Page 77

Syrus kept his mouth closed, kept the wounded howl he would have belted out at the sight of Luke with a human weapon pointed at his fragile skull tightly contained.

But it was a battle. How could he not bare his teeth, not let out the warning growl his kind made when a mate was threatened? His body was vibrating with the need to unleash that sound, to unleash his rage.

This human dared to take his mate? His spawn? His pod?

Syrus might not have been able to change such a determined and deranged mind completely—not without the power of an established pod behind him—but he could have weakened his resolve to harm his captives, could have loosened his hold on his weapon.

But the scientist knew too much about what Syrus could do to let that happen.

Syrus approached the boat slowly. He hadn’t remembered shoes, and the uneven ground on his bare feet was a reminder that his wounds were almost fully healed now, the sting of the sand barely noticeable.

Good.

Syrus had already known, as he had made his way to the beach in that confusing vehicle, that he was on the right track. He had sensed that he was growing closer to Luke and Colby, that tether between them shortening with every bit of distance gained.

Colby.

Syrus clenched his teeth hard, lips still pressed tightly together. Colby looked so happy to see him. He was in the boat between Luke’s knees, oblivious to the danger around him. He was smiling at Syrus, making moves as if he might clamber out to him, if not for Luke’s arm wrapped securely around his small body.

Syrus wished to give Colby a smile in return, some sign that Syrus was here for him, that he would take care of him and his precious father. But fear held him back. Fear that the slightest quirk of his lips might be used as an excuse for this madman to hurt Luke beyond repair.

Syrus had never known he could feel fear such as this.

Smiling though he was, Colby’s cheeks were red, and his nose was running. The morning was too cold for him to be out like this. He should be at his day care, warm and cared for in the snug mortal box built for such comforts.

And Luke. Syrus barely dared look at him, afraid the ensuing rage would break the fragile hold he had on his control.

Because brave, adaptable Luke was terrified. Yes, he may have been stoic and still enough with the human weapon at his temple, but Syrus didn’t miss the barely there trembling underneath, the abject fear and fury that were a match for Syrus’s own.

And of course Luke was terrified—his spawn was here, in the presence of a would-be killer.

A would-be killer Syrus had brought upon their heads.

Syrus pushed the thought aside. He was almost to the boat now, and he stood straight and waited for instruction, playing the part of tamed creature.

For now.

The dead man’s dull eyes lit up in excitement. “You’re really here.”

Syrus didn’t even nod. The statement was nonsensical and obvious, and if Syrus had to acknowledge it, he’d lose what little of his rational mind remained. So he stood at attention, his hands held loosely at his sides.

The dead man licked at his lips, the only sign so far of his nerves. “You’re going to push us out into the water now. Then you’ll get rid of this—this disguise.” He waved his free hand at Syrus, presumably encompassing his human appearance. “And you’ll lead me where I want to go.”

It was a terrible plan for so many, many reasons. Mainly, if Syrus were to take this dead man to his pod, with Luke and Colby secured in the boat, there would be no guarantee of Luke’s safety. One didn’t bring an unmated human into a pod’s territory and expect lenience. Colby might remain unharmed, sacred spawn that he was, but his father would not be given the same courtesy. To bring them into certain danger while using them as collateral—it was madness.

Then there was the boat itself, a puny thing for the journey they’d need to take. Exposure alone would take this weak man out before they ever arrived.

Not that Syrus could explain any of this, silent as he had to remain. Not that he would have explained if he were able. This dead man’s mortal hubris was his own business. He didn’t have long left on this earth, regardless—what use was it to Syrus for him to know the foolishness of his scheme? It wouldn’t change his fate.

When the dead man made an impatient noise, Syrus stepped forward silently and pushed the boat as commanded, letting it drag along the sand, then float on the water. He went up to his chest in the salty current, then his neck. The waves were calm enough, and it was easy to keep his footing.

Colby laughed in delight as the boat bobbed in the water. The sound tore at Syrus’s heart, and he finally brought himself to look at Luke.

And then he couldn’t look away.

Beautiful. Stoic. Strong. So very terrified but so very brave.

You will not come to harm, Syrus tried to say with his steady attention, as he took in Luke’s clenched jaw and pale face and shaking hands. I will never allow it.