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Jesus. “Joe, his mother is dead. His Alpha is dead. His ma—you dropped a bomb on him and then left. You’re goddamn right he’s angry. And if it’s at you, it’s because he doesn’t know where else to direct it.”
Joe didn’t say anything.
“He text you back?”
“How did you—”
“You stare at that phone enough.”
“Oh. Um. Yeah. He did.”
“Everything all right?”
He laughed. It was a hollow sound. “No, Gordo. Everything is not all right. But nothing has come back to Green Creek.”
If I were a better man, I would have said something c
omforting. Instead I said, “That’s what the wards are for.”
“Gordo?”
“What.”
“Why did you—why are you here?”
“You told me.”
“I asked you.”
For fuck’s sake. “Go to sleep, Joe. We have an early start.”
He sniffled quietly.
I closed my eyes.
I DIDN’T know them. Not as well as I should have. For the longest time I didn’t care. I wanted nothing to do with packs and wolves and Alphas or magic. When Ox had let spill that the Bennetts were back in Green Creek, my first thought was Mark and Mark and Mark, but I pushed it away because that was the past and I wouldn’t have any of it.
The second thought was that I needed to keep Oxnard Matheson far away from the wolves.
It didn’t work.
Before I could stop it, he was already too far gone.
I kept them at arm’s length. Even when Thomas came to me because of Joe. Even when he stood in front of me and begged, even when his eyes flashed red and he threatened, I didn’t allow myself to know them, not as they were now. Thomas still had the same aura of power around him he always had, but it was more intense. More focused. It hadn’t been this strong, even when he’d first become the Alpha. I wondered if he’d had another witch at some point. I was shocked at the burn of jealousy at the thought, and hated myself for feeling that way.
I agreed to help him, to help Joe, only because I wouldn’t let Ox get hurt. If Joe hadn’t been able to control his shift after everything he’d been through, if he’d been slowly turning feral, it’d mean Ox was in danger.
That was the only reason.
It had nothing to do with a sense of responsibility. I owed them nothing.
It had nothing to do with Mark. He had made his choice. I’d made mine.
He’d chosen his pack over me. I’d chosen to wash my hands of them all.
But none of that mattered. Not anymore.
I was forced to know them, whether I wanted to or not. I’d lost my mind when I’d agreed to follow Joe and his brothers.
