"Jesus Christ, let me look at it."

Blood wet Eden's fingers, leaving them tacky as she knelt at his side. Not fresh, or at least, not all of it was—but Colton's shirt was still damp enough to concern her. He had to have lost at least a pint.

"I'll heal." Colton tipped the whiskey flask up, the muscles in his throat working as Eden fussed over him. He lowered it, peering inside the mouth of the flask. "Did you drink some of my whiskey? This was full this morning, and now there's barely half left."

I threw it on the fire.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me you were still bleeding?" she muttered under her breath, starting to undo his shirt.

"Because we had to keep moving," Colton snapped. He looked away as he lowered the bottle. "And it's not as though I thought you'd care."

Eden recoiled sharply. He couldn't have cut her deeper if he'd tried.

All her life she'd been a healer, drawn to helping people.

She'd never turned anyone away, because that wasn't who she was.

But his claim wasn't as far-fetched as it sounded.

When had she begun to turn into this person?

Eden clearly startled him by taking the whiskey flask off him and wiping the rim of it with her sleeve.

"Hey, I need that. It's good for my...." His protest died off when she tipped it to her own lips and swallowed heartily. "But you can share if you like. Just didn't think you'd be the type."

Fire burned down her throat and Eden let it wash away the hate. If she wasn't careful, she'd tie herself in knots with it. It was already forging her into someone she didn't know—and didn't like.

"Type?" she rasped, lowering the bottle. "Why? You don't think I like a good drink?"

He bared his teeth in a pained smile. "You seem more the type who's all work and no play...."

It wasn't the first time a man had told her that. Eden's eyes narrowed. Nothing wrong with having a sense of duty. She could have a good time.

"You look like you want to say something bad," he said, grimacing. "Permission to swear at me, Miss McClain."

"Strip." She ignored his suggestion.

Colton shot her a somewhat dirty look as he tugged the hem of his shirt up, revealing the chiseled perfection of his abs. "You want to get me down to bare skin, angel, all you've got to do is say the word. But I don't need to take my shirt off."

Normally those were fighting words—especially coming from this man—but Eden's breath caught as she saw the damage. Claw marks raked across his abdomen, slashing down to his hip. The top of them was dangerously close to his sternum. She'd seen enough of Adam's wounds in the past to know this should have healed by now but the edges were grayed, the raw flesh a paler pink than she'd have expected. Tiny threads of darker gray highlighted the faint capillaries under his olive skin, as if the poison from the wound worked its way slowly through him. Sepsis, perhaps. Or something else?

"Jesus," she whispered, touching the puffy flesh lightly. Heat burned beneath her fingers, and suddenly she was moving, reaching for the medical kit she carried everywhere she went. "Hold still."

If he were human, she'd have to clean that flesh out, perhaps even surgically remove some of it. She'd have given him as much antibiotics as she dared—before she ran through her entire supply when the plague hit—and she'd have put him on a drip and spent the next couple of days monitoring him.

But he wasn't human, and she didn't have access to her surgery.

And the last thing they had was time.

"I'll live," he told her gruffly, clearly reading her expression. "Won't be the worst wound I've ever taken. Just bandage it up."

"I know we were joking about it earlier, but shirt off." Her eyes met his. "And that is not a suggestion."

"I'm fine."

"Careful," CJ warned. "She'll wrestle you into submission if you're not careful and sit on you to get what she wants. She only looks like she's small and sweet-tempered, but she's like a trapped wolverine when she wants to play doctor."

"Mierda." Colton tipped the bottle of whiskey to his lips again, and took another healthy swallow. Then he reached over his shoulder and hauled his shirt over his head, wincing a little as muscle flexed in his abdomen, pulling at his wound. "And I don't think I ever thought she was sweet-tempered."

"She is right here," Eden growled, glaring at her comrade over Colton's shoulder. A folded piece of paper slid out of his pocket. Eden frowned and went to grab it, but Colton beat her to it.

"That's private," he muttered.

Behind him, CJ sucked in a sharp breath. Colton shot him a narrow-eyed look she couldn't quite decipher, but the claw marks swiftly had her full attention.

Eden cleaned the ragged edges of the wound with a gauze pad soaked in the liquor, as Colton leaned back against the rock he was sitting on. She bit her lip when he hissed. "Normally I wouldn't bother stitching something like this—not with a warg anyway—but I don't like the look of it."

"Heat my knife," he told her, tugging it out of the sheath at his hip and flipping it so he could hand her the hilt. "Burn the poison out and I'll heal. It will just be a little slower than I'd like."

Eden turned toward the small fire CJ had made. It wouldn't have been her first choice. But Colton was right. Whatever had coated the shadow cat's claws, it was working its way through the wound. No point stitching it, and all of her herbal washes would cleanse the wound, but little else.

Which left fire.

Eden slowly heated the blade in the flames. "Are you ready?"

Colton tugged his belt through the rasp of his jeans and folded it. He set it between his teeth, his fist flexing around the neck of the flask. "Rea-rry."

Eden rested her hand on his shoulder and looked at CJ wordlessly. This would hurt and it didn't matter how conflicted she felt about Colton, she hated having to do this to him.

To anyone.

"Do it quickwy," Colton rasped, as CJ pinned his shoulders.

Skin seared as she held the blade to his mottled flesh. She'd been expecting him to at least scream but all that left his mouth was a rasped groan, and he turned his head to the side, panting through it. The stink of burning flesh made her swallow.

"Next one," she whispered, turning the flat of the blade and pressing it swiftly against the other claw mark. There were three in all, and a faint scratch where the fourth must have glanced his skin. Only two of them were deep and angry, but she swiftly cauterized the third shallow cut, just in case.

The second she was done, Colton collapsed forward into her arms, pressing his forehead against her shoulder and shuddering. The belt fell from his mouth, along with a strand of saliva, and a swift course of groaned Spanish words she couldn't decipher. Eden couldn't help rubbing her hand through his close-cropped hair, though she knew there was nothing she could truly do to comfort him.

And—

The curve of his spine flexed as he bent his neck. Scars marked his back. Hundreds of them. Eden sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes flying to CJ's.

She recognized burn marks when she saw them.

Small round burns like the end of a cigarette—or cigar, most likely, from the size of them. Some were pressed over others, deep thickened welts that looked like they'd merely built upon the base layers of scarring.

Holding the knife safely away from him, Eden stroked her free hand up his spine, cupping the back of his neck, her mind still shocked.

This was why he hadn't wanted to take his shirt off. He'd made sure the light was quenched the other night too, before he undressed.

His words from last night about how to break a warg flashed through her head: Torture. Sleep deprivation. Starvation. That kind of shit.

There was nothing else she could call scars like these, except signs of long-ago torture. And they had either happened to him young, before he was infected with the warg curse, or the torture had been so extreme even his super-healing hadn't been able to heal it all.

"Who did this to you?" she whispered.

"Hijo de puta." Colton shuddered and clung to her arm. "Fuck." He slowly managed to lift his head, his chest still heaving. "Are we done here?"

"Colton," she blurted, grabbing his forearm.

He froze, his dark eyes dropping to her touch. Eden's first instinct was to withdraw her hand, but she tilted her chin stubbornly and let her thumb stroke, just once, over the smooth skin on the inside of his wrist.

Their eyes met.

"Don't go soft on me, angel," he said quietly. "I've lived a bad life, remember?"

Right now she couldn't think of everything he'd done to her. All she could feel was horror. "Who?"

He searched her gaze, as if he realized she wasn't going to leave this alone.

"You think you were Bartholomew Cane's first victim?" Each word was crisp and cool, Colton locking down his emotions hard. He reached for his shirt and tugged it back over his head. A taunting smile twisted his lips as he pushed himself to his feet. "Sorry, angel. But you spent one night with him. I spent years."

And then he stalked away into the sweltering morning, leaving her on her knees with his knife in her hand, her entire world turned upside down.

* * *

It changed everything.

Eden could barely focus on anything else all day, as Colton pushed them hard. They had to move, he said, ignoring her attempts to question him about Cane when his burns healed well enough for her to bandage them.

Which meant she had to form her own conclusions.

Thinking about Bartholomew Cane made her skin crawl. As much as Eden didn't want to admit it, she'd never thought of Colton as a monster. He'd obeyed Cane's will, but when he'd finally locked her inside the hut where her brother was undergoing his first metamorphosis, he'd been almost apologetic, and there'd been a broken-down look in his dark eyes, as if he knew she'd never forgive him.

Left to his own devices she didn't think Colton had it in him to be cruel or violent. He just wasn't the type to seek it out.

Cane had been a different kettle of fish entirely. Even now the hairs along the back of her neck rose, and the man had been dead several years, killed by Colton's own hand apparently.

Not once had she ever wondered what it would have been like to work for Cane.

She hadn't understood why Colton even obeyed the psychopath.

Hadn't given it a thought.

Just assumed he'd been there for the hell of it.

Do it often enough and you can twist even the most hard-core alpha to your will in a way he'll never be able to break....

Everything inside her went cold.

What if Colton hadn't been Cane's accomplice by choice?

What if Cane had used torture to break Colton at a young age, and he'd been forced to obey him? She'd heard enough of his conversation with CJ last night to understand how it might have been done.

Which meant all her preconceived notions about Colton were wrong.

Feeling breathless, Eden forced herself to mechanically chew the meal CJ had cooked when they finally stopped for the night, but the two wargs’ quiet words went right over her head as she tried to replay every interaction she'd ever had with Johnny Colton.

Sunlight drenched the street as Eden bustled out of the general store, lugging the basket of groceries she'd purchased. She was waving goodbye to Mr. Miller, all smiles and good humor, when she turned the corner and almost slammed into a young man washing his face in the water trough.

He had his head tilted back, and water tracked rivulets down the side of his face and his throat. A black Stetson hung on a nail on the wall, and he'd tugged his black shirt open at the collar to run his wet hand across the back of his neck.

Young, perhaps a couple of years older than she. All tanned skin and white flashing teeth. She'd caught him in a vulnerable, careless moment, but her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth, and Eden had the feeling she'd been punched in the chest.

Man, those jeans were tight. And he was the most attractive guy she'd ever met—which, granted, wasn't a great deal of men.

"I know we're in the middle of nowhere," she somehow managed to say, feeling tongue-tied and breathless, "but surely you can find yourself an actual bath."

Dark eyes locked on hers.

He froze.

So did she.

But there was a skitter of butterflies fluttering raucously in her stomach, and Eden tucked a strand of hair behind her ears self-consciously. Holy. Shit. Why had she said that?

"Hi," she said.

The stranger tugged his shirt together and started buttoning it back up. "Hello, angel."

"If you wanted an actual bath," she said, tilting her head toward the boarding house her father had run when he was alive, "I might be able to help you out."

The stranger stiffened.

"Eden," she said, sticking her hand out for him to shake. "Eden McClain. And my brother owns the boarding house now, so I'm fairly certain I could help accommodate you. There's a washhouse out back, and we don't have any lodgers at the moment, so you'd be welcome to use it, Mr...?"

"Colton. Johnny Colton," he breathed, staring at her hand as if it were dangerous. "Are you sure that's a good idea? You don't even know me."

"I don't know most of the people who stay with us." She rolled her eyes and dropped her hand. "Are you planning to hurt me?"

"No."

"Good," she'd told him, glancing coquettishly at him over her shoulder as she turned toward the boarding house. "Because if you were, I would have to warn you my brother taught me how to shoot and throw a knife, and he was pretty thorough about where to knee a man if he thought to get too friendly... if you know what I mean?"

The faintest of smiles softened Johnny's mouth and he stared at her as if he couldn't look away. He took one hesitant step after her. "Should I be worried about running into your brother too? Because if you're half as dangerous as you say you are, then I might not want to meet him."

He was definitely flirting with her now. Wasn't he?

"You have no idea." Speaking of, Adam was somewhere in town. Eden glanced toward the main street, and then slipped into the shadows beside Johnny before anyone could tattle on her. "He's six years older than me, but you'd think he was my father. Plus he's a bounty hunter. Hunts wargs out there in the Wastelands. He's a total badass."

And if Adam caught a glimpse of her speaking to a handsome young stranger, he'd be right over here, getting all up in her business.

There was possibly a reason she'd never seen a man this gorgeous before.

"A bounty hunter?" Johnny murmured, and paused a step.

"Don't worry," she said, crossing the narrow alley behind the general store and heading for the boarding house. "He won't like you, but it wouldn't be personal. Adam thinks every guy has ulterior motives."

"They probably do."

"And what are your motives, Mr. Colton?"

Johnny scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, glancing behind him as if keeping an eye out for overprotective brothers. The bit about bounty hunters had clearly thrown him. "My motives include getting clean and keeping my hands to myself." He paused. "I probably shouldn't be doing this."

"Relax," she teased. "You're a paying customer."

Johnny arched a brow. "Paying, am I?"

"Water's scarce. So it will cost you half a silver."

A shy smile twisted his mouth. "You're a right regular hustler...."

Eden dragged her knees up to her chest. The image was as clear as a bell. Every moment of that day she met him had etched itself in her brain, like a scar. If you grabbed a boiling pot, you'd remember the flinch of pain, no matter how many years passed, and this was exactly the same. Simply seeing Colton again bought that pain to the surface.

But now she had a chance to reconsider events, she couldn't help remembering Colton's skittishness that day, as if he'd never had a chance to flirt either. There'd been a reluctance about him as he followed her, as if he simply couldn't help himself.

He'd also been nervous, his gaze constantly roving the horizon. She'd always thought it had been Adam he'd been looking for, especially after she stole a kiss.

But what if it hadn't been?

What if he'd known exactly what sort of evil overshadowed him, and he'd been trying to protect her from it, even as he simply couldn't resist?

Eden brushed crumbs off her fingertips, shooting Colton and CJ a guilty glance. Firelight danced over their faces. CJ's face was rapt as Colton murmured something to him, turning the wolf's head talisman that kept the warg at bay over in his hands.

Speaking of the kiss....

She could almost feel it on her lips still. A swiftly stolen moment when she'd opened the door to the washroom and found Colton shaving with deft, mechanical movements, his skin bare except for the white towel around his waist.

The sight of him had stolen her thoughts. She'd stammered her apologies. He'd used the screen to dress swiftly, heat darkening his cheeks, as Eden scrambled to collect the towels—and her wits.

"I should go," he said, as they both escaped that cursed washhouse.

Still reeling from her first encounter with lust, Eden grabbed his arm, reluctant to see this dream vanish. When he shot her a startled look, she wasn't able to help herself.

Lifting on her toes, she pressed her mouth to his, aware of the tension in his lean body.

He didn't move. Didn't kiss her back for such a long moment, she was about to lower her feet firmly to the ground, when he finally broke. Hands came up, capturing her face. A soft sound of pure aching need erupted from his throat, his chest, his toes—as if the sheer hunger to be touched came from so deep within his soul, it almost vibrated through him. And then he was shoving her back against the wall to the washhouse, his mouth capturing hers, and his body imprinting itself against every inch of her body.

It stole her breath.

Her wits.

Left her aching and vulnerable, despite the relative inexperience she couldn't fail to recognize in both of them. A clumsy, sloppy kiss, full of need and unspoken desire, and a burgeoning hunger on her behalf.

"What have we here?" a voice called, cutting through the haze of desire like a knife.

Johnny shoved away from her as if he'd been burnt.

"You should go." Johnny's soft smile turned hard all of a sudden, and he gave her a little push behind him as a stranger appeared out of nowhere, his malevolent shadow separating from the ones he hovered within on the veranda, and the ever-present glow of his cigar burning like hot little embers.

"Oh, no need to run along, young lady," the stranger called, sounding exactly like someone's jovial uncle. He winked as he breathed out a wreath of smoke. "I'm sure Johnny's manners will get better."

"She has things to do," Johnny replied flatly. "And her brother's around. Her bounty hunter brother."

"A bounty hunter brother, huh?"

The sight of the sudden intensity of the stranger's eyes haunted her until this day.

Bartholomew Cane.

I drew him right into Adam's life.

Eden shuddered, bowing her head to rest on her knees. Stop it. It's not your fault. You had no way of knowing what Cane would do to Adam.

Easier to say than to believe.

But now there was another aspect of the puzzle to uncover, one she'd never thought about before.

Knowing what she knew now, had Colton been trying to protect her from the real monster? She'd almost forgotten how he'd shoved her behind him, putting his body between them as if to protect her.

I didn't want to remember it.

And why had he kissed her back in the first place?

It was the one piece of the puzzle she'd never been able to fit into place. Because she'd started it. She'd gone after him, so despite the guilt and hate twisting her into knots after everything that happened, she could never believe he'd just done it to toy with her, or to use her.

"Are you all right?" CJ asked, breaking through the ever-looping repeat of her thoughts.

"Fine," Eden managed to mutter.

But the questions wouldn't go away.

And whether Colton refused to discuss it or not, she needed to know the answers—if she had any chance of sorting through the confused jumble of emotions in her chest.

* * *

He'd spent most of his life being hunted, one way or another, so he knew when a predator was stalking him.

Even if it was the prettiest damned predator he'd ever seen.

Johnny's eyes narrowed as Eden circled the fire and knelt at his side, bringing her medical kit with her. He'd seen her haul it out of her pack earlier. He was pretty sure she'd packed more in the goddamned kit than she had in the way of clothes. The only personal item he'd seen was a hairbrush she tugged out constantly, as she retamed her curly hair, again and again throughout the day. Prepared for any emergency, except humidity.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

Tension slid through him. There'd been a certain look in her eyes ever since she saw his scars, and it made him panic. "The same way I did an hour ago when you asked."

"I want to check your wounds," she said, tapping on the hem of his shirt. "Off."

"You've checked them twice. They're getting better." End of story.

He didn't know why her sudden attention unnerved him so much.

Or why he both craved and feared it.

"I want to check them again," she said, without a single trace of heat in her voice.

"Leave it alone, Eden. Pretending to give a damn doesn't become you." He rolled to one knee, about to get the hell out of there. Nothing had changed. Nothing. He couldn't trust this new form of truce between them. "Mierda."

A hand punched him in the shoulder lightly. "Language."

"You speak Spanish?"

"I don't need to speak Spanish to know you just swore. And I do care." Her voice softened. "I do."

Johnny reached for the flask in his bag. "Yeah, well, what are you going to do about it?"

Sharp eyes watched every move he made. He could see the judgment in them. Then sudden soft dawning, as if she'd had a realization about him.

"What?" he all but snarled.

"You get your flask out whenever I push you," she murmured, resting her hands on her thighs.

He did? "Maybe you're driving me to drink?"

"Maybe you're using it as a crutch, every time I get close enough to stir your emotions."

"I'm not emotional." He was a goddamned omega warg.

And half alpha.

"Oh no, you're fine," she mocked. "You're not helping me because you feel guilty. You don't owe me a debt. You're just crossing the Divide—which might get you killed by the way—for the heck of it."

Smart-ass. He tipped the flask to his lips and swallowed. Not much left but damned if he'd give her the satisfaction of resisting. As if what she'd said bothered him. "I seem to recall blackmail."

"I seem to recall some dick luring me out of my bed with promises I shouldn't have trusted before he threw me in a hut with a transitioning warg. But I'm also starting to wonder if my recollections of certain events aren't clouded by my own emotions about everything that happened between us."

Johnny froze. "I knew Adam wouldn't hurt you. He loved you. I knew he'd give in to Cane's demands."

And I didn't have a choice.

If he'd fought Cane over it, then the consequences would have been bad.

For her.

He'd spent years trying to deny Cane by then, feeling the kickback of pain as Cane broke him to his will. Years of torture. Years of losing the fight, bit by bit, until sometimes it was easier in the end if he didn't fight.

The second Cane saw him kissing Eden McClain, Johnny knew the bastard would try to destroy her—if only to ensure nothing ever came between Johnny's "loyalty" to him. In some sick and twisted part of his mind, Cane had thought of Johnny as his ally.

His nephew.

His possession.

"You ever run like your mother did, and I swear I'll burn your world down around you. I'll find you, no matter where you hide. I'll repay you for every ounce of your treachery. You belong to me, boy. You understand?"

His only option at the time had been to yield to Cane's will. Bring Eden along, throw her in the hut, use her to get what Cane wanted from Adam.

If he'd hesitated....

If he'd stood against Cane....

Then Cane would have killed her. Slowly. Painfully. And he'd have made Johnny watch, after he'd broken him again.

When did you stop fighting? When did it become easier to give in, just a little? When did you become numb, even as a part of you died, over and over again? He wished he didn't know.

The lesser of two evils. How many years had he spent making a choice between the lesser of two evils, so he wouldn't rouse the devil in Cane?

"Tell me about Cane," Eden whispered.

"No."

He didn't want to think about Cane ever again. I killed him. I finally killed him. But he still felt the ghost of Cane hanging over him, every damned time he woke up.

I am what he made me.

It made him feel sick, even now. Especially now. He tried to move again, but Eden leaned forward, her weight resting on his thigh. "Don't," she said.

A chill ran down his spine.

"He hurt you, didn't he?"

"What part of no don't you understand?"

Grabbing her by the hips, Johnny threatened to tip her onto her ass in the dirt. Eden grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and glared at him as if to say; I go. You go.

Somehow she was almost on his lap. She straddled his thighs, using her weight to keep him there, but his gut churned with too much emotion to let himself enjoy the experience.

"I thought I'd be the last person you'd ever want to roll around on the ground with."

"You are."

"Do you want to check my wound or not?" Johnny snapped. "Because if you do, then fine. Check it. But I'm not talking about Cane. Not now. Not ever. Your choice."

Eden's lips pressed together. "I'll check your wound."

As she climbed off him to fetch her kit, he almost thought he heard her mutter, "But don't think I'm going to give up."

* * *

Colton slumped on the bedroll with his hat over his face, the blankets drawn up under his chin. His chest rose and fell in steady movements, and he began to snore softly. Eden watched him from across the fireplace, still not quite certain how to take the day's revelations.

Colton had wanted to take first watch, but she'd taken one look at him and put her hands on her hips.

"You'll be no good to anyone if you keel over from blood loss and lack of sleep." He'd started to protest so she'd held her hand up. "Five hours. Give me five hours of sleep, and I'll let you out of bed. Otherwise, I'll simply get CJ to take you down and I will tie you to your goddamned bedroll. We'll both keep watch."

She wasn't going to think about his reply about beds and just who'd be tying whom down, but at least he'd finally complied.

And started snoring almost immediately.

Stubborn bloody men.

Eden glanced to where CJ was keeping watch, and kept sewing the hem on his shirt. It was the least she could do, and she needed to keep her hands busy.

Four days down.

Halfway across the Divide.

One warg injured; two dead shadow cats.

Guess I can call that a win, she thought with a sigh as she tied off her last neat stitch. Adam had taught her how to sew when she was a kid, and she needed to keep her hands busy, or else that internal clock would start ticking loudly again.

Hopefully Lily's okay.

Argh. Don't think about it. There's nothing you can do for her—except keep pressing on.

Finishing CJ's shirt, she set it aside and glanced to where Colton's sat folded beside him.

Sewing the rips in his shirt felt a little too personal, but she didn't know how else to thank him. Plus there was the queasy feeling inside her whenever she thought of how bitchy she'd been toward him.

Guy nearly passed out because he didn't think you'd care if he were bleeding or not.

Then there were those bloody scars.

And the violent churn of emotion in him when she brought up Cane. She recognized fear when she saw it, which only added to the mystery.

The least she could do was mend his bloody shirt.

Moving quietly, so as not to wake him, she grabbed his shirt and tugged it into her lap. The blood had dried and it would need a wash at some point, but waste not, want not was the personal motto of anyone born in the Wastelands.

Something crinkled in his pocket.

The folded piece of paper that had fallen out earlier.

She hadn't been too curious then, and his injuries had swiftly distracted her, but Eden slowly slipped the piece of paper out and looked at it.

Thou shalt not read someone else's private communications.

Eden always obeyed the rules. Hell, most of the time she made the rules.

But....

Maybe it was private—maybe it was information she needed to know about. His reaction when she'd seen it had been just weird enough to make her want to look.

Don't you dare.

She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting against her curiosity. She needed to know the truth about Cane. She needed to know why Colton's betrayal had hurt her so badly. She'd spent years avoiding relationships, because she couldn't trust a guy. Years trying to control every aspect of her life, so it couldn't blow up in her face.

She was screwed up, and she knew it, and if she could just work out the knotted mystery of Colton's why, then she might be able to move on.

One glimpse to see what it is, then you put it back.

Easing the paper open—it was a folded letter by the look of it—she caught a small photo that fell out of the center. What the hell...? The shock of recognition she felt when she saw the image cut all the way through her.

Because it was her.

A photo of her, taken many years ago when a photographer came through her parents’ town. The only photo she'd ever had taken.

And suddenly Eden knew she wasn't going to put the letter back.

She couldn't even fathom where Colton might have gotten it. The last time she'd seen this photo it had been in Adam's— Adam. Of course. It had been in Adam's wallet in his riding bag, which Colton had stolen when they parted ways after the escape from Rust City. She could vaguely recall Adam muttering something about "the bastard" stealing it, when he'd finally ridden north with Mia at his side.

But why did he still have it?

And why was it tucked in his pocket, right over his chest?

A weird little feeling went through her. Eden sank onto a log near the fire, swiftly unfolding the letter.

Dear Adam... it began.

Her eyes swiftly scanned the words of greeting. One of many she'd written to him during his year of exile following the revelation he was a warg.

Which was, once again, courtesy of Johnny Colton. If he hadn't shot Adam in the chest, she wouldn't have had to remove Adam's amulet and force him to go warg in order to save his life. Her brother wouldn't have been forced out of the town he built and—

—And he'd have never met Mia.

Eden frowned, her hands crinkling on the paper as she got to the end of the page.

...I write to you today to let you know I'm getting married. I always dreamed you'd walk me down the aisle, but now I have to concede I shall do this alone.

She flipped over the page, knowing what was coming. She'd been tired and frustrated and lonely, and she'd written this letter in the heat of the moment and sent it along with CJ to track her brother down after three months of not hearing from him.

Ha. Had you fooled, didn't I? Let's be honest; there are no men in the Wastelands who are interested in me, and vice versa. But I wanted you to think what it would have been like if I was getting married, and you missed it.

Missed it because you were being stubborn.

Missed it because you're hundreds of miles away from me right now.

Missed it because you're dead in a ditch and I don't even know.

Please don't be dead.

I miss you so much. I wish you'd come home. Your place is here, and I'm keeping your room ready for you in the hopes that one day I'll turn around, and your shadow will fill the door....

It rambled on, but Eden slowly lowered the letter, her heart skipping a beat. She knew every line of it by heart anyway.

What did this mean?

Johnny Colton had been keeping the letter she wrote to her brother in his pocket, and from the frayed edges it had seen heavy use.

And she didn't have a damned clue why.