“So maybethat’swhy you want to tell me about Cale’s plans and movements, because you don’t want to see him hurt again.”
It was about as subtle as Nico’s fist, but at last Colby understood what was going on. And when he thought about it, why not tell Urban everything if it kept Tristan safe? So he did.
He didn’t have much information, but he was able to tell him about the compound, the number of guards and the timing of the different watches they pulled. How Cale was still determined to get the Argent but wouldn’t risk another frontal attack to do it, and how things were ramping up with Nico and Spence reconnoitering the town, although Colby didn’t know what they had in mind.
Urban nodded once, slow and deliberate. “Good.” Then he stood and stretched.
Colby tensed. He’d—not relaxed, exactly. But something in him had eased. He wasn’t braced anymore, not like when he first walked in. Urban hadn’t hit him or humiliated him. Instead, he’d disarmed him, and that was dangerous in a new way.
Suddenly, he didn’t want what was coming. Not after Tristan had kissed him. He thought of hazel eyes, Tristan’s lips so soft against his, not taking, not demanding, but giving. And he wanted that again. With an unexpected urgency, he wanted tolive.
But it didn’t matter. Nothing would change the facts.
“I want you to shower and get the stink of Cale’s pack off you.” Urban’s eyes were flat on his, giving away nothing.
Colby’s stomach turned. Ritual? Symbolism? Or just the final insult before the death sentence?
Urban paced over to the window, looking out for the longest time. But even with his back to Colby, he knew—Urban was aware with every part of him exactly where Colby was, what his intentions were. He wouldn’t get within a foot of Urban before being taken down. But maybe… maybe that would be better, a swift, clean death.
“I haven’t decided about you,” Urban said as he turned, making Colby jump. “I figure I owe you that much honesty if what you did for Tristan was genuine.”
The words made no sense. Alphas didn’t hesitate. They didn’t take their time over decisions. They decided, and they acted.
This was something else, and he didn’t understand it. What hedidunderstand was that he’d been given a brief reprieve. Time, maybe, to see Tristan again.
“For now, you’re going back in the barn, but we’ll feed you.” Urban’s mouth tightened. “Not precisely how your pack treated Tristan, I understand.”
No, no it wasn’t. Colby’s head sank in shame. It hadn’t been his decision, but it had been his pack.
The stall was waiting for him again. At least he had the memory of Tristan’s kiss, a moment of somethinggood.
Chapter Twelve
TRISTAN
Tristan’s thoughts churned as he headed down the hallway toward the kitchen. The shower had helped. Or at least it felt like it had until he got dressed, and his brain remembered how to be a racetrack again, worrying around and around in circles about Matt and whether he’d treat Colby fairly.
Still, scrubbing off the last clinging stink of Cale’s pack had felt like reclaiming something. His self. Hisrightto not smell like fear and mildew.
But he felt a flicker of regret every time he caught the detergent scent from his clean shirt, knowing that, along with the stink of the brig, he’d washed away the last traces of Colby’s scent on his skin—warm cedar, just the faintest thread of it, like the ghost of safety. He missed it instantly, ridiculously. Who missed someone’ssmell? He did, apparently.
He’d go see him again after dinner. That would help. And maybe Colby’s scent would end up on Tristan again.
The kitchen was full of pack members. When Dave turned and caught sight of Tristan, the enormous grin that spread over his face explained the crowd.
“Tristan!” Dave scooped him into his arms—gently, because that was how Dave did everything—and showed no sign of letting him go again. The others practically formed a line waiting to hug him, to touch him, to check that he was okay.
He was passed from packmate to packmate, and the welcome from them all was filled with relief and love. Even Riley smiled broadly. “Glad you’re safe,” he said, and he sounded like he meant it.
It was everything Tristan had dreamed of, everything he’d missed while Cale had held him captive. Yet somehow, it didn’t fill him with his usual uncomplicated happiness. Something felt wrong.
Jason started plating up the food, and Tristan took advantage of the pack’s sudden interest in that to slide over to where Matt was standing, leaning back against the counter, mug of coffee in his hand. A stance Tristan knew by heart. No day was complete if he didn’t see Matt like that at least once.
But something today was off. There was a tension in Matt that he could feel rather than see. And that made him all the more worried.
He’d intended to ask if Matt had decided to let Colby go, but the quiet authority in Matt, that air of alpha, was strong enough he thought twice.
“How did you get on with Colby?” he blurted instead, then winced, because what even was that phrasing? Like Matt had taken Colby out for a nice brunch or something.
