Freya

Killian keeps me from going any farther round the bend. He crouches low, pulling me with him as he peers around the corner to the source of the sound. Light from their lantern beckons us closer, dancing against the walls of the cave.

"You don't have to do this."

The accent is Torinnian, familiar. Killian meets my eye. "Harris," he mouths.

"You and I both know that's not true."

It's Trina who responds, voice steely.

"People will ask questions," Harris continues. "They will know one of us is missing."

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Trina says, "but I don't think they're particularly friendly with you either." Harris says nothing in return. "Killing you is probably doing them a favour."

Horror rakes through me as I look to Killian. His eyebrows knit together, a mask of intense thought on his face. I don't know if he knew Harris before, if his potential death would cause him grief. Harris was my guard, nothing more nothing less.

But it just feels wrong.

I slip a hand from Killian's grasp and take a step around the corner. "Stop!"

Harris, bound and bruised, swings towards me. Trina stands across from him, toying with a dagger in her hands. Her expression shifts as she meets my eye, a flicker of panic flashing through, as if regretting being caught.

"You can't kill him!" I demand. "You said we were safe here."

"I said you were guaranteed protection so long as you proved useful. And he is not."

"So hateful," Harris seethes, voice low. He looks at me. "Such a shame. She didn't always hate shifters, you know. Far from it, actually."

I glance at Killian, but his eyes are on Trina's dagger. "What's he talking about?"

Trina all but hisses at Harris. "If you value your life, you will stop with these lies."

Harris's tone softens. "He loved you, Joyre."

Trina lunges towards him, towards me, but Killian intercepts, catching her raised dagger with his arm. She all but growls, shoving against him, but his hold is relentless.

"Release me, dog!"

"I do not care for your rank," Killian says, voice deathly low. "Touch a hair on her head and I will remove yours."

Harris continues. "He would've loved his son, too. But you robbed him of his family. You--"

Trina's free hand slips from under Killian, releasing a dagger the size of my thumb through the air. I duck at the last second, the blade skimming the top of my head and lodging itself in Harris' throat.

He gurgles, choking on the dagger as he collapses to the ground, eyes wide. My chest tightens, stomach churning as I look up. Killian has Trina shoved against the cave wall, her legs dangling in the air like she's nothing more than a doll.

His elbow presses into her neck, the pressure causing her other hand to drop the dagger as she grasps at his arms.

"I warned you," he seethes. "Not a hair on her head."

"Killian!" I scramble to my feet. "Killian, stop! I'm alright!"

It takes him several seconds to react before he releases her. She crumbles to the ground, reaching for her neck, gasping for air. I stare down at her, wide-eyed, the sounds of Harris choking on blood behind me echoing around us.

His words repeat in my mind. Thumping. Like a heartbeat.

She didn't always hate shifters.

He would've loved his son, too.

You robbed him of his family.

When Trina gains her voice, she glares up at Killian, pure disgust in her eyes. But Killian, she cannot hurt. Her words are directed at me. "You-" she wheezes "-you will be exiled--"

Her threat barely registers as I stand beside Killian, my mind clicking into place. Fury and shock and realisation. "That's why you never loved him," I breathe. "Why he was never good enough."

She climbs to her feet, her expression poison. "You do not know what you're saying."

In that moment, she does not scare me. I take a step closer, my arm brushing past Killian's, and look her dead in the eye. "Who was Casimir's father, Trina?"

"What are you insinuating?" she hisses. "The dog was mad. His claims are absurd."

Killian steps closer to me. "Then why did you kill him?"

She falters, looking between the two of us. "I can have you both surrounded in minutes."

"And I can have you dead in seconds," Killian retorts, stepping closer. She lifts her chin. "But I won't. And you won't have us surrounded, either. Because then people would ask questions. Questions like why you cared to kill Harris yourself instead of handing him off. Questions like who is Casimir's father. Questions like who is Joyre."

Joyre. The name Harris called her that set her off earlier.

"I could ask around," Killian continues, voice chilling. "Ask about Joyre. About Harris. You'd be surprised by how much Torinnian shifter history is documented. What would your loyal followers think of you if they knew?"

Her lips curl up, voice lowers. "You know exactly what that would do."

My breath catches in my throat at her response. Her lack of denial. My mind drew the connections, found the answers hidden beneath Harris' words. But her lack of denial... it delivers with a stab of pain. For Casimir. For Harris. For whoever his father was.

"Right now, your people need a leader they trust. And as much as it annoys me, we need your people if we want to take Ereon down," Killian says eventually. "So I will keep your secret. We will. For now."

Trina rises to her feet, rolls her shoulder back. Harris is long gone now, but she doesn't bother him a glance as she stares from Killian to me, expression filled with hatred.

"Let me be very clear," she says, "I hated your kind then. I hate them now. I will hate them forever." I hear the message beneath her words--how she views Casimir, how she will always view Casimir. "And when this is over, when Ereon is dead, I will continue to hunt your kind down. Torinnian or not. Blood-related or not."

She spits to the side, blood coming up. And then she shoves past me, bumping my shoulder and heading back through the passage. My shoulders sag in her absence, but the tension in my stomach only coils tighter as I look to Killian, my mouth falling open.

"Could it be true?" I whisper. "Could Casimir.... Could he be..." He presses his lips together. "Did you know?"

"No," he says quickly, quietly. "I knew he was quick for a human, strong. But I assumed it was his deserter training."

"But he has never shifted into a wolf form," I say. "Not during the Red Moon... not ever."

"Trina is human, her genes may have reigned dominant," he says.

I take a shaky breath, staring at the ground. "This will destroy him."

Killian takes a step towards me. "Freya, you cannot tell him. Not now."

"What?"

"I meant what I said to Trina. We need her reinforcements. We need the protection offered by her connections and numbers. You have no way of telling how Casimir will react. Revealing her past puts everything at risk."

"He deserves to know."

"And he will, but not now."

I stare at him, my insides turning. This secret... it will eat me alive. "He's my family.

"Everybody has secrets, Freya. Even family."

He's said the same to me once before, so long ago in Veymaw when I was trying to track down the deserters to join their forces.

"No. I won't lie to him. People who care about you tell the truth. Even when it hurts."

"People who care about you protect," he says, eyes flaring. "People who care about you lie in order to do so."

"What's that supposed to mean?" My defenses rise. I narrow my eyes at him, trying to dissect each fraction of his expression. The purse of his lips, the wrinkle between his brows. My instincts whisper words in my ear. "You know something."

His expression softens, and he reaches for me. "Freya--"

I step out of his hold. "You said you didn't want to lie to me anymore, so tell me the truth," I beg, "please. Are you keeping something from me?"

"Don't make me answer that, Freya."

Hurt flares in my chest at the set of his jaw. I shake my head and step away from him, hating the way it stabs.

"And you want me to trust you? To believe what you said about how you feel about me?"

"I meant every word."

"How am I supposed to believe that when you are never forthcoming with me? Not when it matters." I shake my head, his lack of denial a deep ache igniting in my chest. I summon all the venom I can into my voice, but the hurt twists my tone and makes me sound wounded. "Whatever it is that you're not telling me, I hope that it's worth it."

I want him to fall to his knees and shout reassurance at me. I want him to take my hand, to pull me to his chest and whisper sweet words in my ear. But his expression remains torn, pained as he stares back at me. He doesn't say anything.

Not as I turn away. Not as I walk away from him. Not even when I pause to look back.