Perrin is already at the little table. He's sitting with his elbows on the wood and his hands pressed over his face, fingers digging into his hairline. He doesn't look up when Cliff passes behind him.
All our eyes are on Cliff, watching as he grabs the hem of his shirt and peels it over his head. He winces when the fabric catches on the dried blood along his left arm. He drops the ruined shirt on the counter and steps up to the sink, turning the faucet on.
Under the kitchen light, the damage to his beautiful body is worse than I realized.
There’s a clear bullet graze on his bicep. It’s an ugly, shallow gash about three inches long, the edges ragged and crusted with dried blood. Fresh red flows the second the water hits it.
The cut above his eyebrow is still seeping, a thin line of blood tracking into his brow. His knuckles on both hands are split and swollen, the skin over his middle and ring finger on the right hand torn open to the white underneath. Bruises are already blooming across his ribs in dark purple patches.
Odette moves to him, then leans against the counter beside him, arms crossed, watching the blood swirl down the drain.
"So." Her voice is calm. "You want to tell me why you're showing up at my house in the middle of the night, covered in blood, with an unconscious woman on my couch who smells like she's been through hell?"
Cliff doesn't look up from the sink. "It's complicated, Odette."
"Uncomplicate it."
The back door opens, and Raff steps in, keys in his hand. His eyes sweep the living room. They land on Elowen, then to Perrin at the table, Cliff at the sink, and finally to me.
He walks straight to me.
His arms wrap around my shoulders, and he pulls me against his chest without a word. His chin rests on top of my head, and I can feel his heartbeat, still running fast, his shirt damp with sweat and something else I don't want to think about. He smells like sage and adrenaline and Elowen's slick, and my stomach twists at the combination.
But I don't pull away. I press my forehead into his collarbone and breathe.
"How's Perrin?" Raff murmurs against my hair. Low enough that only I can hear it.
I glance at the table. My brother hasn't moved. His hands are still over his face, his shoulders rigid.
"I don't know," I say honestly.
Raff holds me tighter.
Odette hasn't moved from her spot next to the sink. She's still waiting for her answer.
"Clifford Durrant." Her tone is firm. “Start talking.” Her gray eyes narrow. “Who’s the girl?”
“I found her." Perrin's voice comes from behind his hands. Flat and tired. He drops his palms to the table and stares at the wood grain.
“I was walking through the Morder on my way to the pharmacy tent,” he says. “She was leaning against some crates, and she looked sick. I thought it was heatstroke." He pauses, then swallows. "Then she kissed me. I didn't—she just grabbed me and kissed me, and I couldn't—" He stops. His mouth pulls into a tight line, and he shakes his head. "Then Cliff showed up."
My brother lets out a heavy sigh as he continues to stare at the table. His eyes are fixed on a knot in the wood, and I can tell there’s a lot more he’s not saying.
Cliff turns off the faucet. Water drips from his fingers as he reaches for a tea towel, quickly drying his hands before tossing it back onto the counter. "It all happened so fast." He grips the edges of the sink, and his shoulders roll forward, his head hanging between his arms. "One second I was looking for Perrin. And the next I was on the ground and my teeth were in some stranger's neck."
Odette's eyes go wide. Her arms uncross and her handsdrop to her sides. "Youmatedher?" It's not really a question. But the disbelief in her voice makes it sound like one.
Cliff doesn't lift his head. His knuckles go white against the porcelain.
He nods.
The kitchen sits in stunned silence. Odette opens her mouth, closes it. Opens it again. Nothing comes out. In all the years I've known this woman, I've never seen her speechless. She always has something to say. But right now she's just standing there, staring at the back of her son-in-law's bowed head.
“It’s not your fault.” Raff releases me and crosses the kitchen, putting his hand on Cliff's bare shoulder. His thumb presses into the muscle beside Cliff's spine. "No alpha can resist an omega in heat. It's biology. You didn't have a choice."
Something hot flares in my chest, and I fall into the kitchen chair closest to me.
Not wanting anyone to see the look on my face, I grit my teeth and stare at the floor.
