16
SILAS
Ihear them long before I see them.
The storm outside muffles sound, but wolves carry weight that even snow can’t swallow. Their presence rolls in from the treeline like thunder, steady and heavy, pressing down against the cabin walls. My wolf stirs uneasily, restless under my skin, and I shove him down hard. This is not the time to bare teeth.
Mary feels it too. She’s by the window, her shoulders stiff, her hand braced against the frame. Her eyes close for a breath, her wolf surging toward the bond she carries with her brother. I see the pull in her chest, the way her breath catches sharp. She doesn’t speak, but she doesn’t need to. The Brotherhood is here.
The door slams open without warning, banging so hard it rattles the whole cabin. The first man through fills the frame before the firelight even reaches him. Darius.
Age has only made him sharper. His body is broad, shoulders thick, scars crossing his skin like maps of every war he’s survived. His hair, black streaked with iron gray, falls loose to his shoulders, but his eyes are the same green fire as Mary’s, onlycolder, heavier with years of carrying weight that crushes lesser men. His presence pushes the air itself out of the room.
“Mary,” he says, voice low and rough, the sound of stone grinding together.
She steps forward, her voice steady, controlled. “I’m here, brother.”
For one heartbeat, the fire softens in his eyes. Then they shift to me, and that fire turns to steel. His lips curl, teeth bared. He doesn’t waste words. He lunges.
I barely brace before his fist connects with my jaw. Pain explodes white, my head snapping sideways, iron filling my mouth. I stagger back, slam against the wall, the wood cracking. He doesn’t give me a second to recover. His hand fists my coat, lifts me clean off the ground, and drives me into the stone beside the hearth. My breath bursts from my lungs, the firelight shuddering across the room.
“You think you can lay hands on my blood?” he snarls, his face inches from mine, his voice a growl that rattles bone. “You think you can drag her into Roman’s cage and crawl out alive?”
His grip crushes my throat, cutting air. My wolf howls in my chest, clawing to be free, to strike back, but I hold him down. Fighting would only prove him right.
“I didn’t—” My voice breaks under the pressure. I force the words through grit teeth. “I didn’t come here to fight you.”
“Then you came here to die,” he spits.
His fist slams into my ribs. Once. Twice. Pain blooms deep, sharp enough that I see black spots. My knees buckle, but he keeps me pinned, relentless. The Brotherhood pours into the cabin behind him, filling the room with their presence, the scent of wolves thick, overwhelming. Some watch with cold satisfaction. Others glance at Mary, uneasy. None intervene.
“Darius!” Mary’s voice cuts sharp. She grabs his arm, trying to pull him back. “Stop!”
He doesn’t loosen. His hand tightens, his eyes locked with mine. “She defends you. How much of her did you already steal?”
“Enough!” Mary’s voice snaps, louder now, the wolf in her bleeding through.
Darius ignores her. His other fist draws back, ready to break bone.
And then another voice cuts through.
“That’s enough, old wolf.”
Tessa.
She steps through the crowd with quiet force, her pale hair catching firelight, her presence calm but unyielding. Her eyes, sharp as frost, pin Darius, her tone steady as iron. “You’ll kill him, and then what? You think that will cleanse what’s been done? You think breaking him will unmake the choice your sister already made?”
Darius growls, low and dangerous, but his fist hesitates.
Tessa steps closer, her gaze flicking to me, then back. “I’ve seen foxes lie. I’ve seen foxes bow. But this one bled to pull her free. Chains don’t hold men who’ve already broken themselves.”
The room shifts with her words. The Brotherhood stirs, uncertain, their eyes darting. Mary presses forward, standing between us now, her voice steady, her wolf burning bright.
“He saved me, Darius,” she says. “I’d be dead if not for him.”
Silence crashes heavy. The fire pops, the only sound. Darius’s jaw works, rage burning in his eyes, disbelief cutting sharp. “Saved you?” he echoes, his voice bitter.
“Yes,” she says, unflinching. “Roman had me. Silas turned on him. He stood against his own blood for me.”
