Something I understood.
“We couldn’t stay—her spies were everywhere, watching, waiting. Men we lived with, believed were friends. Not blaming them,” he said with conviction, although disillusionment was hard and cold beneath the surface. “Fear’s a terrible weight. We slipped away and kept running.”
Mace asked, “Anyone follow you?”
“A few from the settlement. Willingly or coerced. They had some of those soldiers with them—hers. The ones she’d changed.”
“Hybrids,” Mace said.
Donnelly nodded. “They kept on us until the avalanche.”
Pike’s smile flashed, and I asked, “You have something to do with that?”
He shrugged. Cocky, but I’d let it pass for now. Took it as proof he could fight.
Mace wasn’t in the mood for the arrogant shit. He flashed some canine and said, “Not much else but snow in Cariboo. Easy to knock down.”
A flush darkened Pike’s face, but he said, “Easy enough.”
I switched my attention to Cashel. “We get why they ran.” I shrugged toward Donnelly and Elana. “Why’d you run? Because it wasn’t safe?”
Cashel twitched. I pictured him on the ground, twisting, whimpering. Maybe he fought the way a cornered cat fought—biting at everything without discipline.
Or maybe he was skilled at deception, a spy who played the witless weakling. Mace’s best spies did that, infiltrating. Most people looked away from drooling fools. The spies became invisible. No different from the furniture in a room while drinking in every drop of information.
I needed fighters who were useful, strategic. Spies who never feared the game and burned with the same thirst for vengeance that I had. People I trusted, when I wasn’t sure who was trustworthy.
The interrogation ended when two women bustled in, carrying trays loaded with bowls of steaming stew and thermal pitchers filled with coffee. The clatter of dishes against the table filled the silence while Doona—a refugee from Azul—flashed her mother expression, the scowl when she’d scolded me as a child, the orphaned ward of the pack. I wasn’t the perfect host, apparently. Hunger wasn’t something I was used to, but the refugees from Cariboo had been without hot food for a while because they ate silently, steadily, the way a person eats when they’re expecting a warning to run.
Elana searched for a napkin. Doona pulled several from her apron. Spoons clattered and scraped against the empty bowls. Hands reached for the slices of warm bread. Then Elana said, “Wasn’t the only reason.”
I waited while she gulped the water, leaving the coffee untouched as she glanced at Angel, who had finished her portion of stew as rapidly as the others. Something silent passed between them.
“When’s your child due?” I asked to disrupt whatever secrets they planned on keeping.
Elana shifted her gaze back to me. But she wasn’t the only one staring. Doona’s disapproval scorched my skin.
I sent a quick stab through the pack bond: Trust me.
The woman huffed. But she was nearly as old as Hattie, and her huffs were as ineffective.
“I’ll send you and the children to a safer location,” I explained. “But I need to know how much time I have.”
“Three months.”
“Thank you.” Cooperation was the first step. “I’m also a healer, so I ask as a courtesy. May I touch you? See if your pregnancy is progressing without incident? After your ordeal.”
She held out her hand. Her fingers trembled as I pressed mine against her wrist. The energies moving through her were what I’d hoped: a strong heartbeat, both for her and the pup. What she needed most was rest and security—but what I picked up about her pack, and their intentions, left no doubt: fear drove them.
Bone-cutting fear. Something terrible had happened that Elana kept locked in her memory and covered by unending grief. Searching for it would only traumatize her further.
I leaned back, signaled to one man in the group standing against the wall—our contact with the Carmag. Through the mental bond, I asked him to relay a request to his alpha. I wanted to send four more refugees to Westvale: an old man, two young children, and a pregnant female who would need his healers, but I needed Anson’s permission.
I’d get an answer in the morning. It was enough. I gestured toward a second bowl of stew that Doona offered, but Elana shrugged the food away. While the table was being cleared, I issued new orders.
Silently, Elana rose and followed a young guard through the door. He’d take her to the barracks, where she’d join her children, rest, bathe, sleep.
As for Donnelly, Pike, Cashel.
