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By then, he was a full Bastard, but he modeled his code on the pages of those books. He saw what was right, what was good, what was honorable, and then he emulated it as a Bastard, becoming a real-life hero to hundreds of thousands of people across all three Species.

Loyalty. Mercy. Restraint. Honor. That’s what Evander brings to every interaction. It’s who he is.

Ford’s very much the same when it comes to having a strict moral and ethical code. He’s also a product of his generation. A male cut straight from another decade. Another century.

He was Turned in 1953, and for reasons we may never understand, he never stopped living like he’s still there. He’s the very last of his kind, in every possible sense of the word.

Ford went through hell the night he was Turned, and came out the other side with fangs and a thirst for blood, but otherwise the same. He clung to his humanity with an iron grip, and never let it go.

Fates, the male, still carries handkerchiefs. Still reads the morning news with his coffee. Still tips his hat to women and calls everyone he meets “pal,” or “kid,” even if they’re centuries older than he is.

There’s something inside of Ford that never bent. Never broke. I always thought it was the same steel backbone that kept him alive during his Turning, when ninety-hundred-and-ninety-nine out of a thousand others don’t survive, but I’ve never asked. And I don’t think he’d tell me if I did. He’s never once discussed what happened that night out loud. Not with anyone.

Ford would have taken one look at Idril, clocked the way she sometimes flinches when someone moves too fast, and that would’ve been the end of it. Cage certainly never would have gotten near her. Vae would have cowered under his disappointed gaze. Hell, even Daxen would have backed down.

Because when Ford reminds you what it means to be decent—what it means to be honorable—you listen, and you remember.

Ford and Evander are exactly what it means to be a Bastard. Strength with honor. Power with integrity. They’re the kind of males who’d rather die than hurt an innocent.

And gods help me, they weren’t here when Idril needed them the most. And neither was I.

I glance to my side, where Soren’s crouched beside me, a formidable mass of white fur and solid muscle. What a sight we must make, two males camping alone in front of a wall of fire, praying to every god in existence to watch over our Mate.

“We aren’t getting past that fire,” I sigh, finally breaking my self-imposed silence. My voice sounds like gravel after not speaking to anyone in over twenty-four hours. Hell, I’ve barely moved from this spot, let alone had a chance to talk.

Soren chuffs, nodding his massive head. His ears almost seem to droop, and I have the strangest urge to reach out and run my fingers through his fur. I almost do it, too. Fates, it’s not like it’d be the strangest thing that’ll happen between us.

But instead, I curl my hand into a fist, and let it fall back to my side.

I’m at a total loss. I have no fucking idea what to do. There’s no getting into the forest. No way to turn back time and demand Gav keep Evander and Ford here instead of sending them to Chicago. No way to foresee Varenthrall’s ambush so I didn’t get shot and drugged in the first place.

There’s only today. And I need to make it count.

Glancing over my shoulder at HQ, I notice a light on in Vae’s room, and his figure leaning against the railing of his balcony. His eyes are trained straight ahead, but he shows no sign of noticing that I’ve seen him, not with how focused he is on the fire.

When I tap into my enhanced vision, I don't expect to see the intense longing in Vae’s eyes. It’s so visceral it makes my stomach drop.

He wants her.

No. That’s not right. If I’m being honest with myself, then I have to admit that what I see in my brother’s gaze is a thousand times more potent than want.

It’s need.

I can see it in his eyes and the lines of his face. A need so fierce, he looks like he’s in physical pain.

The question, however, is whether this is a man who needs his Mate because he can’t stand to be away from her and is terrified she might need him? Or the need of a man who lost something he didn’t realize he wanted until it was truly out of his reach?

Either way, I don’t have any sympathy for him. He had his chance. It doesn’t matter that he wasn’t outright cruel to her; he was still an asshole, and he didn’t treat her anywhere near as close to how she deserved to be treated.

“Fucker hasn’t even apologized,” I grumble to myself, turning away from my Packmate. I wish I could spend this time researching if there’s a way to break our Pack Bonds, but I can’t concentrate on anything. Not when Idril’s out there, trapped by this fire.

Having heard what I said, Soren swings around, and when he notices who I was looking at, a deep growl starts vibrating in his chest, thrumming through his whole body. It’s so loud and menacing in this form that I can feel the vibrations through the ground.

“You can’t eat him,” I warn. He turns his glare on me, and when I don’t back down, he chuffs once more and rolls his eyes—which is honestly the fucking weirdest thing I’ve seen in longer than I can remember. Glancing back at Vae, he snarls, lips peeling back from his teeth. When he looks back at me, I get the feeling his snarl has turned into a grin.

It’s impossible not to laugh, because despite being in a different form altogether, with no way to speak, somehow I know exactly what point he’s trying to make.

“Yeah, man, I get it. I want to smash their faces in, too. We’ll deal with them eventually.”