Page 32

32

COLT

T he den is suffocating.

Not just with judgment, not just with the weight of what’s coming—but with silence. A thick, pressing thing that stretches the walls of my makeshift holding cell too tight around me.

I sit on the edge of the cot, elbows on my knees, head in my hands, waiting.

I don’t know how long I’ve been down here. Long enough that my wolf is restless, pacing beneath my skin. Long enough that I can feel Magnolia in the back of my mind, the mate bond pulling, even when I know she wants nothing to do with me.

Long enough that I start wondering if they’ve already made up their minds.

The door creaks open, and I don’t look up at first, just inhale slow, deep. Grant. I recognize his scent before I recognize his voice.

"Alright, loverboy," he mutters. "Time to go."

I push myself up, muscles stiff from sitting too long, from waiting. “Where?”

Grant shrugs. “Community center.”

That throws me. I expected—hell, I don’t know what I expected. To be shoved out the gates? Hauled in front of Reyes in private for my sentencing? The whole den?

I frown. “We doin’ this in front of an audience?”

Grant doesn’t answer right away. He leads me out into the hall, a lightbulb flickering above us, casting long shadows. He exhales through his nose, like he’s thinking, like he’s trying to find the right words.

Finally—

“We’ve never had to do this before.”

That stops me in my tracks.

I turn my head toward him. “What do you mean?”

Grant leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “I mean, we don’t do this. We’ve never had a traitor in the den.” He tilts his head. “Not one who’s still alive to tell the story, anyway.”

I swallow, the weight of that pressing heavy against my ribs.

“So you’re saying I’m a first?”

Grant lets out a humorless chuckle. “Yeah, congratulations. You really went and made history.”

I scrub a hand over my jaw, forcing myself to nod. “Guess that explains the long deliberation.”

Grant shrugs. “More like nobody knows what the hell to do with you.”

He turns, heading toward the stairs, expecting me to follow. I do.

The air changes as we step into the main part of the den, and I realize I’m sweating.

I don’t know what makes me do it. Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s knowing that Grant is one of the people who’s kept things running while I’ve been locked up, while the pack has been trying to figure out what to do with me. Maybe it’s because he’s been the only one who hasn’t looked at me like he wants to rip my throat out.

I clear my throat. “I’m sorry.”

Grant stops, glancing over his shoulder. “For what?”

“Pick one.”

He doesn’t react for a second. Then he shakes his head, turning forward again. “I don’t give a shit about apologies,” he mutters. “I’m just annoyed.”

I frown. “Annoyed?”

Grant sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, man. You made my life a hell of a lot harder. The school’s been a mess since Magnolia took time off. The den’s been split down the middle arguing about you. And, worst of all, Peaches has been serious this whole time. No theatrics, no dramatics, just… quiet Peaches.” He shakes his head. “Unsettling as hell.”

I let out a small snort before I can stop myself. That—that I wasn’t expecting.

He exhales. “But… yeah. You fucked up. No gettin’ around that.”

I nod, staring at the worn floorboards. “Yeah.”

There’s a pause. Then?—

“You take my lighter?”

I blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“My lighter,” Grant says. “Went missing a couple weeks ago. One of those nice ones. Engraved.”

My stomach twists.

I rub the back of my neck. “…Yeah.”

Grant exhales, shaking his head. “Kinda figured.”

A fresh wave of shame rolls through me. I don’t know why that of all things makes me feel worse, but it does.

I clear my throat. “Sorry.”

“Mm.” Grant nods. “I want it back.”

I let out a slow breath. “It’s in my workshop. In the bottom drawer.”

“Good.” He jerks his head toward the door ahead. “C’mon. Don’t keep the pack waiting.”

The den proper is behind us now, its warmth and safety shut away, replaced by the open stretch of land leading to the community center. The walk isn’t long–a few hundred yards, maybe, a minute at most.

Plenty of time to run.

I could do it.

It’d be so damn easy.

My muscles are still loose from sitting, my wolf tense beneath my skin, coiled tight with instinct. I know exactly where the fence is weakest. I know the patrol schedules. I could be gone before Grant even had time to yell my name.

I should want that. Should want to disappear, slip away into the night, go back to drifting through the world like I’ve always done.

But I won’t.

Because I made my choice when I stayed, when I looked Magnolia in the eyes and told her I loved her…when I told Reyes the truth, knowing full well it might get me killed.

We’re at the community center door too slow and too fast. Too slow, because every step drags under the weight of what’s coming. Too fast, because I don’t have time to brace myself before we’re here. The doors loom in front of us, lantern light spilling through the cracks, casting long, flickering shadows across the dirt path. My pulse beats against my ribs, slow and steady, the kind of rhythm that comes before a fight.

But this isn’t a fight. There’s no battle I can win with teeth and claws.

This is worse.

Grant shifts beside me, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off the weight of the moment. Then he looks at me. “You ready for this, dude?”

I swallow hard, my throat tight. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He nods once. Then he opens the door.

The entire community center is packed, bodies filling every available space, the air thick with curiosity, apprehension—even fear.

The lanterns on the walls flicker against the wood-paneled interior, casting uneven patches of light and shadow, but it doesn’t feel like a trial. Not exactly. This isn’t a courtroom, and it sure as hell isn’t some cult condemnation.

It’s just a den—a community—trying to figure out how the hell they’re supposed to handle something like this.

They’ve never had to before.

Some people stand, arms crossed, whispering among themselves, while others settle onto benches and worn couches. A few parents sit with their kids tucked against their sides, some too young to understand what’s happening, others old enough to watch with wide, uneasy eyes.

The tension is there, but it’s not all anger. It’s uncertainty.

No one knows what comes next.

I scan the room, instinct kicking in, even though I already know there’s no way out of this. The front of the room is all authority—Reyes standing solid as a stone pillar, arms crossed. Beside him, Tilda watches—not looking at me like I’m a monster, but not offering a lifeline either. To the left, Frankie stands straight as a board, jaw tight, arms folded, ready to cut. Will is next to her, his stance stiff, shoulders squared like he’s bracing for whatever comes next. Grant moves to join them, slipping into place with the easy belonging of someone who has never had to doubt where he stood.

And then?—

Magnolia.

She’s near the back of the room, standing apart, arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to hold in everything she doesn’t want them to see…like she’s bracing for the impact. Her parents are on either side of her, flanking her, and Peaches is holding her hand. Out of all of them, Peaches is the only one who’s actually looking at me.

I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing…but it makes me feel like a real fucking asshole.

I barely have time to register the ache in my chest before Reyes clears his throat.

“We’ve never had to do this before.” His voice carries, even without raising it. The pack settles, murmurs dying off. “But we don’t turn a blind eye to betrayal in this den. And we don’t make decisions lightly.” He exhales through his nose. “Colt has asked for the chance to speak for himself before the pack makes its decision.”

His amber eyes flick across the room. “You will listen. And then you’ll decide what to do with him. If he’ll stay, if he’ll go…or if he’ll die.”

A hush falls over the den, everyone shutting up.

I take a breath, slow and measured, rolling my shoulders back. My head bows for only a moment before I straighten, my voice steady but raw.

“I lied to you—all of you.”

The words scrape out of me, raw and jagged.

“I came here under false pretenses. The Gulf Pack sent me to find Peaches.”

A ripple of murmurs sweeps through the room. I feel the shift, the anger barely held in check. I feel the weight of Peaches’ stare, of Magnolia’s silence. But I don’t stop.

I can’t stop.

Because the truth is the last thing I have left to give.

“I took the job without asking questions. Didn’t care why they wanted her back, didn’t care who they were. I needed the work, and I did what I was told.” My hands clench at my sides, the weight of my own confession pressing against my ribs. “Until I got here.”

I force myself to look at them—at Peaches, standing beside Magnolia, her lips pressed into a thin line, her fingers still laced with my mate’s. At Reyes, watching me with quiet patience. At the pack I’ve wronged, at every pair of eyes filled with rage, betrayal, and worse…

Disappointment.

I swallow hard. “The second I stepped foot in this den, I knew I was wrong.” My throat works around the words, but I force them out. “I wasn’t looking for an omega. I was hunting someone who’d already been hunted enough.”

Peaches goes rigid, a single tear slipping down her cheek. Magnolia’s grip on her tightens.

The shame in my chest twists deeper.

“I made my choice the day I abandoned that mission,” I say, voice rough. “I made my choice when I destroyed my signal beacon. When I put myself between this den and the pack that wanted to hurt it.” My chest tightens, breath locking in my throat. “I made my choice the second I met her.”

I don’t think I’ve ever said anything more honest in my goddamn life.

“The second I met Magnolia, everything changed.”

My voice wavers, but I don’t stop. I owe her this. I owe them all this.

“It wasn’t just that she was my mate, though I knew it the moment I saw her,” I start, my eyes locked onto hers. “It was her. All of her. Magnolia is the kindest, most decent, most good-hearted person I have ever met, and I didn’t deserve her for a second—but I wanted her. I wanted her like I’ve never wanted anything in my entire goddamn life.”

My voice cracks, and I don’t care.

I should. I should care that I’m standing here, breaking in front of these people, but all I care about is the woman across the room with her arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to hold the whole damn world together.

“I never planned to stay,” I go on, my voice dropping lower. The confession burns my throat, but I keep going. “I’ve been running my whole damn life. Running from place to place, running from who I was, running from what I’ve done. And then you—” My breath shudders out. “Then you happened, Magnolia.”

I shake my head, a broken laugh escaping me. “You walked into my life, and it was like everything before you was in black and white, and suddenly, I could see in color.”

A hush falls over the room.

I don’t know if it’s because they’re listening or because no one knows what the fuck to do with a man this stripped bare.

But I only care about one person in this room.

“You’re the kind of person who makes a man want to be better,” I say, voice rough. “And I tried. I tried. I sent a message to the Gulf Pack, told them to stay the hell away from this den—because you made this place a home for me.” I exhale, my hands fisting at my sides. “And I know I don’t deserve to stay. I know I don’t deserve you.”

My breath comes sharp, chest heaving.

“But whether I stay or not, Magnolia, you have my word—I will spend every breath I have making sure you are safe. Making sure this den stays the sanctuary it is.” My hands clench tighter. “Because it’s yours. It was always yours. I’m just…the guy who was lucky enough for you to invite him in, even if only for a second.”

I barely hear the whispers that ripple through the room, barely feel the weight of a hundred pairs of eyes on me.

Because I’m only watching Magnolia.

She hasn’t moved, hasn’t breathed, hasn’t blinked.

She’s right there, but she’s also miles away, and I don’t know if I’ve said too much or not enough.

The silence that follows is so heavy that it’s painful.

I don’t breathe.

Magnolia doesn’t move.

Her fingers stay curled in Peaches’, like she’s the only thing keeping her grounded. Her other hand is up now, covering her chest with curled fingers, like she can clasp her heart and hold it to stop it beating.

Her lips part, just slightly, like she’s about to say something?—

But it’s Peaches who moves first.

She squeezes Magnolia’s hand, just once, then lets go. I don’t know what that means, but Magnolia reacts; she sucks in a breath, her lips pressing into a thin line, her eyes closing for half a second.

And then, she speaks.

“I don’t know what to do with this.”

Her voice is quiet.

I don’t breathe.

She swallows hard, shaking her head. “I don’t know what you expect me to do with this, Colt.”

I force a breath through my teeth. “I don’t expect anything.”

Magnolia flinches…and suddenly, the rawest, most brutal truth I’ve ever known sinks its claws into me. I could stand here and spill every piece of myself onto the floor. I could tell her a hundred more ways how much I love her, how much I never meant to hurt her, how much she changed me.

And it wouldn’t matter.

Because I did hurt her.

And no matter how honest I am now, no matter how much I lay at her feet, I can’t undo that.

Magnolia exhales shakily, then finally—finally—meets my eyes again.

“There are a hundred different ways this could’ve gone,” she says, voice steadier now, like she’s forcing herself through it. “A hundred different ways you could’ve handled this. You could’ve told me the truth from the start. You could’ve?—”

She stops, swallowing hard, lips in a tight grimace.

I swallow, my pulse hammering. “I know.”

Her eyes flash. “Do you?”