose to sleep.
Nobody blamed him.
But it wasn’t Callum that concerned Broden then. True to the twins’ “warning,” he was greeted by a nearly naked Grant, sprawled across the floor in the main “room,” what otherwise served as the family’s communal area, and clutching a frilly pillow that had no doubt been gifted to him by his most recent conquest. He reeked of liquor and the fairer sex. Narrowing his eyes at the sight, he heard Kade and Lyle step in behind him.
“He stumbled in shortly before ye returned,” Kade grumbled. “Didn’t take him long to find his way onto his back again.”
Broden sneered and asked, “Was he at least wearing pants this time.”
“He had pants on,” Lyle offered in a low voice, “but I wouldn’t say he was wearing them.”
Kade gave a grunt and nodded in agreement before patting Broden’s shoulder, an act that stung of both understanding and sympathy, before the two turned away and headed towards the tunnel that led to the room they shared.
Growling—more to himself than anyone else—Broden stepped inside, letting the pelt fall shut behind him, and jabbed his drunken brother in the side with his toe. “Grant!” he barked, earning a startled yelp from his brother, whose mismatched green and blue eyes lazily worked to focus on him. “Ye canna keep going about the village as ye are!”
Grant regarded him through a hooded gaze. “Och! Why the hell no’?” he demanded, but, obviously not caring about the answer, worked to turn away. “Doona be such a downer, Broden? Git yerself laid!”
“Yer gettin’ laid enough for our whole pack!” Broden snarled, grabbing his brother by the shoulder and yanking him back around to face him, “An’ at great risk, too—the villagers are startin’ to tell tales of the beasts as bein’ dangerous! They’re liable to come huntin’ fer us soon!”
“Oh, aye?” Grant scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I can see ‘em now: charging up on drunken, wobbly legs and brandishing whisky bottles that they keep eyein’ for one last drop.”
“An’ ye’d think it a great joke until one of those wobbly drunks got the drop on ye and bashed yer dense skull in with one of those bottles, ye daft twit!” Broden shot. “Now get up! Food’s gone scarce and we need to hunt.”
“Again?” Grant whimpered.
“Aye,” Broden forced a tone of mocking sympathy, “it seems ye and the others have this nasty habit of eating!”
“And ye doona?” Grant growled back before catching sight of Broden’s face and, suddenly remembering how many meals he’d been skipping for the others’ sake, looked away, ashamed. “I’m… I’m sorry,” he offered.
“Ye sure are,” Broden pulled him to his feet. “Now let’s go!”
“But…” Grant pouted as he worked to steady himself, then paused as he took Broden in. A blue and green gaze that was suddenly much clearer—more sober and infinitely wiser—regarded him, and Broden’s breath caught at the sudden change in his brother’s poise. It unnerved the hell out of him.
“Ye met someone…” Grant said, his words slow and careful, as though he were handling a new sort of creature for the first time. Then, seeming satisfied by the claim, he leaned in to sniff Broden and gave a wide grin. “A female.”
Before Broden had a chance to respond to that, he heard a faint rustling and a low, empty growl.
The sound was like a cold wind carrying hopes of death.
“Can ye two find another place to hold this discussion? I’m trying to sleep,” Callum’s voice was as emotionless as his expression as he gazed up from his dim corner. Once excitable, blue eyes now regarded them like spent bricks of coal beneath a scattered patchwork of hair, which, once thick and proud, was now laced with streaks of ghostly white, as though his own hair couldn’t shake the haunting memories of what had happened to him.
So young and so frail; the damage sank much deeper than the skin. They’d gotten Cullen back from the hunters who’d captured him a few years earlier, but, in many ways, they’d also lost him. Whatever the female who’d been in charge of those who’d captured him had done in the time they’d had him was enough to send him back broken. The subject of women—any woman with the exception of their mother, who seemed to be the only person who brought even a glimmer of who he’d once been back to his eyes—was not one that Callum took kindly to. Being woken up to talk of being laid and encountering women out there was likely worse than the hell that tormented him in his sleep.
Broden and Grant both regarded him with sympathy, and, seeing this, he looked away, tucking his face into the fold of his arm and shivering, though this time it couldn’t be blamed on nightmares.
Not the sleeping kind, anyway.
“Damn…” Grant sighed. “I think now’s the perfect time to go on a hunt.”
Broden nodded and ushered Grant towards the mouth of the cave.
“But,” Grant kept his voice low so as to not disturb Callum as he slowed his pace, threatening to stop, “ye have to promise me we’ll talk about whatever happened.”
Glancing back at Callum, knowing that his younger brother deserved a peaceful rest—or, rather, as peaceful as his rests could be—and admitting that Grant was probably the best one to talk to about his encounter with Abby, he nodded.