Tristan screwed his eyes shut and held still, willing himself not to shake.
COLBY
Colby was halfway across the compound when he heard a vehicle grinding up the hill. He changed course and headed toward the gate. If he wasn’t there to greet Nico on his return, there’d be trouble.
As he walked, he cataloged the sentries at the gate. Jeff was staring hard at the ground, like it might save him, and Hooper had faded into the shadows, hoping to be overlooked. The whole compound seemed to be holding its breath along with Colby, waiting to discover Nico’s mood.
Colby kept his shoulders loose, his hands easy at his sides. He knew better than to show even a flicker of anticipation, either good or bad. Nico always noticed. And Nico didn’t like Colby reacting to anything unless he was the one pulling Colby’s strings.
The truck rattled to a halt, and Nico leapt out, all feral energy. Colby’s heart stuttered even before he saw the grin. The more excited Nico was, the more dangerous he became.
Nico reached into the back seat and dragged someone out—a young shifter, stumbling, blinking through the blood that oozed from a wound in his forehead. Instead of snarling, full of hate, he looked confused, like he’d just taken a wrong turn somewhere. He didn’t belong here. He should have run just that bit faster, that bit farther, and gotten away. Instead, he was glancing around, trying to work out the rules of a game he’d already lost.
Maybe that was the worst part, seeing the way he looked around like he could still make sense of it all, still find the way out. Colby had once thought the same.
Nico shoved the strange shifter at Hooper and Jeff. “Lock him in the brig.”
Colby flinched inwardly. The brig stank of pain and old sweat and hopelessness. He hated it.
Hooper shoved the young shifter toward the outbuilding, and Colby wondered who he was and what he’d done to end up here, like this.
Arms slid around Colby’s waist, and Nico pressed in close, nosing at his neck, a wolf claiming territory. Colby went pliant out of long practice, rolling his head back against Nico’s shoulder, giving him access. It was the only way to stay safe.
But his gaze stayed on the figure stumbling toward the brig. The prisoner glanced back once, and their eyes met. Just for an instant, but long enough.
Long enough for Colby to see the alertness in those hazel eyes, the unwavering belief that this wasn’t the end for him. The determination to fight.
Nico bit Colby’s neck, hard enough to make him flinch. He let his eyes slide closed, shutting out the look in those eyes, shutting out the knowledge of what he’d become. He knew that the strange shifter, for all his youth, wouldn’t give in the way he had.
TRISTAN
Tristan’s head was pounding, and he didn’t think he’d ever been so scared in his life. His wolf was snarling, the way it had been the entire journey, but it also remembered the last time they’d encountered Cale’s pack. Underneath its threat was the urge to run.
As he was dragged out of the jeep and into the clear night air, where he was no longer overpowered by the stink of those shifters, his brain started working. He knew his pack would come for him. What he needed to do was gather as much information as he could before then.
He pretended to be dizzier than he really was, taking the opportunity that bought him to look around, casting short, swift glances from beneath his lashes. Old wooden buildings were huddled around a big open space, in which a whole load of mud-spattered trucks and jeeps were parked. It reminded Tristan of survivalist bases he’d seen in zombie movies, with razor wire, floodlights, and the constant hum of a generator.
He counted two shifters at the gate, as well as those who’d been in the jeep with him, dark-haired Nico and the one with a face like a weasel. Then there was the big one who Nico had draped himself over. He wasn’t smirking or sneering at Tristan like the others were. He was just watching. Eyes hollow, like he’d already seen how this ended.
Tristan dropped his gaze quickly, feigning dizziness. Something about that look lodged under his skin and made it prickle with dread. He needed his pack. He neededBryce.
Bryce had raised him, more or less, since Tristan was fourteen. Not because they were related—they weren’t—but because Bryce had once dated his mom, and when she’d realizedher addiction meant she couldn’t keep Tristan safe, she’d trusted Bryce to do what she couldn’t. And he had. He always had. Bryce was the reason Tristan had a home.
As they started dragging him, Tristan dug his heels in. He wasn’t going quietly to be locked away somewhere he had no hope of escape.
All his defiance got him was a punch above his kidneys that made him gasp and his eyes water, and laughter from the shifters watching. Outnumbered and knowing it, he still fought, because he was a member of Matt Urban’s pack and he wouldnotgive them the satisfaction of giving in.
Five minutes later, every inch of him bruised, throbbing and hurting from the blows that had rained down on him, Tristan lay where he’d been thrown, huddled on a dirty wooden floor. The door slammed shut, a bolt was thrown home, and he was left in darkness.
Chapter Two
COLBY
“No one’s to touch him till Cale gets back,” Nico ordered, as Hooper and Jeff returned from the brig. “That goes double for you, Jeff.”
Jeff’s lip rose in a snarl. He swiftly suppressed it, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed. Nico was staring at him, evaluating his submission.
That was how it always started—someone thinking they could get away with a look, a word, a breath out of place. But Nico didn’t miss anything.
