Roan

It takes every fiber of strength I have to close out the shocked, wounded expression on Lucy’s swollen face.

My movement is pure will as I turn and mount Sweetie. Shadow does not follow. He sits at the door and yips to get my attention, and when he has it, he scratches the door and whines, looking at me meaningfully.

Lucy’s on the other side of it, crying.

I know she is.

I’ve always known what she’s feeling.

I want to vomit from the pain, but this is how it has to be.

I snap my fingers, willing the wolf to follow, but he doesn’t. Shadow lies down and rests his nose between his paws, refusing to look at me.

This is a journey I have to take alone, anyway.

I lead Sweetie around to the main gate and when it trundles aside I dismount, taking my pack with me, and the mare trots through. I don’t wait for the gate to close. I ignore JT’s voice coming through the speaker asking what the hell I’m doing. Instead, I break into a run, sprinting for the trees.

I’m heartsick and sore, cold and empty. Fixing up the cabin gave me a sense of a future, a way I thought I could live in community with the Lucianos and keep my soul apart.

But there was no way to do that. The price tag for the Lucianos’ love is too high for someone as bankrupt as me.

My mind can’t bear to touch on Lucy for even a second. She’s a white-hot coal, consuming me from the inside, agonizing and burning.

I have to find a way to rip that coal out and quench its flame.

The weight of the pack on my shoulders grounds me. The familiar burdens of my hatchet, and pistols in their holsters along with the rifle in my hand remind me of who I am, and how I operate in the world. Alone and deadly.

“You’re a coward, Roan Winters.” Lucy’s voice stabs me like a hot needle and I flinch at the memory.

Yeah. I’m a coward, not the right man for Lucy: a woman who drinks love like water, who pours love like rain—but I’m a desert, unable to give anything back.

The forest has always brought me comfort and a sense of belonging. There’s no time but the movement of the sun and the weather through the trees. No plan. Just a path I’ll make myself, and follow until I can’t anymore.

The warm thrust of Shadow’s muzzle into my hand as he rejoins me brings a prickle to my eyes. “Thank you, boy.”

Shadow meets my eyes with his yellow ones, only for a second, submitting to my leadership. But he didn’t have to come. He could have stayed at the Haven, been a part of the pack of dogs there, a beloved member of the family.

And so could I.

I bat the thought away. No one loves me. No one ever has. Lucy’s just infatuated. The girl never had anyone say no to her before. Not that I really said no, in the end…

I stroke Shadow’s solid skull, his fur silky under my fingertips—but not as silky as Lucy’s skin.

Her skin is imprinted all over me, a tattooed memory. Her touch still lights up my body every time my mind goes back to that humble pallet. Her scent is on me, in every sense of the word. Her taste fills my mouth, my nose—ah, God—strawberries.

I can only pray that her hold on me will fade with time and distance. I need to get space between me and the Haven, and once my head’s clear, I can figure out what’s next.

We travel north on deer trails all that afternoon and into the dusk, camping that night under a sheltering pine. Not bothering with a fire, I lie awake, grinding my teeth. Unable to sleep, I pull the eagle feather from my hair. The white down is dark with dried blood—the light hidden, leaving only the dark.

I slide off my belt and notch it twelve times with my knife, one slash mark for each man of Kane’s that I killed, and finally I can sleep, the satisfaction of ending those men relaxing me.

The clang of something metal, an alien sound in the dark forest, jars me out of a dream. I am sweating and afraid, unsure of what happened, but knowing that there is a war going on inside of me. Good and evil are waging a battle, and I don’t care who wins.

Shadow goes tense and his ruff rises as a growl rumbles in his chest. I stand, holding up a hand for him to wait, and ghost like fog through the trees to investigate, drawing my weapons as I prowl toward the sound.

Three men are clustered around a campfire. I note the swastikas marking their allegiance on their skin and clothing with vicious satisfaction.

Darkness unfurls inside of me, stifling the white-hot pain of Lucy’s love, and I move into the firelight.

“Friends of Dwight Kane?”

My voice brings three heads snapping around, three pairs of eyes bulging in surprise that I appeared undetected out of the darkness, three hands fumbling for weapons that aren’t ready.

“Yeah. Who’s asking?” The largest of the three snarls, lifting his pistol toward my chest.

“Just making sure.” I fire from my waist.

Three shots in the quiet night. Three souls set free. Three more notches for my belt.

I don’t bury the bodies, but I do take their best horse, a sturdy gray gelding.

This is something to do for the rest of my miserable life: I’ll go skinhead hunting, until one of them finally brings me down.