The next hour is brutal. Wyn fights dirty in ways that would get you killed in Thornridge’s formal training sessions, but that’s exactly the point. Real combat isn’t about honor or form. It’s about survival. He teaches me holds and counters I’ve never seen before, techniques designed to end fights quickly rather than prove dominance. Some of them are vicious enough that I wonder where he learned them, but I don’t ask. Every wolf has secrets, and Wyn’s are his own business.
By the time he calls a halt, I’m dripping sweat and sporting a split lip to match my bruised ribs. My muscles are trembling with exhaustion, but there’s a satisfaction in the pain that I can’t quite explain.
“Not bad,” Wyn declares as he tosses me a towel. “You’ve got solid instincts. Just need to unlearn some of that Thornridge bullshit.”
“Sixteen years of bullshit,” I correct before wiping my face. “Might take a while.”
“We’ve got time.” He eyes me for a moment, almost like he’s trying to work out if he should say what’s about to come out. “Raegan told me what you did for Caelan. How you gave up everything to keep her safe.”
“I didn’t have a choice. She’s my mate.”
“There’s always a choice. You could have followed Bastian’s orders and handed her over. Plenty of wolves would have. I know something about being backed into corners when it comes to protecting your mate. Doesn’t make the choices any easier, but it does make them clearer.”
Before I can ask what he means, he’s already walking away toward the packhouse. I watch him go and wonder if that was his version of acceptance or just an acknowledgment that we’re cut from similar cloth. Either way, it feels like progress.
The training grounds empty as the afternoon fades into evening. Most of the wolves head inside for dinner, and their voices carry across the grounds as they trade jokes and insults the way packmates do. I stay behind on the bench at the edge of the ring, watching shadows creep across the packed dirt as the sun dips lower. The quiet helps me think, and lately I’ve had too much to think about.
Jonas.
My brother’s face swims up from the depths of my memory, and I can’t push it away no matter how hard I try. He’ll have heard about my defection by now. Bastian will have made sure of that. I’m certain he spun a story to paint me as a traitor and a coward who abandoned his pack for a woman. Everything I built over sixteen years, every sacrifice I made to keep Jonas safe, will be reduced to ashes.
He probably hates me now. My brother probably thinks I abandoned him the same way he believes our mother abandoned our father’s memory when she remarried. The thought makes my stomach churn, but I can’t blame him for it. From his perspective, I did exactly that.
Every piece of intelligence I share with the allied packs puts Jonas at greater risk. If Bastian decides to make an example of traitors’ families, my brother will be first on the list. And there’s nothing I can do about it from here except hope that Jonas is smart enough to keep his head down and not draw attention to himself.
Hope has never been my strong suit.
“You’re brooding.”
I lift my head to find Caelan walking toward me across the packed dirt. The setting sun paints her silver-blonde hair with shades of copper, and the sight of her makes something loosen in my chest.
“I’m just thinking,” I explain.
She takes a seat on the bench beside me and bumps her shoulder against mine. “The kitchen staff is starting to worry you don’t like their cooking.”
“Their cooking is fine. Better than fine, actually. I’m pretty sure I’ve gained five pounds since we got here.” I manage a weak smile. “I just needed some space.”
Her smile falls. “Oh. Should I go?”
“No, no.” I reach over and take her hand. “Space from everything else, I mean. The looks, the whispers, the constant feeling that I’m one wrong move away from getting my throat torn out.”
“It’s getting better, isn’t it? Some of the younger wolves seem almost friendly now. I saw you talking to that Trenton kid earlier.”
“Almost friendly is a long way from being trusted.” I stare out at the empty training ring, watching the last rays of sunlight fade from the dirt. “But yeah. It’s getting better. Slowly.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The mate bond vibrates between us in a steady rhythm that always grounds me, even when everything else feels like quicksand. I’ve never had anything like this before. Never let myself want it. The connection feels foreign and familiar all at once, like coming home to a place I’ve never been.
“Tell me about Jonas,” Caelan prompts.
Damn it. That’s the one downside to this bond. I can’t hide much of anything.
“What do you want to know?”
“Whatever you want to tell me. You mentioned him a few times, but you’ve never really talked about him. Not who he is as a person, beyond the little brother you’re trying to protect.”
My first instinct is to deflect. To make some joke about little brothers being annoying and change the subject to something less painful. But Caelan is my mate, and she deserves more than deflection. She deserves the truth, even when the truth hurts.
“Jonas is the best person I know,” I admit, and the words hurt coming out. “He’s kind in ways that shouldn’t be possible for someone raised in Thornridge. He sneaks extra food to the omega servants when he thinks no one is watching. He plays with the pack children during his off hours, teaching them games he learned from the older wolves before everything went to hell. He once spent days nursing a wounded bird back to health because he couldn’t stand to watch it suffer.”
