Morwenna’s finger slips down onto the trigger.
Silas meets my eyes just as I make my decision, and I see the subtle shake of his head. He knows what I’m going to do, but he’s aware he can’t stop me.
With this many soldiers, there’s no way we’re both getting out of this. I won’t lose another sibling to Cain’s sadistic family.
I move just as she fires, grabbing his waistband and heaving with all of my immortal strength just as the impact punches into my abdomen. My brother sails above the heads of Morwenna’s soldiers and falls over the edge of the cliff with an angry roar. His voice cuts off sharply, and I pray to whatever gods are left that it’s because he’s hit the water, and not because he’s dead.
The pain catches up with me all at once. My legs give way beneath me, driving me to my knees.
“Fuck you,” I spit at Evie’s sadistic, smiling sister.
She raises a brow. “Maybe later, alligator.” She turns to her men. “Secure him and get after the other one. Now!”
They scramble to obey like terrified little ants.
I can’t resist the boot that presses between my shoulder blades, pinning me to the ground. Someone cuffs my wrists with burning silver, but the burn is nothing compared to the fiery agony streaking through my body. I’ve lost feeling in my legs, and that’s never a good sign. Her shot must have damaged my spinal cord.Fuck, that’s going to be a bitch to regenerate.
Not ready to look down and see the damage for myself, I stare at the cliff edge, saying a silent prayer for my brother’s safety. It’s a steep drop, lethal to a mortal.
Silas is a lycan. He must be alive. He has to be.
Morwenna senses my thoughts and crouches beside me, cocking her head. “He might have slipped the net for now, hybrid, but he won’t escape a second time.”
I cough a mouthful of blood at her in answer, and she dances away, cackling.
God, this woman is unhinged.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Evelyn
The pain hitsme midway through our drive. Even though my thrall bonds are barely formed, I can feel it and that worries me. For any of their pain to be severe enough to reach me, it’s got to be worse than a papercut. Without thinking, I reach inside myself, searching for the source. I have to know who it’s coming from.
Vane.
The hybrid is injured. His pain laces through me like the thrall bond has just been waiting for me to notice it.
Silas isn’t doing too well either, but his older brother is undoubtedly worse off. The bond between us throbs with the dull echo of his pain.
The others need to know, and I shout over the noise of the wind to tell Draven. He nods his head once, accepting the information, then passes it on through his earpiece to the rest of the pack. But he doesn’t stop or turn around to go back for the brothers. Neither does Frost.
Why the hell aren’t we going back for them? They’re wounded. They could be captured, under interrogation, or worse. Surely Frost can’t afford to risk losing two members of his pack?
Draven and Frost drive for hours. Taking turn after turn on a route I imagine is meant to confuse anyone following us. When we eventually start to slow, it’s because we’ve reached a road that’s little more than a dirt track. They can’t go any faster for fear of hitting the rocks and fallen trees littering the space.
No road is this awful naturally. This dereliction is purposeful and serves as an effective defence. Even without wheels, our progress is forced to slow to a crawl as the bikes navigate the rugged terrain.
I’m proved right when the road evens out again into a smooth gravel track, giving me plenty of time to stare at the tiny community of small, isolated cabins dotted alongside it. Most of this place has been left wild; the wood and stone cabins have no gardens and almost appear to be crushed into the spaces between trees. I get the sense that whoever built it was trying to make their community as inconspicuous as possible. Even the lights coming from behind the curtains seem muted—barely noticeable unless I really look for them.
These people are in hiding.
The scent of lycans is everywhere, but I don’t see one until we pull up outside one of the cabins. He’s leaning against the front porch, posture relaxed but eyes narrow and wary as he takes in our exhausted trio.
“Alpha Echo.” Frost nods, dismounting his bike with a smoothness that speaks nothing of the hours of riding he’s endured. “I take it Gideon’s already arrived.”
“He’s inside along with your omega.” The other male comes forward and clasps arms with Frost. “What kind of trouble have you two brought to my pack’s door, Frost?”
A stone settles in my gut as I realise he didn’t mention Vane or Silas. Then I freeze as I recognise my own reaction for what it is. Damn it. I willnotstart caring about my thralls. I should have learned this lesson a hundred years ago.
