COLBY
Tristan had looked at him with such trust, had put his safety in Colby’s hands. That was going to be the part that killed him if this went wrong.
Cold sweat prickled down Colby’s spine, and he cursed. If Tristan was anything like as scared as he was right now, his scent would be spiking. Colby could only pray that the smell of wood smoke and pizza would cover it.
They crept through the collection of vehicles, crouching low and putting stealth before speed. When they reached the Ram Colby had in mind, he pulled Tristan up after him, steadying him as he swayed. That new head injury was going to be a problem. He wasn’t going to make it, not unless Colby could keep him moving.
Tristan met his eyes and for a disorienting instant, Colby saw his younger self, wild with fear and desperate to run. He determined that if it took his last breath, he’d make sure Tristan got the chance he never had.
He nodded once at Tristan, promise and signal both, and they threw themselves as far as they could over the rolls of razor wire.
Somehow, impossibly, they were out, not sliced to ribbons or snared by the wire, waiting to be found.
Colby landed awkwardly, staggering. Beside him, Tristan crumpled, hitting the ground hard and staying there. Every instinct screamed at Colby to bolt, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Not till Tristan was on his feet.
He reached down and hauled Tristan up, then pulled him through the rough pastureland, stumbling over the clumps of grasssnagging their ankles, until they reached the meager shelter of some bushes. Colby tore at his clothes, fingers trembling, and shifted.
He spared a quick look at Tristan, a beautiful gray with darker markings along his back and the tips of his ears and tail, while his legs had the same coltish length as his human form. Colby’s chest clenched. Please let him make it.Please.
And then they were running. Running as far and as fast as they could.
Colby had half his senses on the land ahead of them, assessing the quickest paths through trees and across open space, and the rest desperately trained behind him. There’d been no sound, but it was always possible the pack was coming after them in deadly silence, and the first clue they’d have would be when they descended to stop their wild flight.
With every mile they covered, the terror in Colby’s heart eased a fraction. They were almost at the top of a steep ridge when Tristan stumbled and faltered to a stop, his head down and his sides heaving. Colby nudged at him, but Tristan just rubbed his head against his foreleg, whining softly. Goddamn, Nico must have hit him hard.
Colby pressed his muzzle briefly to the side of Tristan’s neck. A promise that he wasn’t alone.
A howl split the night behind them—wild fury and utter, bone-chilling threat.
Terror flattened his ears and stole his breath, and Colby forgot all gentleness. He snapped at Tristan’s flank, and when Tristan lurched away, surprised and hurt, he did it again. And again, pushing and attacking until Tristan was whimpering, but at least he was moving.
When they reached the top of the ridge, and Colby snarled at him, he staggered into a lope, his long legs beginning to eat up theground as he tried to get away from the savage wolf on his tail who snapped at him whenever he slowed.
It was killing Colby to do this, to be teeth and fear instead of comfort and protection. But every step Tristan took was another second of life.
Howls filled the night behind them, packmate calling to packmate in taunting and certain anticipation of a successful hunt. He snarled and snapped again at Tristan, who sucked it up and ran on, despite the pain he must be in.
Finally, when he tried to herd Tristan in one direction, even a nip that drew blood from Tristan’s flank wasn’t enough to turn him from the path he was so determined to follow. Something in Tristan changed, his stride becoming confident, his head lifting. Colby saw it and nearly wept with relief.
They had to be close. Oh, God. Theycouldn’tget so close and still be caught.
He dogged Tristan’s heels, driving him on an increasingly wavering path, until Tristan turned and growled at him before sitting back on his trembling haunches and raising his muzzle in a weak howl.I’m here.
Colby sagged in relief. Tristan was home. Safe. And with his next breath it dawned on him that he needed to get out of here, or he’d end up dead at the hands of a different pack.
He barely had time to turn—hadn’t even picked a direction to go—when a dark shape slammed into him and took him down. Not Cale’s pack. Urban’s.
He struck out blindly, desperately, but couldn’t stop the jaws that closed on his throat as brown eyes glared at him, hot with hatred.
Chapter Seven
TRISTAN
Sunlight turned Tristan’s eyelids red, and he could smell coffee, along with the unidentifiable mixture of scents that spelledhome.He slowly opened his eyes and stretched contentedly on warm sheets.
Then it all crashed back in, and he bolted upright, his breath catching on a gasp. The brig. The cold and the dark, and somewhere in the background, Nico and Cale, ready to—
“Tris.” Bryce’s steady voice came from beside him, almost as familiar as his own. A hand gripped his shoulder. “You’re safe.”
