CHAPTER TEN

Wren almost wished Ero didn’t indulge him so much.

Because these last few days had felt like false hope, as they’d killed time around Meridian and Wren had discovered an entirely new world. He’d seen wolves who looked happy and healthy and carefree, rather than beaten and cowed; wolves who lived not in packs but in neighborhoods with no clear leader. He’d ventured to the human side of town, watching as men and women moved among each other with casual ease, their scents masked by the salve under his nose but their body language so clear, and they weren’t afraid of wolves at all.

He listened to people tell stories in taverns, of the world before Discfall; of the strange monsters that lived around the Disc, mutations and things of magic; of how the dryads would sometimes sing in a single voice that swept the world, and how every time two women fell in love they would make a pilgrimage to the dryad stands outside Meridian to stand beneath their twined branches and above their mated roots and pledge to love the way the dryads loved, growing together deeper and deeper until they strengthened each other.

He tried fried fish for the first time, and nearly put it away until he got used to the taste and the crispy, flaky flesh; he stared at the bright ribbons in a shop window, only to wake up the next evening with a pale blue one threaded into his hair. He had to nearly be dragged out of the apothecary’s shop, when he was fascinated by the powdered and cubed and dried and fresh herbs in jars and bunches, asking question after question until the apothecary responded with a sort of waspish fondness, poring over the books on herbalism for sale only for his heart to sink as he realized he didn’t have any money and he couldn’t ask Ero when Ero had to pay passage for both of them south, and was paying for their room.

Yet the book had somehow appeared in his bag overnight.

All because Ero was indulging him, and even if they no longer spoke of that hurt, that ache, that pull, that need…

Every once in a while their hands brushed, their eyes locked, and Wren only wished Ero would push him away just a little bit more so it wouldn’t hurt so much when they parted.

When this playact of idle nights and silent days, pressed against Ero’s back in the bed they shared…it only made him hope for something that could never be.

Their boat would be leaving tomorrow, though. Ero had already booked passage to New Orleans, and then from New Orleans they had been told it would take over two months to reach the south pole and the Silk Islands. So Wren was going to enjoy one of his last nights on land for a very long time, and Ero was once again indulging him and letting Wren take the lead, following him through Meridian wherever Wren’s curious questions took them. He’d learned that the big creatures they’d spooked were called cows, and Ero’s clothing was made of cow leather, and farmers kept cows for their hides, their meat, and their milk. Wren had balked at the idea of drinking milk from another animal when he hadn’t nursed since he was a pup, but Ero had coaxed him to try something called ice cream and now he couldn’t get enough.

And he was just dragging Ero toward the shop that made ice cream, moving under the quarter moon and the little pretty lanterns strung up all along the street, when a familiar scent struck him like a spear to the gut.

Connaught.

Connaught was here—not in Meridian, but close by and drawing closer, closer by the moment. His scent drifted toward Wren on the wind, heavy and dark and burning with an acid rage, loathing. Wren’s heart sank, his body turning to ice, and he couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t breathe, clutching at his chest, and Ero froze, turning back, looking down at him with his eyes dark with concern, his voice urgent.

“Wren?” He dropped to one knee, rubbing a hand against Wren’s back. “Wren. What’s wrong? What is it?”

Wren jerked his gaze to Ero; his lips worked, but he couldn’t speak. He only shook his head, trying again and again, voice lodging in the back of his throat before he finally managed, “C-Connaught. He’s here. He’s here.”

And Wren would rather die than go back with him.

Back to the emptiness of that pointless life, and its complete and utter ignorance.

Ero swore under his breath, lifting his head, flaring his nostrils; his brows knit, gaze distant and searching, before he let out another curse. “And he’s come with silver. I think he’s here for me, not you.”

That was enough to jerk Wren from his shock; he inhaled sharply, staring up at Ero, and shook his head quickly. “We have to run. He’ll kill you with silver, he’ll—”

“He’ll do no such thing,” Ero said firmly, his hand strong and steadying again Wren’s back. He looked down at Wren, that quiet, neutral calm settling over him; that calm Wren now recognized as a mask over his feelings, over the weariness that came from having to face this cutthroat world. “Go back to the hotel. I’ll go out to meet him. He could hurt too many people here, and I’d rather lead him away.”

“No!” Wren clutched at Ero’s arm, his heart a sick and frightened thing, small and trembling. “You can’t fight him alone!”

“I don’t intend to fight him at all.” Ero covered Wren’s hand on his arm and squeezed gently. “Maybe this time he’ll be more willing to listen to reason.”

Not if he has silver, Wren thought. Most wolves would never touch silver, and it was considered dishonorable to use it against each other. If Connaught came with silver…

He meant to kill, and he had nothing to lose.

“Take me with you.” Before Ero could even protest, Wren shook his head sharply. “Take me. He knows me. I know him. I might be able to talk to him if he won’t listen to you.”

Ero hesitated, doubt clear in his eyes, in his scent, before he nodded. “Stay behind me,” he said, then turned to forge through the streets of Meridian.

Wren kept close on his heels, curling his fingers in his clothing and trying to still their shaking. Connaught had followed them all the way here…he must have gone mad, possibly feral, and Wren couldn’t stand the thought of Ero hurt if Connaught tried to turn silver on him. He quickened his stride as that scent grew stronger; they had to intercept Connaught before he got close enough to hurt the people of the settlement.

But the guards at the gate stopped them, eyeing them suspiciously as Ero stepped through with Wren huddled close against his side.

“Late for an important meeting?” the guard sneered, hand tight on the butt of his spear. “Look like you’re running from something you shouldn’t have done.”

“Trouble followed us here,” Ero said grimly. “I aim to keep it away.”

The guard looked him up and down, assessing, before nodding—acceptance but also clipped warning. “See that you do,” he said, and stepped aside to let them pass.

They weren’t two steps outside the gate before Ero took off running, long legs flying over the dry earth and scrub grass; Wren bolted after him, struggling to keep up, taking great deep gasps of air that smelled too much like Connaught and the poison of silver. And they didn’t have to go far, before a distant silhouette took shape: a man marching resolutely forward, a bow slung to his back, the quiver filled with arrows. Wren knew those arrows, that bow; they’d once rested in the hall at Neg Keep, a silent reminder of what happened to wolves who were so far gone they endangered the entire pack and had to be disposed of, instead of just run off.

He felt sick to his stomach, as he stopped next to Ero, watching that silhouette and waiting. Ero stood tall and resolute, his chin lifted, as if he would use his entire massive body as a barrier to prevent Connaught from passing.

Connaught neither slowed nor accelerated his steady stride as he approached them, burning yellow eyes alight with madness and vengeance. Wren curled his fingers against his mouth, sucking in a faint breath. He really was gone, so obsessed that his single-minded focus had eaten away his reason. Wren…Wren couldn’t stand to see his former mate like this, for all that he had no love for him. He was still a part of Wren’s life, a part of his past.

And he had a feeling that Connaught wouldn’t stop until he’d either killed them both, or Ero was forced to cut him down.

As Connaught drew closer, he stopped, standing several yards across from them and looking them over with a disdainful gaze. “So you came out as the welcoming committee?”

Ero folded his arms over his broad chest. “We came to make sure our problems don’t become the city’s problems. What’s your business here, Striker?”

Connaught curled his upper lip. “I came to take back what’s mine.”

Ero’s eyes narrowed. “There’s nothing here that belongs to you.”

Wren winced. “Connaught, please—”

“Don’t speak, whore.” Connaught’s hateful yellow eyes few to him, cutting and dark. “You were my mate. But I can smell his filthy rutting all over you.”

Wren recoiled, stung, aching. A growl darkened Ero’s otherwise even voice, heavy brows lowering. “I’d watch your tone,” he said, low and deadly. “We can end this peacefully. There’s no need for this.” He took a single step closer—but it might as well have been a threat, the way Connaught bristled. “You challenged me, Connaught. And you lost squarely. There’s no revenge to be had here for your own choices.”

Connaught bared his teeth in a feral snarl, slinging the bow down, nocking an arrow to it. Its steel tip was dipped in silver, gleaming deadly in the moonlight, its scent foul. “You humiliated me!” he roared.

“No.” Ero remained firm, unwavering, unmoved by the sight of the arrow. “You humiliated yourself, because you can’t see yourself as more than what you are.”

Connaught’s eyes narrowed as he lifted the bow, sighting down the arrow, right at Ero. “I was their alpha for four hundred years,” he spat bitterly. “And they put me out. Because of you.”

“Because of you,” Ero countered softly. “They’re likely better off without you.” He flicked Connaught a once-over look, those blue eyes almost pitying. “And you can start fresh. Right here. Meridian is a good place for that. Put the bow down and you can find a new life here. A new community, where you can be something more than an alpha.”

“There is nothing more than alpha,” Connaught swore, and Wren’s heart stopped as his finger tightened on the bowstring. Ero wasn’t moving. Ero wasn’t moving, that big brave idiot willing to take a silver arrow to make his point, and Wren couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand it, and time seemed to slow as Connaught let fly, as the bowstring twanged, as the arrow shot forward. He tasted the coldness of fear, and heard the whispers of the dryads, telling him to be brave.

He flung himself against Ero, shoving him out of the way with all of his strength. They went tumbling down, but his world went red, then dark, then quiet as pain exploded in the back of his shoulder, burning like corrosive chemicals against his skin, searing through him and dragging him into the dark on Ero’s last desperate cry of,

“Wren!”

T

Ero felt the change ripping through him even before the arrow struck, and Wren’s blood fountained across the dirt as the omega—his omega, the beast inside him snarled, his wolf his mate his life—crumpled to the dirt in a limp heap, his expression caught in a stunned, transfixed O, blood pouring from his right shoulder to mat down his chest.

Ero dove to catch him, even as his body warped and shifted, leathers unraveling and sloughing away in strips as his flesh bulged, bones realigned, his entire body twisting into a raw hot demon of rage and anguish and loss. He let out a rough, aching howl in the back of his throat as he caught Wren’s limp weight, easing him down, and immediately ripped the arrow from his shoulder. Wren arched, crying out in pain, his head tossing back—but Ero had to do it quick, before the silver poisoning soaked in too deep.

“Wren,” he growled, his muzzle struggling with the name, but he had to say it, had to hear Wren’s voice answering him. “Wren, Wren, Wren…”

No answer. Wren flopped limply, unconscious, and Ero stared at the wound in his shoulder, the ragged hole in his flesh. He wasn’t healing. He wasn’t healing, the silver tainting the wound, and if Ero didn’t get him to a doctor quickly…

Wren would bleed out.

He tensed at the sound of the bowstring nocking behind him again. Connaught. Connaught the madman; Connaught who would become a murderer if Ero didn’t cut him down now. If he took Wren, Connaught would shoot him in the back and leave them both to bleed out.

He couldn’t let that happen to Wren.

Ero turned slowly, shifting into a defensive crouch in front of his mate, baring his teeth at Connaught. The scent of Wren’s blood filled his nostrils, surging through him, giving him new fury, new strength—but his mind was still his own, hot and clear with rage. With hatred. He was in control.

And the fact that Wren’s blood had no effect on Connaught said that he was no true alpha.

Eyes wild and hot with loathing and madness, Connaught drew back quickly and let fly another arrow, straight at Ero’s chest. Snarling, Ero skidded back, then snatched the arrow out of the air, catching it by its haft and clenching his fist to crunch it in half, snapping it, flinging it aside. Only one moment for Connaught’s eyes to widen, as Ero braced back on his haunches, tail lashing.

Before he flung himself forward, ducking beneath the bow’s effective range and tackling into Connaught to drag him to the dirt.

Connaught shifted in a scrabbling of claws and teeth, body thickening, strengthening, shoving back against Ero as the bow when skittering away into the grass and the arrows spilled from the quiver to scatter everywhere. They grappled, rolling, shoving each other down into the burn of silver-tipped flat edges and then kicking and rolling away, jaws snapping at throats, claws raking, churning up dust as they fought for dominance.

Ero had gone easy on Connaught last time—but this time he was racing the timer of Wren’s draining heart, and he had no mercy for this broken, abusive, lying wolf who claimed to be an alpha. He bucked his hind paws into Connaught’s gut, shoving him off, deliberately raking his claws down over his belly to cut deep, exposing muscle, sending blood splattering everywhere. Connaught flew back, tumbling to the dirt, and Ero lunged after him, shoving him down with his greater bulk and planting a hand on his throat.

Minutes ago he would have let Connaught walk away. Minutes ago he would have felt pity for the fear in those wide golden eyes, the pleading, the moment of realization that Connaught wasn’t going to escape this.

But minutes ago Connaught hadn’t fired a silver-tipped arrow into Ero’s fragile little mate, called him a whore, left him bleeding out on the grass.

Ero met those yellow eyes for one moment, asking himself if he wanted this, if he could live with himself for killing this man.

If it meant keeping Wren safe…

He would find it in himself to deal with it.

And even as Connaught opened his jaws to beg, Ero tore his throat out in a single swipe, ripping with all his strength. Connaught gurgled as his neck fountained dark scarlet over his fur, darkening and matting it, the scent of death and crimson hot on the night. But his eyes were still bright, livid, alive with a furious life that promised that even this, too, he would survive.

Ero gripped the fur between his ears, dug his fingers in, and ripped.

Connaught’s head tore off with one last anguished, gargling howl, as those eyes went dark and blank. Breathing hard, Ero dropped the head next to the twitching, spilling body, pushing to his feet, staring down at the blood steaming on the grass for long and frozen seconds. He felt sick. He felt sick, but it had to be done.

And without a second thought he raced back to Wren, shedding his lycan form between one step and the next as he dropped to his knees and gathered the little omega into his arms.

Wren was pale, so pale, his breaths shallow, blue veins standing out against his skin, and Ero’s heart nearly stopped as he realized he had found his mate only to possibly lose him because Ero had been too stupid, too stubborn, to let Wren in. He bowed his head, pressing his brow to Wren’s, as he stood and turned toward Meridian, breaking into a ground-covering run.

Against him Wren shifted, but it was enough to give him hope as that weak, struggling voice moaned, “E-Ero…”

“I’m here, little one,” Ero promised, even as he threw all his strength into running. “You’re going to be okay.”