Burn Bright (Alpha & Omega #5)(87)

“Leah saved me,” he said, in a disgruntled voice.

She couldn’t help it—she laughed. And then she cried a little more.

He made love to her—which helped both her tears and his ruffled feathers.

But before he went to sleep, he murmured, “Leah is never going to let me live this down.”

“That’s okay,” Anna told him. “If you were dead, you wouldn’t be bothered by anything Leah had to say. I hope she torments you good and proper.”

He laughed then, a warm, sleepy sound that followed her into her dreams.

? ? ?

BRAN PARKED THE rented silver Camry on the road outside his house—there was no room for it any nearer. He left his suitcase where it was and walked home.

The lights told him that everyone was awake. He felt the subtle expectation that told him the pack could feel him, even if they didn’t know what was causing their restlessness. Standing on the porch, he straightened his shoulders and opened the bonds, accepting back the responsibility that he had handed to his son.

For a moment, the sensation was overwhelming. He took a step sideways to balance himself. Then everything settled back into place, and it was as if he had never left—except for the missing pieces—no Hester with her tie to Jonesy, who lit up Bran’s feel of the tie like a nuclear explosion; no Jericho, who could have taught Tag a thing or two about berserker fighting; no Devon, whose sweetness had survived the years that had robbed him of all else.

As Bran walked into the room, an expectant hush filled the air.

Juste, looking exhausted, rose from his seat and went down on one knee before Bran. “We have failed you, sire.”

Yes. They ran their packs differently in Europe.

“Get up,” he said, trying not to sound irritated. It had, after all, been he who had failed them. But this pack could not deal with doubts about their leader, so he could not apologize to them—as much as it would have relieved his guilt to do so.

“Get up, man,” said Tag. “We don’t bend our knees around here. If he wants your throat, you’ll know it. Otherwise, we can say we’re sorry while standing on our feet.”

Bran looked around the room—Asil met his gaze with wry sympathy. According to the pithy report Charles had left on Bran’s message app, Asil didn’t know that Bran’s absence was because he thought Leah was their traitor. But Asil was a wise old wolf, and it looked as though he’d worked things out.

“I think,” Bran said, “under the circumstances, we are lucky we didn’t lose more of the pack. Thank you.”

They had Devon’s body laid out on the bar, the dead wolf curled up as if he were merely asleep. Bran bent down and kissed his forehead.

For a moment, he saw a wild laughing young man, full of joy and adventures. “Come on, Bran,” he’d said. “It’ll be fun. We’re all werewolves—let’s join the wild hunt!”

Tag, standing at Bran’s shoulder, said, “Do you remember the day he talked us all into trying to find the wild hunt?”

Bran’s memories sometimes leaked out through the pack bonds if he wasn’t careful.

Bran shook his head. “Reckless idiot.”

“And so you told him,” agreed Tag. “But you came with us anyway.”

That had been … six hundred years ago, give or take fifty. And now, of those who had run that night, only Bran and Tag were left.

“So I did,” agreed Bran.

He stayed there for a little while, feeling his presence settle the pack down until they left by twos and threes, going home to rest. Until only he was left.

He found Leah in their bedroom. She was curled up in a chair, reading a magazine that she put down when he entered the room.

“You,” Bran said, “I can apologize to. I thought you were our traitor.”

“I?” she said. Her expression of astonishment changed to comprehension. “That’s why you left. If I had betrayed you, betrayed the pack, you’d have had to kill me.”

He nodded. “I can’t do that. You know why. So I left it to Charles.” He apologized again. “I am sorry.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Whatever for? I’m flattered that you thought that I was our traitor. It would take a lot of ingenuity and ability to be this close to you and betray you.”

She didn’t lie. But he knew her well enough to read the hurt in the set of her jaw.

“I should have known better,” he said. “You have always been driven by the good of the pack.”

She shrugged. “I never suspected Sage. That’s the nature of traitors, isn’t it?”

She stood up and strolled toward him, she leaned into him and kissed his mouth softly. “I accept your apologies—though I don’t need them. You look tired. Come to bed.”

He unbuttoned his shirt, and she took it from him to put in the laundry hamper. She came up behind him and put her warm, skilled hands on his shoulders and kneaded them as she kissed his spine.

“Come to bed,” she said again.

He did.

? ? ?

WHEN CHARLES GOT up—he checked his cell phone and found he’d slept thirty hours.

Charles showered, brushed his teeth, and braided his hair, listening to his da, Anna, and Wellesley in the kitchen—cooking breakfast if his nose was any judge. Charles left the bedroom, sauntered into the kitchen, and wrapped his arms around his mate from behind while she scrambled eggs. He kissed her ear.