Every instinct in Colby screamed to drop to the floor, to bare his throat, to roll over andsubmit. He ground his teeth against the impulse. He was going to die anyway. He’d like not to feel humiliated, just once before he died.
Urban tossed something to the floor at his feet. “Clothes,” he said flatly. “Shift. I want to talk to you.”
Colby obeyed without hesitation because there was no future in not doing so. He pulled on the long-sleeved t-shirt and sweats. They were too tight, but at least they smelled of detergent rather than a strange shifter from another pack, and they’d keep him warm. It was more consideration than he’d ever gotten from Nico.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” Urban’s level voice was calm, but there was no doubt he expected an answer.
“Colby Williams,” he said through a tight throat, before hesitating over the second question. He didn’t want anything, really. Except maybe to see Tristan again. To make sure he was okay. To know that, finally, he’d been able to protect someone.
“Is Tristan alright?” he asked, before he could stop himself.
Something flickered in Urban’s eyes, but it wasn’t anger. Surprise, perhaps? A blink that didn’t belong. But then it was gone, and another question came, sharper.
“What are you doing here, Colby Williams?”
Colby swallowed, Urban’s gaze pinning him like the point of a knife.
“I never meant to come this close to your territory,” he said carefully. Nico had always liked him to show contrition but not supplication. It was a hard balance to find, some days.
Urban didn’t respond in any way.
Colby pushed himself on. “Tristan, that head wound—I had to force him to keep going.”
The words sounded wrong the instant they left his mouth, and a vicious snarl split the air outside the stall. Colby flinched. When he snapped his gaze back to Urban, those green eyes were burning.
“So,” Urban said, voice deceptively light as he circled around behind Colby and stopped there. “You’re trying to tell me that Cale abducted one of my pack, then just let him go?”
Colby’s skin crawled with the knowledge Urban was standing behind him. The air felt thinner, somehow, making his head swim. The sense of threat and the knowledge that he couldn’t—mustn’t—turn around to protect himself was making it hard to think. Maybe that was the purpose, because if Colby had been lying, he’d be having a hell of a time holding onto the thread of his story…
“They didn’t plan on taking Tristan,” he bit out, the hairs on his neck standing on end as he heard Urban’s soft breathing behind him. “Nico and Spence were scoping out the town, and Tristan stumbled into them. Nico wanted to make sure he couldn’t alert you they’d been there, so he took him.”
The more he said, the worse it sounded. Bad decision piled on bad decision, until the end result was disaster.
“Nico?”
“Cale’s beta.”
There was the soft scrape of a boot against the floor, as if Urban had moved. “You’re telling me that Nico changed his mind and thought he’d see Tristan safely home into the bargain?”
Colby shook his head. “Tristan—he’s just so—so—”
He couldn’t explain it. The way Tristan had looked at him when he saidcome with me. The way he’d trusted Colby, even when he was bleeding and terrified. The strength that had burned in him even then, and the hope that had never left him, that even a night alone in the brig hadn’t quenched.
“I just—I couldn’t,” he said at last, his throat aching at the thought of what would have happened to Tristan if he hadn’t escaped. “I couldn’t let them do that to him,” he finished, the words barely scraping past his throat.
Urban circled back around, his eyes raking over Colby. It was like he was peeling back every layer to see right into him.
Instinct forced him to drop his gaze, to submit, as he waited for judgment to be pronounced.
Instead, Urban turned on his heel and left.
Colby stood frozen, pulse hammering. Then, slowly, he sank down on the floor and leaned back against the wall.
The barn felt colder now. He curled in on himself, his pulse slowing gradually. He didn’t know why he was shaking, shudders running through him. Maybe it was the cold, or the power in Urban, or the way he’d been looked at like he wasn’t even worth hating.
Somehow, Nico’s cruelty felt easier than facing Urban had been. Probably because it was familiar, and familiarity brought comfort.
Outside, the barn door creaked again. Soft footsteps retreated across the yard—unhurried, deliberate. Urban, making him wait for what was to come.
