Moon Bound

8. Carina

The old man—presumably the father that started this mess—tries to give me a smile as I sit on the chair beside him. His wrinkled mouth and deep-set eyes struggle with the proper form, exhaustion obviously hitting him hard. He shifts in bed, halfway slouched over the pillows that are propped to keep him up, and instinctively, my hands reach out to assist.

This is the alpha wolf, the one Grandma doesn’t want to help, in fear of strengthening him? He’s… harmless.

There’s a grunt, and then a large form is blocking my way. Ryder’s hands reach past mine to position his father back upright. The old man mumbles something into his ear I don’t catch, but whatever it is has Ryder backing off a couple of steps, annoyance flattening his mouth into a frown.

His father moves his attention back to me. “I wanted to apologize for my son’s actions today. He hadn’t realized how far he truly went.”

I spare a moment to glance at Ryder, finding an expressionless, unamused face that says he doesn’t appreciate his father’s apology.

“It’s fine. Not completely his fault.” My shoulders lift, a move I’m hoping will merely shrug away my issues as easily as they do his words.

His small frown says I’m not as blasé as I think I am. The old man’s hand reaches out to me and I allow it, stretching my arm toward his waiting hand and take it in my own. It’s cold, chilled from a lack of blood circulation, and I cover it with my other one, rubbing soothing circles across the skin as I would with a patient.

“No, I heard about the unfortunate ending, but I have faith when you return,” his eyes cut to Ryder, “your family will be happy to have you again.”

I still, my hand going as cold as his. Return? So, I’m definitely going home? My head moves between Ryder and his father, trying to discern the silent conversation.

“I will be dead within the week,” he continues. “Whether or not this pack wants to believe it, I feel it. My body has aged too rapidly for magic to help me now. I’m sorry you’re here for nothing.” He coughs, his back sagging again. His arm goes limp and his hand would fall back to the bed, if it wasn’t for mine holding him steady. His eyes shut as he slumps against the wall.

I brush my hand over his pulse point. The pulses are few and far too infrequent.

He’s right, except I don’t think he’ll even make it the week. At most… a few days? It’s a fact I wonder if I should tell Ryder, but when watching him, witnessing the heartbreak in his gaze, I’m not sure I can. Not if I wish to make it out alive. Ryder is aware his dad is dying, and regardless of the timeline, nothing will change that.

His father’s breathing turns laboured, his forehead crinkling in pain, and I flinch. I hate this part. The part where the patient is in distress.

These aren’t bad people. Simply desperate. He’s an old man on his deathbed.

This situation is the precise reason I began my path away from the coven in the first place.

“I can ease his pain. At least for now.”

The floor echoes with Ryder’s footsteps coming closer. “You’d say anything to get those cuffs off you.”

“I’m telling the truth,” I insist, looking up at his looming figure. My hands twist in my lap, debating if I should tell him everything.

“You’ll disappear as soon as you’re free.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know how to do that. My mother refused to teach me the spell while I remained living at home.”

His lips twitch, fighting a smirk. “You’ll run then.”

“And go where? I doubt I’ll get far with the pack.” His father’s groan fills the beat of silence, which I use to strengthen my point. “Listen to him. Let me help him.”

War plays out across Ryder’s face and our eyes lock in a silent battle I’m determined to win. His father’s shallows breaths continue to fill the cabin and Ryder’s eyes flicker before his mouth closed briefly and he grunts, “Fine.”

He yanks a key from his back pocket—a place I commit to memory in case I have an opportunity and undoes the lock on the cuffs. They fall to the ground; the clanging sound they make is music to my ears and I rub feeling back into my wrists. Twisting and twirling them, feeling freedom once more.

“Carina, I swear to—”

“Relax,” I cut him off, standing. “Help get him comfortable.”

Ryder leans over and adjusts his father into a lying position. The old man’s eyes flick between Ryder and me once, before sliding closed again, breaths still shallow and laboured. His body jerks, settling into the mattress beneath him.

After Ryder steps away, I position my hands over the old wolf, calling upon my wind magic. While I know the other elemental magics, air is my family’s speciality. Known for its calming qualities, it needs peaceful thoughts to trigger it.

I shut my eyes and block out my family, Mom’s face and Grandma’s words, and focus on things like oceans, spa days, and the feeling I get when I purchase new shoes. I see myself walking into those designer stores, fingers stroking along the rich leather of heels, until I find the ones I want.

Waves of cool air burst from my palms and I open my eyes. It weaves down, wrapping over the old wolf’s form, hugging his head, covering his chest and legs, and finally hooking around the bottoms of his feet. Once encased in my magic, the spell does its work.

I drop my hands and wait for the air magic to slowly draw the discomfort from his body. When he sighs, I say, “He’ll sleep better for the night. It won’t be forever, but at least it will get him through till morning.”

My heart thumps three times before Ryder quietly murmurs, “Why help?”

“No one deserves to be in pain.” My words are rushed, but truthful.

Especially in his final days. My teeth smash together, knowing this man doesn’t have much longer to live, and the life he does have will be painful and uncomfortable. Damn Grandma to the Otherworld. If they got to him in time, instead of playing the charade of hate, his body may still have been young enough to freeze his aging again.

“Thank you.” The timbre of his voice hikes into a soft rumble.

“Not all witches are bad,” I reply, finally gazing away from his father and toward Ryder.

Something like understanding passes through his eyes and he nods once. “I’m learning that.”

Electricity sparks the air between us and my chest warms. Ryder, like me, is a product of a centuries-old feud. A feud, his father clearly also wants no part in, but my stupid species insist on continuing. First, the Fortuna coven by creating this mess and now my own by refusing to help Ryder’s father.

Deep down, I want to do more for them than just remove his pain. I want to save his life, as Ryder requested from Grandma. But I can’t. The magic he’s asking for requires more than what a young witch has, and besides, I don’t know the spell.

Metal yanks me from my thoughts and Ryder lifts the cuffs in front of me.

I pull my arms back. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I’m hanging onto any hope I have, Carina. I need to keep you here for the time being.”

For the time being. So he does plan on releasing me after his father… I stop the thought. Or after Grandma saves him. A course of action I know won’t come true, but he’s holding onto a miniscule piece of faith.

“Fine,” I concede, lifting my arms for him. Ryder takes no time at all to snap the cuffs on my wrists. The weight of the old metal yanks my hands down. I flex my fingers, calling upon and testing my magic, but nothing happens—as expected.

His hand wraps around my arm again and he pulls me from the quiet cabin. Clearly, the understanding between us moments ago was simply that—a moment in time. Never to be repeated if Ryder has anything to say about it.

“Tell me I can finally go to sleep,” I groan.

“Yes,” he replies, offering no further information as he tugs me back to his cabin.

The loud closing of the door ricochets off the walls and into my brain as reality begins to set in. I’m trapped in this cabin, no magic—hell, no use of my hands either—with a wolf. He hasn’t hurt me yet, but what’s to stop him from choosing tonight to extract revenge, especially after seeing his father’s deteriorating state?

I swallow through the sudden dryness in my throat and hope he doesn’t recognize my horror. I shift, pressing myself into the door at my back, and remain as far away from him as I can.

“Where do I sleep?” I ask, scanning the cabin. The hard floor is dirty and who knows how many bugs have crossed it. There’s no other furniture, but all I know is I’m not sleeping on that be—

“The bed.”

I still, panic rushing through me. “And where are you sleeping?” I ask slowly, praying to not hear the words the bed.

“The bed.”

Damn it.