"It's possible," Annabeth said, her voice gentle.
"Fuck!" he yelled and strode away from the table, only vaguely registering when Cade ended the call with Annabeth.
He growled with frustration and anger, so overwrought he wanted to break something. Finding no nearby objects to hurl, he rammed his hands into his hair and yanked hard, fighting back despair.
Too much. It was all too much.
Stomping to the cabin's front door, he bashed the sides of his fists against it again and again until he felt strong hands seize his wrists.
"Tristan, stop!"
He struggled to free himself, but he couldn’t escape the other man's ironclad grip. "Let me go! I need to hit something!"
"You're hurting yourself," Cade said, spinning Tristan around to face him.
Tears spilled down his cheeks as Tristan sucked in uneven breaths, and rage burned in his gut, along with a clawing, infuriating helplessness so profound he wanted to scream.
"I need to find her in the next two days! They're going to rape her! I need to find her!"
"I know, but hurting yourself won't help," Cade answered, his voice surprisingly gentle.
Tristan practically wailed with frustration and distress. "We need to do something!"
"We're doing everything we can. Annabeth is doing her best, and Tag and Young will watch the warehouse again tonight."
"It's not enough!"
"I'm not sure there's anything else to do right now. I am sorry, Tristan."
"Son of a bitch," he cursed again, yanking his hands loose. "I'm going outside."
Furious and distraught, he strode out of the cabin, slammed the door behind him, and stalked toward the trees. Once inside thewoods, he slowed his pace, taking care with his footing. He was vaguely aware that Cade followed, watching him, protecting him from unknown dangers, but he had no room in his head or his heart to acknowledge the gesture.
Brutal, graphic images of Natalie suffering clamored in his head as he navigated under low-hanging branches and over fallen logs, this time oblivious to animals, butterflies and the smell of trees and rain. Each morbid thought felt like a punch to the stomach, a stab to his heart, and as his legs pushed forward, he felt more agitated and tormented with every step.
Pausing in a clearing, Tristan lifted his face to the sky, closed his eyes, and sucked in deep breaths as he searched for some sort of composure.
It didn't work.
Unable to hold it in anymore, he unleashed a primal scream.
When he couldn't maintain the effort anymore, when his throat felt raw and tender, he dropped his chin to his chest and drew in shallow breaths. Then, slowly, he lifted his face and dragged the heels of his hands across it to wipe the tears.
He heard footsteps, then felt a presence beside him, solid, strong. Looking over, he saw Cade holding out a hand, an offering, a balm, and he took it. When he felt the long fingers squeeze his palm, he hiccupped and plastered himself against the broad chest. Arms encircled him, and he listened to the steady beat of Cade's heart against his ear.
"I can't do this," he whispered, "I'm not strong enough."
He heard a scoff. "You're stronger than you know, Tris."
"It doesn't feel like it."
"You are. I know you are," the answer came, sure and definite.
Trying to believe Cade's words and wrapped in his embrace, Tristan tried to focus on breathing deeply and listening to the calming sounds of bird songs and squirrel chirps, but the horrific thoughts of Natalie's fate persisted, unwanted guests that invaded his thoughts like termites tunneling through wood.
He needed a distraction, something to occupy his mind, because there was nothing he could do right now to help her, and it made him feel insane and unhinged.
Tilting his head up, he pleaded, "Cade, I can't do this. I need …" A brief flicker of doubt sparked, telling him he didn't need this, shouldn't need this, but his craving overruled reason, and he set his jaw and stared into those dark eyes, seeing sympathy and worry.
