To my relief, the second the word Rabid left my mouth, Lake’s eyes flew open, and she almost fell off the end of the dock, supernatural grace and balance the only things that saved her from taking a nosedive I wouldn’t have been able to avoid.
“The Rabid who killed your … I thought Callum killed that scum-licking, dirt-sucking, mother—”
Sensing that Lake could provide an infinite number of adjectives to describe the man Chase called Prancer, I cut her off. “I thought so, too, but no. The Rabid got away. Nobody thought it crucial to tell me. Flash-forward eleven years, and what do you know, Chase gets bit.”
Lake digested that for a moment. “And I’m guessing the alpha didn’t particularly want you to figure that one out.”
I was grateful that she hadn’t said Callum’s name this time. “He let me see Chase, knowing I’d figure it out, and then he had me beaten for doing it.”
Ali’s logic had crept into my thoughts enough that my mouth was verbalizing it to Lake. If I could run with broken ribs, I could force myself to part with one or two ugly truths and to silently say the words that cut me most.
Callum. Pack. Stone River. Permissions.
I thought the words and thought them hard, pushing through it like the pain was nothing.
Callum.
Pack.
Stone River.
Callum.
Under the waistband of my jeans, the Mark was still there. I placed my hand over it, lining my fingers up with the grooves that Callum had carved into my skin.
“The Rabid is still alive. He’s been alive all this time, and now, he’s messing with my—” The possessive seemed more important than the noun that followed it. I wasn’t sure what to call Chase—my friend? My wolf? My other self?
“So it’s true,” Lake said, saving me the trouble of finishing my sentence.
“What’s true?”
“You and this boy. You Marked him.”
When she put it like that, the impossibility of the situation became a magnitude more difficult to ignore. I wasn’t a werewolf, and I certainly wasn’t the Stone River Pack alpha. Callum hadn’t been present when I’d thrown my pack-bond at Chase. The alpha hadn’t forged a new connection between us, I hadn’t bitten Chase, he hadn’t bitten me, and what we shared was nothing like the bond between a werewolf and his mate.
It also bore no resemblance to the bond between Callum and me.
“It wasn’t like that,” I said. “It was—” How could I possibly describe what had happened, even to Lake? “We’d just figured out that his Rabid was the same as mine, and they were going to separate us.”
We’d panicked. Both of us. “I had to calm him down. I couldn’t let them take him away. I had to—”
Had to what? I wasn’t explaining this right. Lake was sitting very still, an odd light in her eyes that I couldn’t quite diagnose.
“I had to protect him. And me. So I took everything I felt for the pack. I saw the bond, and instead of closing myself off to it, I pulled. I pulled at it and I thrust it toward Chase.”
I expected Lake to tell me again that what I’d done was impossible, but instead, she looked down at her knees, and in the softest voice I’d ever heard her use, she asked me the last question I ever expected to hear from her lips. “Could you do it again?”
For a second, I thought she was asking if, given the chance, I would go back in time and do the exact same thing again, knowing the consequences, but there was something between us—a light shifting of air, a pulsing in her bond with the pack and the muted power of the Mark on my side—that told me that wasn’t so.
She was asking if I could rewire someone else’s pack-bond. She was asking if I could rewire hers. Lake and her dad were peripherals. Callum didn’t require their attendance at the Crescent, but they were still a part of Callum’s pack. He was still her alpha.
“I don’t know, Lake.”
Could you try? I didn’t hear the words, the way I would have if my bond with Chase didn’t stand between Callum’s pack and my mind, but I could see the question on the tip of her tongue. After a moment, she bit her lip, and whatever I’d imagined I’d seen disappeared, replaced by a look I associated with Lake’s reaction to being dared to do something.
An alarm sounded in the back of my head, because that look was trouble. Lake Mitchell didn’t turn down dares.
“I suspect you’re wanting to know why Callum didn’t kill the Rabid,” Lake said.
Cautiously, I nodded.
“And I suspect you’re wanting to know if he has plans to kill the Rabid now that he’s back?”