He couldn’t breathe. Bryce’s hand was too careful, too uncertain to be real. This was just a dream. Or a trick.
“Breathe, kid,” Bryce murmured, the same voice he used to use when Tristan woke gasping from a nightmare. His fingers threaded through Tristan’s hair in slow, calming strokes. “You’re home. Safe.”
Something in Tristan gave out at that, and he let go, sagging forward and letting Bryce catch him. Strong arms closed around him, along with a thousand memories of late nights and rough patches, and Bryce, always there. Tristan breathed in his familiar scent, and his voice broke as he choked out Bryce’s name.
“Shh, you’re home, you’re okay,” Bryce was murmuring over and over, rubbing circles on Tristan’s back that were steady and strong. Unlike his voice, which was husky, an unfamiliar vibration under the strained tones.
The warmth of the room, the security of Bryce’s hold, were everything he’d so desperately wanted. This was almost too good to believe. He could still feel that terrible journey, teeth at his heels—
“Colby,” he said, sickening realization dawning. How could he have forgotten? He pulled back to look at Bryce. “Where’s Colby? What happened?”
“We were hoping you could tell us what happened.” Matt was standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb with a smile on his face as he watched Tristan.
“Damn it, we missed you, pup,” he said, swiftly crossing the room and ruffling Tristan’s hair the way he used to, when he was a kid. Tristan protested, though at the same time he pushed into Matt’s touch. The wound on his head throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the relief of being home. He’d thought he’d never see them again.
He fought to steady himself and tried to piece together how he got here. He was in his own bed—and how had that happened? The last thing he remembered was staggering across the boundary line into pack territory, Colby’s nips driving him, sharp and relentless, until he could finally stop.
“Where’s Colby?” he asked again, dread knotting his gut as he realized how Matt had carefully sidestepped his question. Had they hurt him? So far as they were concerned, he was one of Cale’spack, one of the wolves who’d attacked them in their bid to abduct Jesse.
Had they done worse than hurt him? Tristan’s vision went black around the edges as he fought for breath. He knew how most packs handled external threats—swift, brutal, no questions asked. And he’d just brought a member of an enemy pack into their home. Oh, God. What had he done to Colby? He shouldneverhave let him come this close to pack territory.
“He’s secure,” Matt said. “We’ll talk after you’ve eaten.”
Tristan’s breath whooshed out of him as the iron grip on his lungs eased. Colby was alive. He was desperate to ask more, but Matt’s tone had been final. That was all the information he was going to give Tristan for now.
“Take a shower and come through to the kitchen,” Bryce said, with a pat to Tristan’s leg under the covers. His eyes were steady on Matt. Tristan knew that look. There was a conversation waiting, and it had something to do with him.
So he skipped the shower, pulled on some clothes, and crept down the hallway, socked feet silent on the floorboards.
Voices floated out as he neared the kitchen. The rest of the house was quiet—most of the pack probably out patrolling, on high alert after Tristan and Colby’s unexpected arrival.
“If it’d been me, seeing him chasing Tris like that, I would’ve taken him out,” Bryce was saying. “But from the way Tris was asking about him? Seems like maybe Karl’s instincts were right again. There’s something going on we don’t understand.”
“Which is why I want to talk to Tristan and get his side of the story before I question him,” Matt said.
“Could be a diversion,” Bryce said. “He’s here to distract us while the rest of his pack moves in.”
Silence stretched for a moment. Then Matt said, quiet and grim, “Or a long con. Get Tristan to trust him so he can worm his way in and get close to Jesse.”
Tristan wasn’t aware he’d moved, but suddenly, he was in the doorway. “Colby rescued me,” he said, fierce and sharp.
Both men turned to look at him, but even Matt’s raised eyebrow wasn’t enough to stop him saying more.
“He saved my life,” Tristan told them, hot with anger. “So stop acting like he’s some kind of spy. Where is he?” He rounded on Matt. “What have you done to him?”
“Tristan,” Bryce warned. “Remember who you’re speaking to.”
“Sorry,” Tristan said automatically, before indignation overcame common sense. “But whatever you’re thinking isn’t right,” he blurted. “Colby got me away from them. He didn’t have to. He could’ve left me behind, and I was slowing us down, and he didn’t—”
“Tristan,” Bryce said again.
“Imadehim come with me. He didn’t plan any of this.”
Matt’s green eyes were narrowed and stern. He hadn’t moved, but something shifted, as if he’d loosened his hold on the leash he kept wrapped tight around his power. His presence filled the room now, quiet and lethal, and Tristan fell abruptly silent.
“Have some coffee and wake your damn brain up,” Bryce said. “Right now it seems like it’s only your mouth that’s working.”
Despite his words, his voice was gentle, and he gave Tristan the mug of coffee he’d already poured for him. Their fingers brushed, and the familiar feeling ofpackcalmed Tristan.
