He was relieved that she had left him alone. Relieved, but also aware of a sharp stab of some emotion, very close to hurt, that he didn’t want to think about.
Keely raised an eyebrow as she lifted herself off the log and then sauntered off, no doubt to look for Alanna.
Good. Her friend was with her, and he didn’t have to worry about her at all.
The thought spiraled through him, mixing with his exhausted mess of emotions. Grief. Loss. Betrayal. Rage. Helpless fury. Gods, he was so sick of it all.
He cast a sideways look at his sister, snuggled up against Tristan, and clenched his fist against a sudden strong desire to haul his former friend to his feet and show him how he really felt.
How could Tristan sit there, all smug, when Val was so very alone? He didn’t deserve that comfort. Not after everything he’d done. Everything he’d doneto Val.
And he especially didn’t deserve Val’s little sister.
He looked them up and down and tried not to snarl as he fixed his eyes on Tristan. “When are you going to marry Nim?”
“Val!” His sister’s outraged voice almost cut into his temper, but he had too many emotions battling inside him to bother about her indignant upset. Tristan wasn’t good enough for Nim—and she needed to hear it.
“No, Nimmy.” He lowered his voice but couldn’t stop his sneer. “I know Tristan, don’t forget. Do you think you’re the first woman I’ve seen him with? Do you think you’re the only one he’s ever had in his bed? Shall I tell you about the curvy little blond he picked up on the first week of our northern campaign?”
He ignored his sister’s gasp of hurt. He was leaving, and he was going to get this settled before he left.
“Or what about the woman in Brichtelmes, Tris, what was her name… Cait? Cara? Something like that. Gods, she was—”
Tristan rose to his feet, cutting him off, emerald and pewter scales flowing up his arms in waves. “Shut your mouth.”
Val stood slowly, pulling his wings back into sharp battle lines and lifting his fists. “No. My sister deserves better than this. Living in a tent, being treated like a common—”
The word never made it out of his mouth as Tristan’s fist smashed into his jaw with brutal power. The next hit took him in his gut and he doubled over, gasping for breath.
He sucked in a burning lungful of air and then launched himself up with a roar, pummeling into Tristan with a savage flurry of vicious punches.
This was what he wanted. The sharp clarity of pain and the tunnel vision focus of a fight. And, as an added bonus, he finally got to punish the man who’d betrayed him and followed it up by seducing his sister.
He ignored Nim’s screams and the shouts of the men around them as he lost himself in violence.
It was over as quickly as it began. Half the squad dragging him backward, the other half standing next to Tristan. Every single one of them looked at him with disgust. All except for Tristan, whose eyes held something more like pity.
He flung his arms out to shake them off as his jaw throbbed and blood pooled inside his mouth.
Tristan grunted, gesturing to the Hawks. The men let him go with a rough shake, walking away to finish their abandoned breakfasts or begin their duties for the day.
He leaned over to spit and wiped his bloody knuckles down his legs before looking up into Nim’s pale, tear-streaked face.
Fuck. So many months he’d lived with the crawling shame of standing by while Alanna was hurt. Now he was the one hurting an innocent woman. Not with his fists, but with his words.
He rubbed a bloody thumb down the line on his forehead, trying to soothe the pounding in his head. “I’m sorry, Nim. I didn’t mean—”
She gave a rough shake of her head, not bothering to answer, and turned away, reaching out for Tristan. His oldest friend wrapped his arm around his sister, and they walked away together, leaving him behind.
“I just want what’s best for you!” he shouted after them, and Nim stopped, spinning in Tristan’s arm to look back at him.
She stood quietly, her dark hair hanging in a braid down her back, wings folded, next to the man who she had chosen. For the first time he truly appreciated that she was no longer his baby sister. That she was a woman who could, and would, make her own decisions.
And that picking a fight with Tristan had been much more about his own demons than her needs. And that he’d hurt her to do it.
“I’m leaving,” he admitted softly. “I want to know that he’ll take care of you.”
She snorted sadly, no doubt thinking about the many years she’d taken care of their entire family with little help from him or anyone else, and took a step closer. “Why are you leaving, Val? I don’t understand.”
