Page 41 of Blood Fist

He wasn’t wrong, of course. The thick smoke in the sky from burial pyres was proof of that. But this close to the clan, and in the shroud of the forest Ridan knew so well, he would be fine. Besides, there are dangers beyond that of a physical nature. A darkness of the mind that no amount of distance could save you from.

It was a darkness Corric was intimately familiarwith. Most days he could ignore it, the persistent shadows that liked to stew in the back of his mind. But lately, they had become oppressive. They brought nightmares with them. As if the presence of his father’s men on their land had breathed new life into them. Dreams that were so indistinct he couldn’t be sure if they were memories or something he’d conjured from the depths of his own mind.

He’d been so close to making those nightmares real. Corric had accepted it. He would hold the time he spent with the clan close, using it as a shield to protect himself. Maybe it was a foolish decision, but it’s one he would have made again if it meant just one of those funeral pyres would remain dark.

Corric didn’t often spend time wondering about things outside of what he could touch. His mother did. She used to sit in the window, face canted to catch the sun. Eyes closed so she could chase whatever was projected on the back of her lids. Sometimes she would smile. Corric liked that. He liked when he could sit beside her and listen to her speak to someone he couldn’t see. She’d ask them questions and tell Corric the answers.

Now he knew it was madness. A woman so fractured she’d tried to fix herself with the pieces she had left. Back then, it had seemed like there was a purpose. Like she could tell him it all meant something, that every terrible cruel thing was planned. Privately, he thought perhaps having his carriage beset upon was one of those things. A cruelty that led him to so much joy.

But now he wondered if he hadn’t just been biding time. Fate lurking on the outskirts, waiting to pounce when he least expected it. Outrunning his fate had only brought it here, to poison those he loves most.

“Corric?” Jonen was looking at him, his big eyeswide. No, dilated. With a jerk, he realized his scent had soured to the point that Jonen was uncomfortable. He’d put the basket down and come to kneel beside him, hand reaching for him but not touching. Never touching outside of training.

“I’m—” he cut himself off. He was going to say fine. Brush it off. Jonen would know he was lying. He’d even accept it, probably say something unbearably understanding and sweet.Best alpha.

Corric didn’t want to lie to him.

“I was thinking about my father.”

Jonen pursed his lips. “What about him?”

“Why he is so interested in me,” he admitted. “He never was before. I was just a useless omega to him. He couldn’t wait to be rid of me. Sold me off to Bargrave when he didn’t really need the alliance. So why now?”

Corric was the youngest, his father’s last chance to have an heir he could count on. But first there was Schok. He was everything. A first born alpha with his mother’s blonde hair and those Tylock pale eyes. Corric barely remembered him. Just a cheeky smile as he slipped off to cause mischief.

Until the day he slipped out a window and never returned. His father sent out search parties, ripped the city apart, but Schok was gone. Never to be seen again. It was the first fracture in his mother’s already fragile mind.

“I wasn’t born with the ability to use magic,” Corric continued. Schok had been gifted that ability. Even as a child, he could conjure the wind and rain. But not Corric. He couldn’t so much as light a candle.

“My father had no use for a magicless omega then, so why does he want me now?”

Jonen dropped into the grass, crossing his legs. “I don’t know,” he admitted, as if he should know, and itpained him that he didn’t. Maybe it did. Jonen never liked not having the answers.

“Maybe…maybe he’s changed? And he misses you?”

“My father is incapable of that,” Corric said resolutely.

A burly hand slipped around Corric’s wrist, and he looked down at the tentative touch. Jonen was short for an alpha, but broad. His hands were big and gnarled, ruined from a lifetime of holding a weapon and ignoring his own wellbeing. Just last year he shoved Corric out of the way of a rampaging Gulon, taking the hit and breaking nearly all his fingers as the thing tried to kill him.

Corric and Ridan had managed to pull it off, killing it. Ridan had yelled for an entire week that theyhad a planfor a reason andstupid knotheaded alphas need to stay behind if they can’t control their curly haired assed selves.

Jonen had just shrugged when Iylah wrapped his fingers, saying he’d rather lose his arm than lose Corric.

“Does the reason matter?” Jonen asked, his scent flaring, heady and possessive. He was looking at Corric’s wrist under his fingers, pressing on the pulse point. “Your father can send as many soldiers as he wants. He can’t have you.”

Chief Restrina had said much the same. So had Ridan when he found out what Corric had tried to do. Actually, Ridan had kicked him, but the sentiment was the same.

But Jonen was different. His scent, the way he looked at him…it was more than pack. It was moments like these that had Corric calling his name during his heats, wondering what those thick knuckles would feel like pressed into his skin.

“I don’t want anyone else to die for me,” Corric said, trying to keep his voice even.

Jonen winced, his fingers digging in a little harder. “He can’t take you. He won’t.”

Emotion caught in the back of Corric’s throat. “Why not?”

Hissing slightly, big doe eyes looked up at him, nearly dark with the promise of violence. From under his curls, Jonen pinned him in place. His scent was almost unbearable. It made Corric want to bear his throat. Spread his legs.

Then the warmth from his hand was gone and back in his lap. “B-because you’re pack,” he stuttered.