“Elliot?” I mutter, palms sweating.
He looks up at me, those painfully keen eyes watching my expression crumble.
“Where are we going?” I ask, voice tight.
“Do you trust me?” he mutters, patting my thighs.
I nod, without hesitation.
Of course, I trust him. The last time we entered this grove, he solidified that fact. But that doesn’t stop my heart from trying to escape my body, and it doesn’t do anything to slow my breathing as we step into the clearing.
My fingers fist the fabric of his shirt as I brace, and Elliot adjusts his hold, scooping up my legs to cradle me instead. I consider closing my eyes when my heart starts to hammer, but the grove doesn’t look how I remember.
It was dark the night Grey died, pitch black and cold. So quiet you’d swear there wasn’t another soul for miles. And while there’s still a biting chill in the air tonight, the grove is anything but empty.
Large logs have been set out in a half-moon circle around a blazing fire, and the muddled sound of idle chatter fills the clearing as everyone claims their seats. All of them, seemingly oblivious to the bloodied soil beneath their feet.
I know he sees the hesitation in my eyes as his thumb takes to stroking a patch of skin above my knee, but he remains silent as we approach the pack. Kitty has already claimed her place, and she is still bouncing with excitement as we draw nearer. He sets me gently beside her, and we scoot down, making more room for his tall frame. His arm comes around my shoulders as he stretches his legs out in front of him.
“Are you okay?” Elliot whispers. “We can go if you can’t?—”
“You knew this would be out here?”
“Yeah,” he says softly. “I thought it might help if you saw it in a different light. But I figured you’d never come if I told you.”
He’s right. I wouldn’t have.
I expected this place to feel like a memorial. A living memory of the monster lurking beneath the surface. But Elliot has once again rescued me from myself.
“You didn’t have to do this…” I mutter.
He didn’t have to do any of it.
He didn’t have to save me. He didn’t have to feed me. And he definitely doesn’t have to heal me. But he is trying regardless, and for that I am grateful.
“I know,” he says. “But I wanted to. And I would again. If you needed me to.”
His last words ring in my ears, drowning out the noise of the grove until all I can hear is the sound of my own heartbeat overlapping with his deep voice.
He looks handsome in the firelight—dark features illuminated by the flames, piercings glinting in the light. A myriad of emotions sweep through me as I stare at him.
Sadness. Joy. Relief. Desire.
That last one startles me.
Not because it is foreign, but because it typically comes with a warning. A gentle touch or a teasing glance, and with Elliot, heated words. But all he’s done is speak his truth, and yet there is an unmistakable hunger for something new, churning in my stomach.
I don’t act on it.
I know better than to trust such feelings.
So rather than climbing into his lap and letting it consume me, I avert my gaze and study the fire as we wait for the rest of the crowd to take their seats.
It doesn’t take them long. They’re an obedient bunch. One whistle from Elliot and the grove falls into a hushed quiet where we sit until a girl I don’t know by name stands, clears her throat, and, without direction, begins to vocalize a high-pitched tune.
Her voice creeps through the grove, like the whistle of morning wind, and a chill runs down my back when several others stand to join her.
They match her pitch in perfect harmony, and they continue, wolves standing to sing one by one until the majority of the pack is no longer seated.
