Bryce swallowed and backedoff fast. “No, Matt.”
Matt turned to Tristan then, and the leashed fury in him didn’t abate one bit. “Remember what I told you,” he said, the merest flick of his eyes toward Bryce making his meaning clear.
It was Tristan’s turn to swallow under the power of that gaze. “Yes, Matt.”
“Now, is there any room in that washer for some more clothes?”
While Bryce tried to work out how to stop the machine mid-cycle, Tristan retreated to his room and Colby. He really should make sure Colby had his own space, or at least felt welcome in the rest of the house rather than being restricted to Tristan’s bedroom.
Colby was sitting where Tristan had left him. His shoulders were slumped slightly, the way they so often were, as he looked up at Tristan, his eyes uncertain.
“Is it really bad that part of me’s glad they’re gone?” he asked. “It’s not that I wanted what happened to them, but when I think about the fear they caused, the people they hurt... maybe the world’s better off without them.”
He looked unsure and a little scared, as if Tristan would reject him if he thought the wrong thing.
“I can’t even imagine what it was like for you with them,” Tristan said honestly. “All I know is they can’t hurt you anymore, and they can’t come busting in here and take Jesse against his will. And you know what? I’m glad about both those things.”
Relief washed over Colby’s face, softening the tightness that had been there all morning.
“As for now, I need to run.” To get that stink out of his lungs, once and for all, and to settle the churning inside him from his confrontation with Bryce. He was getting seriously behind on his coursework, but there was no way he’d be able to concentrate on it today. No, a day running beside Colby was the panacea he craved.
“Let’s make the most of the sunshine. And don’t worry,” he added, when he saw Colby’s brow crease, “I’ll make sure we stay well away from the perimeter, like Matt said.”
Colby gave a small nod, the tension around his eyes easing.
They left their clothes on the end of the porch and shifted to run together in the fall sunlight. Tristan headed away from the horses, figuring the scent of a strange wolf might upset them, and took Colby instead along paths through shining gold aspens, where the first crisp leaves lay on the ground. As he looked at the big tawny wolf running so easily by his side, his eyes alight and eager in a way that he rarely saw in Colby in human form, he thought they should do this more often. Like every day.
A chipmunk shot out of their path and up a nearby tree, from where it scolded them angrily. Tristan couldn’t resist the challenge. He threw himself at the tree, paws scrabbling as he attempted to climb it, causing the chipmunk to flee to the next tree, and the next, its scolding growing ever more furious as he kept following.
When finally he lost it somewhere amongst the canopy of branches, he grinned at Colby who was watching him, looking bemused. And that was no fun. Tristan spread his front legs apart and bowed low, waving his tail invitingly and begging Colby to play.
At Colby’s first, awkward step toward him, Tristan was off, hiding in the bushes and pouncing out on Colby like the maddest of March hares. And after a little while of this, Colby’s stiff uncertainty began to fade, until to Tristan’s delight, he silently stalked him and pounced back.
They chased each other through leaf-dappled sunshine, and the horror of the morning faded.
COLBY
The sun was warm on his fur, filtering through the aspens, and Colby ran. He didn’t think or worry—he just moved.
And somewhere inside him, something long silent stirred. His wolf rose, not in warning, not in pain, but inpeace. It was like stretching limbs that hadn’t moved in years, like remembering the shape of his own shadow.
He didn’t know if it was the sunshine, or Tristan, or the way they moved together through the trees like they belonged there. But his wolf was back, and he was helpless with gratitude.
The shadows were lengthening when Colby realized they were heading back toward the house. It had been the best day he could remember, despite the way it had begun, and he felt lighter and freer than he ever had before.
But as they neared the house, that unaccustomed looseness faded. They’d taken the day off when there were chores to be done. And Colby hadn’t been able to help with information, the one way in which Matt might legitimately have expected him to be useful. Matt’s pack might think he was holding back details, rather than understand that he hadn’t been trusted with the inner workings of Cale’s world.
Tristan, too, seemed to feel guilty after skipping out. “Why don’t we see to the horses before dinner?” he suggested. “Not my turn today, but that doesn’t matter.”
But when they reached the barn, they found all the stalls already clean and ready to receive their occupants. Like maybe someone else had found comfort in steady, repetitive work. Colby had witnessed the shock in their eyes that morning, the echoes of horror from what they’d found. Even in death, Cale’s pack was still able to damage people.
He stretched out his hand and touched Tristan’s arm. Tristan turned toward him questioningly.
“Are you okay?” he asked. He didn’t know how much Tristan had seen, but anything was toomuch. Tristan was light and life and innocence and should never be touched by darkness.
Tristan was looking at him without seeing him, as if Colby’s question had sliced deep. Seemed like he was taking inventory inside his head.
“Yeah,” he said at last on an exhale. “It’s been a bit intense, these last few days. I guess—I guess I’ve just been focusing on all the good stuff. Being home. Being with you. Pretending none of the rest of it matters.” He reached out and took Colby’s hand as his brow furrowed. “Maybe I need to do some thinking.”
