“You too.” The knife jerks closer to the guy’s throat, and I don’t know what else to do. My gaze darts to the cleaver. Surely Lynx wouldn’t be able to stop me from getting to it in time. Buteven as I think that, Bob creeps into my line of sight, fur soaked, large ears pulled back and flat to his head, huge paws tense with every step.
Between the two of them, I wouldn’t have a chance. Bob would die before he let something happen to Lynx.
“Please.”
Lynx’s lips curl back. “The rules of the wild are absolute.”
“Lynx—” I dart for the cleaver, safety be damned, when Bob moves.
I brace for him to pounce at me, but instead?—
He throws himself over the man’s head.
Lynx jolts in surprise, blade brushing Bob’s fur, and the machete hits the ground.
“What …” He stares at the animal as all the fur on the back of its neck lifts.
I watch them both, eyes locked on each other for a long moment before Lynx leans in. “I could kill you,” he hisses. “Gut you and use you for a rug.”
Bob lets out his low warning noise that terrifies me, but Lynx only grabs the cat and drags him off the man. He doesn’t pick the knife back up. Instead, he leans down, until his terror meets the man’s panic, and while his first words are swallowed by the storm, I catch the rest.
“Welcome to Wilde’s End, little rabbit. I’ve been outvoted, so it’s time to face our fearless leader.”
Lynx stands, dragging the man by the shirt after him. They’re both drenched. Lynx’s red hair is stuck to his face and neck on one side, the other shaved too close to see. The rain has washed a lot of dirt off the man, and even though his hair is damp, I think he might be blond. He’s almost a whole head shorter than Lynx, and as the dirt leaves his face, it highlights howprettyhe is.
“Be careful with him,” I say, picking up the cleaver and then creeping closer to retrieve the machete as well.
Lynx doesn’t stop me. “Keep those blades pointed at him, won’t you? Wilde can decide what to do next.”
CHAPTER
FORTY
KENNEDY
I’m not an impatient guy. I’m chill and relaxed and go with the flow—relationships excluded—but not knowing where Ziggy is or what’s happened to him is eating me alive.
“They should be back,” I say, pacing past Wilde and Hudson. The storm is over, leaving everything wet under the slivers of sun that peek out and disappear again. “Theyshouldbe back by now, right?”
Wilde doesn’t answer, muscle in his jaw tightening as Hudson sets his hand on his back. It’s weird to see him lending anyone comfort, let alone Wilde, and I’d sort of like him to send some of that comfort my way instead.
I’m his brother.
And it’s my boyfriend who up and disappeared.
“Ziggy’s okay,” Wilde finally grunts.
“You don’t know that.”
“I said he’s okay, so he’s okay.”
My hands tighten at my sides. “It doesn’t work like that! You don’t get to say something is fine, and then it happens. Sometimes the world is fucked-up.”
Wilde snaps. “You think I don’t know that?” He gets in my face, the forced calm long gone. “I know what pain is. And if I say Ziggy is fine, then he’s fine, right up until the second we learn otherwise.”
It’s then that it hits me Wilde isn’t saying Ziggy’s fine for my benefit. It’s for his.
Hudson gets between us, hands on Wilde’s chest, like he’s holding him back, but Wilde is already deflating. It’s so hard for me to acknowledge that Wilde actually cares about other people.
