I swallowed hard. “The man who saved me when I fell down Waterfall Mountain a few weeks ago.”
His entire face fell, and I saw grief bleed into his beautiful features. This guy couldn’t be but a year older than me, yet he looked so old right now, like he carried decades of stress and sadness.
“What happened?” His voice was sharp but forgiving as his fingers went slack over the gun. “We only found the body and assumed Ithaki.”
I swallowed, my own eyes getting teary as I realized the man who’d saved me probably had a family, maybe even this kid, and I’d done nothing to try and find them, to tell them what happened.
“I was on a school fieldtrip, taking a picture at the top of Waterfall Mountain. I slipped and fell down the back side and right past the territory flags.”
His eyes widened. “You fell all the way down the back side of Waterfall Mountain?”
I nodded, remembering the pain I’d felt, how horrible the fall was.
“I was so scared, in so much pain. A man with kind blue eyes wearing a bone necklace gave me a bitter, yet sweet herb that took my pain.”
He nodded. “Cholka root.”
I steeled myself for his reaction to the next part. “He was sifting through his pack to cover me with a blanket because I was shivering, and a group that I later found out to be the Ithaki… beheaded him and took me.”
The guy went totally still. He just breathed in a steady rhythm that reminded me of the ocean. His chest rose and fell slowly for a full minute and I swallowed hard, feeling like I was intruding on his grief.
“He was trying to help me, he was a very kind man—”
He held up a hand to stop me; his chest shuddered a little as he worked to control his breathing.
Finally he spoke: “In my culture, we believe that a warrior’s soul cannot be free until a witness to their death tells the story of how they passed. Then we tell the story around the full moon once a year forever. The worst thing you can do in my culture is die alone with no story.”
Oh God. Had I known that, I would have found them and told them sooner.
“Thank you for doing me the honor of sharing his death story so that his soul can now be free. I will not forget that kindness.” He placed a fist to his chest and bowed his head.
I did the same, not wanting to offend him.
“Who… was he?” I asked. The man clearly was important to him. His father? Maybe grandfather?
He sighed. “He was our alpha. Thelastalpha we had. Now our magic will slowly fade with him, as he had no living children.”
My eyes widened so big then, I felt like my eyeballs would roll out of my head and onto this wooden bed.
Alpha.Wasn’t Run the alpha? Hadn’t my mother said he was taking over for his father? Was that man… my grandfather?
My head spun as I tried to figure it all out.
“Shit. I’m so sorry.” I didn’t know what to say; the revelation was rocking me.
He frowned at me. “I don’t understand city girl cuss words. Shit means poop, fuck means sex. Who wants to say poop and sex when they are mad? Why not shoutsnakebiteormurder?”
I burst out laughing but he looked offended, so I quickly reined it in and tried to turn it into a cough. “No, that’s a solid point. I’m definitely going to screamsnakebitethe next time I want to cuss.”
He nodded, looking pleased with himself.
“So, you looked like him… the eyes. Were you related?”
He shook his head. “No, all Paladin look similar. Blue eyes, almond shape,” he said, and I suddenly felt like an idiot.
What a fucking racist thing to ask him. I wanted to facepalm myself, but I’d never met a Paladin before Waterfall Mountain and I didn’t know anything about their kind. It was an innocent question and he seemed to understand that. Probably internally cringing at the stupid city girl.
I gave a nervous laugh.
