Moon Bound

7. Ryder

The closed door finally rids my nose of Carina’s cinnamon scent—a scent that’s been burned into my brain since the moment I wrapped my arms around her in the clearing. She smells pleasant—better than any other female I’ve ever encountered. Granted, all the females I know are shifters who live in woodsy areas. Carina and her town life grant her certain affordability to smell like she does.

Walking away, I nod at a few of the pack members who lie in wait. They all want to know the outcome of today’s adventure, but I jerk my chin at the cabins behind them. In a few hours, it’ll be daylight and they’ll be able to hear it all then. For now, the elders will want a meeting and I need to see Father.

As I trudge toward Amos’s cabin, where he and Marissa likely are waiting, exhaustion wears at my bones. My back, legs, and arms ache from the day. The only thing I can think about right now is climbing into bed and passing out until the sun rises, but the elders will demand to know why I dragged a witch home.

And so, sparks of adrenaline fuel me toward Amos’s door, because the faster I start this inevitable conversation, the sooner I can get to bed. I push inside without a knock. Amos and Marissa both glance up from where they’re in conversation at his small table.

“Welcome back.” Marissa smiles, but there’s a wall in her eyes, guarding her real thoughts.

Amos gestures across from them to the third and final chair in the room and I sit, feeling like I did when I was a child and Father would scold me.

He leans forward, his hands clasping tight together. The knuckles flash white from their tautness. I scan his face, noting the obvious signs of annoyance—the crinkled skin around his eyes, the stiff jawbone, and dilated pupils. I straighten, ready to defend my actions.

“Ryder, please tell me the witch is here to perform the magic herself.”

“Not exactly.” I swallow, rolling the story around in my mind, deciding where to begin. “I took her in, hoping a threat to the coven would encourage them to play a bit nicer. Obviously, it didn’t work. Instead of the magic I requested, they,” my lips press together briefly, “gave me her.”

Marissa chimes in, her head jerking back, “Gave you her?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “I said they had three days to get me the magic or else we’d kill her. I had hoped they would hand it over then. Instead, they let me walk away with her.”

Amos blows out a deep breath, leaning back into his chair again. His arm comes out to swipe at his forehead. “Good god. We have a witch in the camp. How do you plan on holding her? How did you make it here?”

I purse my lips, once again debating what to admit, but ultimately, not wanting to hide the truth. “The cuffs were spelled to hold back her magic.”

This time it’s Marissa who jolts forward in her chair. “Ryder, what?”

“How?” Amos adds.

“I don’t know.” My shoulders lift in a slow shrug, exhaustion making them weighted. “Some witch appeared and spelled them. And before you say anything more,” I raise my hand to Amos’s open mouth, “she didn’t f**k us over. Let’s call it intuition, but she hasn’t yet, and I don’t think she will.” My mind scrolls back to earlier, to the strange witch who seemed like she knew me, like she wanted to help. “I got a feeling from her, like she’s on our side.”

Vibrations take over Amos and his jittery body rattles the table. One fist comes down on the table, the wood splintering from the impact. “You’re stupid, Ryder. You’re going to get this pack killed.”

Killed. I flinch at the impact. The doubt he has sparks irritation within me and my leg bounces in response.

Not that I’m exactly certain either, but still.

Marissa, ever the caring one between the two, rests her hand atop his fist. “Shh, Amos. We need to trust him now.”

Amos bares his teeth, a snarl coming from his throat. “Trust him? Marissa, he will get us all killed. That witch—” he gestures out the door “—will lead the rest of them to us. This other witch he’s talking about is obviously on their side.”

Each word strokes the beast of irritation he had created. My jaw clenches and I bite down on the inside of my cheek to prevent me from cursing at him. After three deep breaths, and ensuring my words remain nicer than I want them to be, I say, “Respectfully, Amos, but you weren’t there. You’re not alpha, and most importantly, it’s not your father. I did what I needed to do. Now.” I shift my attention to Marissa’s wide-eyed expression, already feeling soothed by the woman who is much more logical than Amos. “How is my father?”

At my question, her expression melts into one of grief. Her eyes darken and her expression slackens. She shifts on the chair, rubs her hands together, and then readjusts once more.

Her crumpled expression floors me; throws a heavy rock in my gut and drags me under the water with it. “What is it?”

“Ryder… he doesn’t have long.” She shakes her head once, eyes darting to the table in front of us. “He worsened in the time you were away,” she pauses, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, “a lot.”

Her words shoot acid up my throat as I work to swallow and digest her words.

He won’t die. He can’t die.

Marissa continues, as if she has possibly more bad news to share, “We need to think realistically from here on out. Every hour, more and more of him is deteriorating. His aging is rapid—much more rapid than I expected. At this rate he has…” her eyes bounce around the room, before settling on the ground at my feet, “…maybe a week.”

A week.

A week.

No matter how many times my brain repeats her words, they don’t seem real. They can’t be real. If they are, it means I’ll lose my father—my rock—within a week. And then I’m supposed to pick up and live normally after that? Horror wraps me in its arms and instantly, my life becomes more of a nightmare than it ever was.

“A week?” I repeat, my voice low and strained. Perhaps hearing it a third time will be the final c***k I need to break my armour and make this understandable.

Marissa’s nod makes my head turn light, and I blink, trying to focus on the elders in front of me and not on my heart, which has officially been smashed into a toxic pile of waste.

“There’s no exact science,” she murmurs. “But based on what I’ve seen today… I don’t see him lasting much longer.”

I jump to my feet, a sudden urgency forcing me out the door and into the darkened camp. It’s empty now, everyone having gone to bed. I was tired too—before I learned my father only had days to live. Sleep is the furthest thing from my mind now. If it requires pure adrenaline to get me through the next few days, then so be it.

I don’t knock, just throw open the door to my father’s cabin. The ire in me won’t be shushed, even if he’s asleep. Soon, he’ll have a lot of time to sleep.

His heavy breaths carry through the room and to me, faltering my steps. The room is dark, only lit by a single dull lamp in the corner. Its light is hardly bright but it’s enough to emit a glow through the room.

“Ryder?”

His low, cracking voice grates at my nerves, reminding me what a failure I am. Everything melts away then—Carina’s presence isn’t my problem, the pack’s opinions don’t matter. Comforting him is the priority.

“Father,” I reply, striding toward his bedside. I drop to the chair left beside his bed and lift his hand in mine. It’s cold to the touch and limp. I force more air into my lungs before examining his matured body. Within a day, my father has aged to the point he appears to be a grandfather. He’s never looked like the fifty-year-old he is, but without his magic, he could now easily pass for a seventy-year-old human. He’s worse than Marissa described, but I force a smile on my face for him, hoping it masks the grimness I feel.

His other hand comes to his side, pressing into the bed beside his body as if he’s going to use it to sit up. Before he has a chance to attempt what I’m sure would be a failed and feeble endeavour, I rest a hand firmly on his chest.

“Rest.”

“Blast you, boy, let me up.” His weakened cough counters the strength in his words and I flinch, praying he didn’t pay attention to my reaction. “I’ve been lying in this bed too long. I need to stretch my legs while I still can.”

The blood disappears from my body, his words chilling me to the bone. “You’re not amusing, Father.” But still, I loop an arm around his back and lift him into a sitting position. Nearby pillows are used as a cushion behind him to ensure he’s propped up.

Once he’s steady, I release him, taking my seat once more.

Father stares at me, his familiar twinkle glistening through the barely-there lighting. “Heard you brought a witch back instead of magic.” He taps his ear. “The pack was speaking about it outside.”

His amused, light tone stuns me. He should be furious with me—and for good reason too.

“The witches were unreasonable.”

His next round of chuckles turns into a cough. “They were protecting their own. We would do the same.”

I suspect the witch I have locked in my cabin would have something to say about that statement. “She’s ransom.” My hands fist on my leg. And she better be worth the trouble.

Father shakes his head slowly back and forth. “It’s over, Ryder. You tried, and I love you for it, but don’t create a war on my account. It’s time to think like an alpha now, and not my son.”

He’s giving up? Wants me to let him go—let the witches live after they’ve taken his life from him. A low growl builds in my throat. It won’t happen.

“Remember, I chose this. I knew what I was getting into when I made the deal. I wanted you to have more time with your mother.”

“Even if it meant less time with you in the end?” The words break past my lips before I can stop them and I gasp, wishing I could suck them back inside. “Sorry,” I murmur, voice lowering. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

His mouth twitches into a smirk. “Yes, you did, or else you wouldn’t have said it. Ryder, I know you’re angry and understandably so. I would be too if I was you.”

“But you still did it,” I bite out.

His eyes shift to the side, a faraway look taking over. “When you find the one, you’ll know why.”

I huff, not knowing how else to show my frustration that won’t end up with my fist through the wall. He’s talking of romantic notions, when I’m focused on his survival.

“Besides,” he continues, “look at me. If I got the magic now, I’d be old and weak. Unable to remain alpha.”

The bitterness doesn’t leave my tone. “At least you’d be alive. We could be joint alphas.”

Even as the words leave my mouth, I’m aware of the expression he’ll give me, and unsurprised when he does. His mouth folds into an amused half-smirk, half-frown, and he tsks. “You know as well as I do, two alphas cannot lead the same pack. It’s unnatural.” Father pauses, glancing at his curled-up hands on his lap. “You’re ready, Ryder. You’ll need to let me go at some point and I’d rather it be now when we can have this conversation.” His eyes lift again, and rather than reflecting my agony back, there’s a peace in him. Serenity I’ve only ever seen when Mother was alive. He’s right—he’s accepted this. Said his goodbyes and is welcoming his end.

Too bad I’m not and will hold on until the bitter end in hopes Carina’s coven comes through.

“I want to meet the girl,” he says softly. His topic change has me swallowing down the ball in my throat and sitting up straight—ferocity replacing despair.

“Why? She’s only a witch.”

His eyes cut to me, a fiercer expression than I’ve seen since yesterday. “I wish to meet the girl. I raised you better than that—hating a species for their differences. Why do you think I went to the Fortunas in the first place? I had hoped we could become allies of sorts. I offered them protection, but they spat in my face and made me a deal that best suited them.”

And yet he still believes in peace. I resist rolling my eyes and stand, prepared to grant what may be one of his final wishes.

“I’ll be back then.”

I fly across the camp, past Marissa’s startled expression and toward my own cabin. The door smashes against the wall announcing my arrival. My eyes zero in on Carina who remains perched on the end of my bed. Her mouth flies open as if she’s going to speak, but I stride closer, towering over her, effectively halting whatever she’s about to say.

Her chin lifts in simple determination. It pairs well with her otherwise timid expression. It’s obvious this whole thing is a power struggle. Her narrowed eyes and lifted chin are the bit of bravery she’s using to mask the clenched hands, stiff body, and lack of breathing.

All niceties from earlier have been depleted and I grasp her upper arm, hauling her away from the bed. Because she’s so petite against my strength, it’s too easy and as her feet skitter across the wooden floor, small pieces of guilt poke at me, but I keep my mind on the purpose of her presence. Helping Father get better. Until that happens, she’s my enemy.

“Where are we going?” she calls out as I drag her down the stairs and through the darkened camp. She’s a ragdoll in my grip, her bound hands giving her no leeway to fight back. “Ryder—stop!”

I don’t, not until I push her up the stairs of Father’s cabin. Marissa’s disapproving gaze remains on me, but I ignore it and nudge Carina through the doorway, remaining close behind.

Her steps falter and I have to sidestep her to get through the cabin. Curious why she stopped so sudden, I peer through the dim light, going cold at what I see on her face.

Shock in its basic form. Her hand darts up to cover her wide-opened mouth and her head shakes slowly back and forth. She takes another step, her full eyes almost dazed at what she sees. Gone is the princess act she’s been performing so far, and after a beat, her shock is replaced by something that has me stiffening in wariness. Her lips part, hand falling away from her face, and her dark eyes go soft—caring.

Carina quickly glances over at me, before glancing back to Father. Without an order, she walks slowly toward his waiting hand, taking a seat in the chair I earlier abandoned.

As I witness the all-consuming compassion on her expression, I have to question all I know about witches—their tenacity to be unfeeling, their general unkindness, as made evident by this whole situation. She’s clearly practiced in the art of deception, but then watching her lean toward Father what seems to be a genuine smile, I wonder which personality is the real Carina and what game she’s playing.