Caelan narrows her eyes. “You’re telling me you thought attacking innocent packs was justified?”
“I thought it was necessary. I convinced myself there was somehow a difference between the two. Crassus died five years ago, and when his son took over, things got worse. The old alpha was brutal, but he was practical. He only attacked when there was something concrete to gain. Thane Mordaunt attacks because he enjoys watching others suffer. He dresses it up in the same language his father used and talks about reclaiming what’s ours and punishing our enemies, but underneath all the rhetoric, he just likes causing pain.”
“And Bastian?”
The name sends a spike of anger through my chest. My wolf growls low in response, sharing my hatred for the man who tried to use Raegan the way he wanted to use Caelan.
“Bastian Corvelli is the worst of all of them. The old guard at least pretends to care about the pack’s survival, about building something that will last beyond their own lifetimes. Bastian just likes hurting people. He’s Mordaunt’s illegitimate son, raised from birth to believe he’s entitled to whatever he wants, and what he wants most is to watch others break.” I shake my head and add, “I worked alongside him for years before I finally admitted to myself what he really was.”
“What changed your mind?”
“A mission in the Southern Territories, a couple of months back. We were supposed to gather intelligence on a pack that had something Mordaunt wanted, information about Amanzite deposits they’d discovered. Bastian’s approach to gathering intelligence involved torturing a young wolf who couldn’t have been older than sixteen. The kid had information we needed, names and locations and security details, and he gave it all up within the first twenty minutes.” My stomach turns at the memory, and bile rises in my throat. “Bastian didn’t stop when the kid started talking. He kept going for another hour, just because he could. Just because he wanted to see how much pain one body could hold before it gave out entirely.”
Caelan’s face has gone pale. The mate bond carries her horror, her revulsion, and beneath it all, a growing understanding.
“I stood there and watched. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t try to stop it. I told myself that interfering would get me killed, that there was nothing I could do, and the kid was already doomed, and my death wouldn’t save him. That night, I looked in the mirror and couldn’t recognize the man staring back at me. I’d become exactly what I swore I’d never be. A monster wearing my father’s face.”
The fire pops behind me, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. Outside, the wind has picked up, and tree branches scrape against the cabin walls like fingers searching for a way inside.
“That’s when you started wanting out?”
“That’s when I started paying attention. Really paying attention, not just going through the motions.” I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table. “I noticed which wolves followed orders because they were afraid and which ones followed because they actually believed in what we were doing. The second group is smaller than you’d think. Most of Thornridge is made up of wolves like me, people who got absorbed or recruited young and never saw another option. They do terrible things because the alternative is becoming a victim themselves.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
“No. It’s not. I’m not trying to excuse what I’ve done or what Thornridge has done. I’m trying to explain how it happens. How ordinary people become monsters one small compromise at a time. How you wake up one day and realize you’ve crossed lines you swore you’d never cross, and you can’t even remember exactly when it happened.”
Caelan’s arms have finally unfolded. Her hands rest on the table now with her fingers interlaced, and her posture has lost some of its rigid hostility.
“Why didn’t you leave sooner? If you knew it was wrong, why stay?”
My brother’s face swims into my mind, all earnest eyes and misplaced faith, and the familiar ache of guilt settles into my bones like an old friend.
“Jonas. My younger brother. He was only eight when Thornridge took us, so he was too young to really understand what we lost. I remembered everything. Jonas only remembered what Thornridge taught him to believe.” I drag a hand through my hair. “I practically raised him after our mother remarried. Gregor had no interest in another man’s sons, and our mother was too busy trying to survive to give Jonas the attention he needed. So I stepped in. I taught him to hunt, to fight, and to read tracks in the forest floor. I was more father to him than anyone else ever bothered to be.”
“And he’s still with Thornridge?”
“He’s twenty-four now. Smart, loyal, and absolutely devoted to the pack that raised him. Jonas believes every word Mordaunt tells him. He was young enough when we were absorbed that Thornridge is the only home he really remembers. The propaganda didn’t have to overcome his memories the way it did mine. It just filled in the blank spaces where our real history should have been.”
“So you stayed to protect him?”
“Partly. Leaving would have meant abandoning him to wolves who would use his idealism until there was nothing left of the boy I raised. Mordaunt loves believers like Jonas because their faith makes them fearless, and their deaths make good propaganda. I kept telling myself I’d find a way to get us both out, that I just needed more time to make a plan, but I’m still here, Jonas is still a true believer, and nothing I’ve done has made a damn bit of difference.”
The fire crackles in the silence that follows. Somewhere in the forest, an owl calls out, its mournful cry echoing through the fog.
Her pale blue eyes search my face, looking for something I can’t identify. “You could have warned me. When you found out Bastian was planning to use me, you could have just told me to run. You didn’t have to marry me.”
“My wolf wouldn’t let me take that risk.” The admission scrapes against my pride, but I owe her the truth. Every ugly piece of it. “The moment I recognized you as my mate, every instinct I have demanded I protect you with absolute certainty. Warning you and hoping for the best wasn’t enough. The bond needed more than hope. It needed a guarantee that you’d survive no matter what happened next.”
“So you took away my choice because your wolf was impatient?”
“I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you before I’d even had a chance to know you. You can hate me for that. You probably should hate me for it. But I’m not sorry, Caelan. Even knowing how much you despise what I’ve done, I’m not sorry for making sure you’d survive.”
Her chair scrapes against the floor as she stands. For a moment, I think she’s going to storm off, but she just walks to the window and stands there staring out at the fog-shrouded forest.
“I don’t know what to do with any of this. You’re asking me to feel sorry for a Thornridge warrior. You’re asking me to believe that the man who kidnapped me and forced me into marriage is somehow different from the wolves who tried to destroy my sister.”
“I’m not asking you to feel sorry for me. I’m asking you to understand that not everything divides neatly into good and evil. Thornridge has wolves who deserve to die for what they’ve done, and I might be one of them. But it also has wolves whoare just trying to survive, who never wanted any part of this and don’t know how to escape. Those wolves deserve a chance to be something better.”
