Page 121 of Blood Fist

“Why did he let you go?” Brune suddenly asked, the words falling past his lips before he realized.

Everyone except Corric—who was still staring at the ice spreading from his fingertips—looked up at him.

Scratching at his scruffy chin, he continued. “I mean, Sinestrus had Corric. So why let him go? Why not take him and continue manipulating him? He had to know he’d come back here and tell us everything.”

Brune wasn’t really expecting an answer, but Buzzard had one.

“He needs a body,” he said as he plucked at one of his feathers. “After all that time rotting in the mountain, he wouldn’t have one. You said you found Corric encased in ice?”

Ridan nodded. “Made his own tomb.”

“Corric must have used his ice to protect himself,” Buzzard continued, preening his feathers a little faster as he worked through his thoughts. “Think about it, all the times he’s spoken to anyone he’s been as the wind—speaking, moving things around, but unseen. Untouchable. Why? Why not just grab Corric? Because he couldn’t.”

Brune felt his eyes widen. Of course. There was no reason for Sinestrus to encase Corric in ice, to nearly kill his savior. No. Corric must have instinctually used magic to save himself. To close himself off from Sinestrus.

“That’s the Corric we know,” Ridan said, sliding his fingers through his damp strands. Corric didn’t respond, eyes vacant and lip quivering.

“I’ll get Iylah to give him something to help him sleep. Jonen, I’m guessing I don’t have to ask you to stay with him.” The alpha didn’t even look up at Ridan.

“Schok, can you stay on top of this ice? Make sure he doesn’t freeze the place.” Ridan didn’t stick around to see if he would answer, just moved towards the front of the tent.

Brune followed him, stepping into the night. Ridan had his nose buried in Brune’s cloak as he stared into the night. Chewing on his lip, he didn’t look up when Brune took his place beside him. He smelled like burning wood and ice, black tea and Brune’s dusty scent. His own sweet pepper peeked out, soured with worry.

Not that Brune needed his scent to tell what Ridan was feeling. When they first met, he found his feelings to be indecipherable. Now, Brune could read him clearer than a mystic with tea leaves.

“This isn’t your fault,” Brune began, knowing Ridan wouldn’t believe him. He wasn’t surprised when he didn’t answer. “Ridan, I’m serious.”

“How is it not?” Ridan snapped, refusing to look at Brune. “Sinestrus practicallytoldus he was coming after Corric. We just…ignored it. We ignored all the signs because it was easier. And now Sinestrus has come after my pack.”

Brune didn’t know what to say to Ridan. Nothing would change his mind. He would never believe he wasn’t at fault. He could talk until the sun had fallen beyond the horizon for the last time. Still, Ridan would blame himself.

Ridan needed to stop feeling guilty and start gettingangry.

Anger led Ridan to disobey his mother and fight Bargrave. Anger had him holding fast against the other chieftains. Anger burned in his blood.

“Sinestrus came after your pack,” Brune agreed,pleased when Ridan finally looked at him. “Not just your pack, but your clan.”

Ridan’s fingers tightened into a fist.

“What are you going to do about it?” he asked, pushing forward until he was in Ridan’s face. “Are you going to sit here blaming yourself for things that have already happened? Let Sinestrus write his victory with the blood of your people?”

The omega’s lips curled in a small snarl.

Brune shoved him just hard enough that Ridan had to take a surprised step back.

“Will you watch as he topples the mountain your ancestors have stood under?”

Another step, another shove.

“Watch idly as the bones of your people bleach in the sun?”

Another step.

“Weep quietly as the land turns to blight? As the rivers dry and the trees wilt?”

Ridan’s back hit the tent, his hands shaking and scent so strong it nearly made Brune’s eyes water.

“Cower as?—”