The Hunted

Thirty-One

Red

He waited until he heard the click of the door upstairs before whirling on Ejo. The warlock had emerged from Henry's office to meet the Alpha and Beta pairs and Red on the porch. He was pale and shaky. Even now, it looked as if he was using the side of the house to keep himself standing upright.

"Is she okay?" Henry asked Red.

Red was surprised by the level of concern in Henry's eyes. He shook his head, remembering the easy joking Blake had used after Victor and Deacon had attacked her outside of pack territory – the way that she'd been half-mauled but managed to keep her typical dry humour.

"No," he said. "Blake is very much not okay."

If he concentrated, he could hear her sobbing upstairs. It made his heart hurt – the bond between them growing tight with pain.

"I've never felt anything like that," Ejo gasped.

"You could feel what she felt?" Monroe asked.

The warlock nodded. "I don't usually get asked to help someone go into their worst memories. More often than not, I help others relive their happiest days. Even then, the memory isn't often intense enough to pull me into it. To make me experience their emotions alongside them. It was..." Ejo shuddered, trailing off. His silver eyes were round and wide.

Toby was frowning, his arms crossed over his chest. More often than not, Red only saw irritation on Toby's face when he was near Blake but now he looked as Henry, Lucy, and Monroe did. As if he cared about the fact that Blake was hurting.

"That bad?" Toby asked.

"Worse," Ejo replied. "All I could sense from her was fear and desperation and loss. I couldn't see the memory itself but...It scared her. Deeply. It was even hard to access the memory. Like unlocking a vault behind impenetrable doors. She's buried her feelings about that day. It's a miracle she didn't fall into a memory trap."

She almost had. Red had felt her slipping; the bond weakening. As if the Blake that existed with him here and now was gone, replaced by another, older copy. Red had been terrified as Blake had begun to fall into the abyss, so scared that he'd been across the room and pulling her into his arms with hardly a thought.

Blake's nails had torn through the skin of her palm by then. Hands clenched into tight fists. When he'd unfurled them, it had been to small cuts and droplets of blood pooling. So he'd held her and whispered to her, begging her to come home to him.

Because the idea of losing her now was an impossibility. Perhaps he'd be able to bear it, find a way to move on, had she never kissed him. Had they never moved into this area they'd yet to define. Not quite Mates but...more than partners investigating these murders.

Something other.

And he loved her. Loved her beyond comprehension. It had been true for a while and not just because of the bond. The bond was secondary. Red had fallen in love with Blake the moment he'd dropped sticks at her feet while in his wolf skin and she'd asked if he wanted to play fetch. They'd sparred after that, play fighting as the mountain loomed before them.

A stupid, minuscule moment but Red had felt the laughter bubbling up and realized that it didn't matter that he was a werewolf and she was a human. It was the first time that he'd felt like that – as if the distinction between them wasn't as broad as he'd once imagined. Not a chasm but a small crack. Easy to cross.