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“Robbie, yes. But no, I cannot refuse the position of Direct Heir. It wouldn’t be right or honorable to thrust this heavy burden onto an innocent child, because I selfishly did not wish it for myself.”
“You mean, like it was thrust upon you without your own choice in the matter?”
Bryant shook his head. “It’s not the same, Callista.”
“It’s exactly the same. Besides, your pack is only a few families strong, right? Maybe it’ll never amount to much more than that. Or maybe your little brother will prefer the position when he’s grown, and you can’t happily pass it over to him.”
“It doesn’t matter, Callista. Fate decided long ago who was to be born first to lead our pack when the time comes, and I will not shirk from my duty.”
I sent him another withering stare. “Forget Fate. I’m finding that it has a very cruel, twisted sense of humor anyhow.”
“Nevertheless, I am what I was born to be, and I’ll accept that.”
* * *
The days moved forward in quiet bliss, and Bryant and I enjoyed every one more than the next together. But even roses have their thorns, and the unspoken issue that Samhain, the first fire feast and potential day for me to travel back to my own time, now loomed only one short week away.
Rain pelted the rooftop as we snuggled in each other’s arms after an exhausted round of lovemaking. We made plans to go to the Snoqualmie village, then back to town. As I lay my cheek against Bryant’s damp, heaving chest, listening to his drumming heart, I realized both would be my final opportunities to say goodbye to those I’ve come to care for.
Then there was the final goodbye to Michael Bryant himself.
He would see me to the cave mouth, maybe into the tunnel itself. We would desperately kiss, embrace, one last kiss, then...
I suddenly felt horribly depressed.
Still, there was no choice. I had to go. I didn’t belong there with him in the old west. I belonged in my own time with my own people.
Besides, I would eventually get over him. I would. I would have to.
Didn’t I?
That’s when I made my decision.
“What’s wrong, love?” Bryant whispered, grazing his lips across my temple.
I sighed, kissing his jaw, taking in his unique, addictive aroma of male, forest and an undefinable wildness.
“I saw you writing a letter this afternoon,” I said, evading the real issue I was fretting over. “You stuffed it into your pouch.”
“Eavesdropping again?” he teased.
“Is it a secret?”
He shook his head, laying back on the pillow. “I wrote it to my brother, Robbie.”
I scooted up to see his face better. “You don’t talk about him very much. Although, I don’t suppose you would. He’s only three after all.”
“He’ll grow to become a man someday though,” Bryant said, lounging his other arm over his head. “I wrote it in the case that I might not be there to offer my bit of worldly advice, for what that might be worth to him.”
“And?” I prodded at his long pause.
“Will you do me one last favor and take it back with you when you return?” he said. “The time is coming.”
“It is.”
“Ah, well, don’t look so glum. We knew it would soon enough. I’m glad for this time we’ve had together, Callista, but I won’t lie that you’ll be sorely missed. Besides, who knows? Perhaps I’ll be there waiting for you at Bryant’s Mountain in a hundred years. Will you come and see me then?”
My stomach dropped, grimly remembering what Hilly DeVine told me, that Michael Bryant would be killed shortly after saving an Indian village from raiders.
