“But it shifted just now. I think you’re…allowing more now than before, than even a few minutes ago.”
“Oh,” Trevor said. “Great.”
“If it’s what you need, then yes.”
He might have a point. Trevor shut his eyes and tilted against the back of the chair. Shoot, this was exhausting. “I’ve made a mess. Sorry.”
“You understand you might have endangered them. Any of them, at any time. For years.”
Trevor opened his eyes. No, he wouldn’t do that. Never. The devastation brought on by that thought must have shown on his face—dang, maybe he really was absorbing less of himself—because Malachi growled again.
“Yes,” the alpha said. “Suppose Jeremy’s children were playing in his yard, and a car went off the road toward them, and you were the nearest wolf. Suppose there was an accident in the woods, a tree fell on someone, and you were the nearest wolf. In an emergency any of us might have relied on you, believing your strength and reflexes could match ours.”
“I’m sorry.” So inadequate.
Malachi leaned toward him, protectiveness and authority spiking in his scent. “So I’ll tell you this once. Do not conceal a liability like this from me again.”
Trevor’s head bowed. The growl that now rose from Malachi’s chest was deeper, strangely resonant, and brought thunder to his next words.
“Do not put my pack at risk again.”
Trevor dipped a single nod that brought his chin to his chest.
In a few more seconds the growl subsided, and Malachi gave a long sigh that seemed to come from a well of sighs inside him. “Trevor.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t see.”
Trevor lifted his head as the protectiveness faded from Malachi’s scent, as in its place came a throbbing sorrow. Malachi’s eyes held it too.
“I’m sorry you carried this alone. Your pack should have known, so we could bear it with you.”
He opened his mouth to dismiss the idea, absorb it, shove it away. How different would the last nine years have been, if the pack had known? If they had seen? Well, regardless, he’d be on his way to insanity if he weren’t fading. Unless… Maybe Arlo and Malachi could have convinced him to contact his mate. Maybe together they’d have found strategies to help him. Maybe he’d be less faded today.
Malachi said, “And if you were hurting too much to tell me…above all,Ishould have seen.”
“Arlo said he’s probably the only wolf among us old enough to recognize fading. He’d smelled it before. So none of this is on you, Mal.”
“No. That’s incorrect.” A low growl layered the words, but it wasn’t directed toward Trevor. It was directed toward himself, heavy with the standard he kept deep inside, with the standard that weighed daily on his wolf heart. Mal didn’t talk about it, but all the wolves who’d grown up beside him had seen it in action at one time or another. “Recognizing your struggle was my responsibility to you as your alpha, and I didn’t live up to it. I’m sorry, Trevor.”
“Fine, you’re forgiven then. Okay?”
A deep rumble came from his friend’s chest. Accepting Trevor’s words? Maybe. He hoped so. Malachi carried enough already.
“It’s been hard,” he heard himself whisper.
Mal nodded.
“I…I don’t know what to do now.”
He stood and set the chair back in its place at the table. “First go console the pup who thinks this is all his fault.”
Trevor nodded. Exhausted but ready to face the pack. Hoping they would forgive his mess. “On it.”
“After that, the pack moves forward, knowing what we should’ve known. And I’ll dig into the lore and let you know what I find.”
“Thanks, Mal.”
