His eyes sharpen instantly. “Colter?”
Incredulity rings through his voice like a death knell.
“He discovered the truth,” I confess, a brittle laugh slipping free. “He’s more perceptive than anyone gives him credit for.”
A storm of emotions crosses Ridge’s face—disbelief, jealousy, hurt, and reluctant understanding. It twists something in my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “For lying. For risking you. For dragging you into something this dangerous.”
His grip tightens, careful of both of our injuries but unyielding in intent. Protective. Certain.
“You didn’t drag me anywhere,” he murmurs. “You survived a system designed to break you.”
The words crack something open inside me.
I cling to him, shaking, exhaustion crashing over me now that the truth is finally free, no longer rotting inside my chest.
“I don’t know what happens next,” I admit.
He presses his lips to my hair, a quiet, grounding promise. “Then we figure it out. Together.”
And for the first time since I became my brother—since I erased myself piece by piece in the name of love and duty—I let myselfbelieve that maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to do this alone anymore.
17
BRYLEE
The phone rings.And rings.
It hasn’t rung for this long since I was twelve years old and had a crush on Robby Colwing—the cutest alpha in class with hair that hung down over his eyes like a Bearded Collie—and I called him to tell him I liked him. Those rings had felt interminable. So long that I’d chickened out and hung up the phone the second he’d answered.
But now the ringing feels endless for an entirely different reason.
“Pick up, Caran,” I say under my breath, Luka’s phone pressed to my ear as I pace back and forth beneath the television in Ridge’s room.
Images flash across the screen for a new brand of fabric softener, but Kylian grabs the remote and mutes the sound so I can make my calls.
I send him a grateful look, and he shoots a wink back at me.
But the anxiety doesn’t disperse. Instead, it flares, my heartbeat pounding so hard I can feel it in my ears.
Where is Teddie?
I dig the nails of my free hand into my thumb one after the other, picturing the last time I saw him. Then worse times.
What if he’s having a bad day? A day when the smudges beneath his eyes seem to creep into his expression and turn him listless. What if his breathing is doing poorly? His heart?
Colter said that soldiers were sent right to their apartment to protect them after I was taken. But could the shock of that alone have done damage? I imagine soldiers bursting into Caran and Teddie’s apartment, and my brother slumping back on their oversized couch, clutching at his chest.
The need to know how he’s doing thrums through me almost as powerfully as the need to be with my mates.
Caran’s voicemail message starts up, and I shove my hand against my forehead, a stress migraine threatening. Maybe I should text him…
But I leave the voice message just in case, traveling the length of the room twice as I do.
“Hey, it’s Brylee. You can call me at this number. It belongs to Luka. I just wanted to let you know I’m okay and check in on you and Teddie.”
Ending the call, I shoot Caran a text with the same information. I wait a minute, staring at the screen, but the force of my will doesn’t manifest a little bubble popping up to tell me he’s texting back.
