Raised by Wolves(31)

I smiled sweetly. “I try.”

He jerked his head to the side and I nodded, and together, the two of us took off jogging. We followed the path for about a half mile, and then Callum veered off into the woods and jacked up his pace. I worked to keep up with him, even once we’d finished a five-mile loop and he started us back through again.

“Not bad for an old man,” I told him, even though I was winded and knew he could continue on like this indefinitely.

“Brat,” he returned, his tone completely conversational.

It had been a long time since the two of us had spent time like this: one on one, without him swooping in to lecture me about something or make some grand declaration about my life and future in his territory. When I was really little, we’d done this a lot more. He’d taught me to fight. Every day, we went running, and when I’d wipe out at the end, he’d carried me on his back. And then I got older, and the times like this one had been fewer and further between. He’d taken a step back. Left me to Ali. Spent most of his time on pack business that I had no part in.

I didn’t want to admit that it hurt that I’d had to open up the bond to bring that Callum back to me. Was this even real?

If he spent time with me because we were more connected now, or because of the conditions he’d set down, did it mean anything? Or was I just another chore, the alpha doing his duty by the pack, bratty little human girl and all?

“I can finish this up on my own,” I told him. “I’ve been doing my own training for years.”

“And you’ve been slacking. You only push yourself so far, Bryn.”

I got a feeling that he wasn’t talking just about physical training. With the semester more than halfway done, I still had a B-plus in algebra when it wouldn’t have taken much effort on my part to get an A. I was close to Devon but didn’t bother with any of my other age-mates. If the “Tree of Life” wanted to look like a fire hydrant, I was willing to revisit the issue.

“If you start talking about college and life choices, I’m out of here,” I promised him. “And if you have something else to do and somewhere else to be, don’t let me keep you from it.”

I got a vibe from him then—a twinge in my pack-sense that felt like being pricked with a lukewarm needle.

“I’m here and you’ll deal with me, Bronwyn.”

I took his words as an indication that a warm pinprick meant that he was feeling rather testy.

“Fine,” I said.

“Fine.”

As Calllum and I fell into silence, the voices at the edge of my mind—whirring, whispering ghosts of a something—made themselves heard more clearly. The constant barrage of emotions, filtered through the bond and blurred like words shouted from the bottom of a swimming pool, exhausted me as much as the paces that Herr Callum was jollily putting me through.

Focus, I told myself. Focus on the here and the now. Focus on why you’re doing this I focused on Chase.

It was funny. I’d only seen him once, and I couldn’t even picture his human face with any kind of certainty, but his wolf form and his voice were as clear in my memory as they would have been if I’d seen and heard them the second before.

I got bit.

I got bit.



I got bit.

That was why I was doing this. I needed to know what had happened to Chase, and I needed to know what was being done about it.

I opened my mouth to ask Callum point-blank if there was a Rabid in his territory—where Chase had been attacked and who they thought had attacked him, but just as I was about to let loose with the inquisition, a third set of tracks joined ours.

Lance.

Through the bond, he felt solid and heavy, and there was the faintest whiff of vanilla and cedar in his scent.

“Hey, Lance,” I said.

Lance, of course, said nothing.

“Sorry about ditching you a couple of months ago,” I said, intent on getting a response out of him.

Nothing. Nada. He just kept pace with me and Callum, without ever saying a word. The air between us felt almost as empty, but there was just a hint of something. It was either disapproval or amusement. Or possibly both.

Look at Lance, with actual emotions, I thought. And then it occurred to me that there was some chance he could hear me.

Can Lance hear my thoughts? I asked Callum silently.

He can feel them, same as I can, but fainter. Unless you want him to hear you. Most pups have trouble speaking mind-to-mind inhuman form, but you seem to be rather proficient. I attribute it to your stubborn nature.

“And stubbornness is my folly,” I said out loud, snickering at my own joke, which Callum and Lance clearly did not get.

After a small eternity, in which I made a few more comments that made equally little sense to my companions and in which Callum chided me on my form not once, not twice, but three times—you’re slipping, Bronwyn Alessia. Stay on the balls of your feet—Lance, Callum, and I came to a halt at the Crescent.