I leave.

Dane can make whatever excuse he wants for my unexplained disappearance, and if he has an excuse for what he said and did, I don't want to hear it.

I don't want to hear whatever Julian has to say for himself, either. Fae identity crisis or not, he was the first person I trusted enough to tell about Thom, and he promptly went and broke that trust.

As for Ambrose, I know if he sees the darkening mark on my cheek and the pain on my face...

Well, Dane might be doing a great impression of an asshole at the moment, but he's still my brother, and I want him in one piece.

So, I dust myself off, swallow the emotions threatening to reveal themselves in tears, and in the most mature and dignified manner imaginable, I run away.

My wallet and car keys are in the house, though, so like a real hero I run away on foot.

The bookstore is only a short walk from the house—thirty minutes, if I hustle—but I take my time and get there in forty-five.

I'm not scheduled to work, but I figure Shanti won't mind. She doesn't seem to mind much, in fact, and I still haven't figured out how she manages to keep her store open with one part-time employee and a weak stream of customers.

However she does it, I'm grateful: grateful for the cool, book-scented aisles, the intriguing array of strange, rare titles, and for Shanti herself. Her gentle demeanor and river-incense perfume have a calming effect on me, and her soothing presence has become something I can rely on.

She looks up when I enter, and her eyes go right to the fresh bruise. Dane hadn't hit me all that hard, really, but any blow from a guy that big is bound to hurt.

"Noah?" she asks, coming around from behind the desk for a closer look at me. "I did not expect you so early. Are you all right?"

Today she's wearing a long, green dress made of loose folds of fabric, and it seems to flow around her like moving water. Her dark hair falls down her back like a shadow, and when she lightly touches the side of my face, her fingers are cool.

"Just a little family argument," I answer, shrugging. "No big deal. I thought I might as well come in and get an early start, if that's okay."

She nods. "A new shipment of books has arrived. You can help me to unpack them."

"Sure," I agree, turning away self-consciously to interrupt her study of my face. "Where do you want them?"

"Anywhere there is room." She makes a sweeping gesture with her hand. "It does not matter."

"Okay," I shrug, and get to work.

I try to place the books next to something similar—a related topic or title—but Shanti is right: they're all random and obscure, and the shelves are so disorganized anyway, it hardly matters where they end up.

I've just finished stuffing a book of love potions next to a volume containing over a hundred uses for spider's webs, when the door jingles and the first customer of the day wanders in.

I hear Shanti's pleasant greeting, and a murmured response that sounds like a question, and turn my attention back to my work.

It isn't until a shadow falls over me, and I turn, that I realize the customer isn't a customer after all.

Julian stands at the end of the aisle, looking pale and miserable, and chewing the corner of his bottom lip.

I turn back to the shelf as my chest and face heat with anger, the rush of blood making my cheek throb with fresh pain.

"Julian, you are the last person I want to see right now," I say, keeping my voice quiet and low. "Please go away."

"I'm sorry, Noah," he whispers. "I didn't mean to tell him. It just...happened."

I scoff.

"I'm sure you'd be fine if I 'just happened,' to break your trust, huh?"

"No," he replies, still in a whisper. "I'd be pissed as hell, and I'd never want to see or speak to you again."

"Sounds about right."

"Noah, please... Will you let me explain?"

I bite the inside of my cheek and then turn towards him, doing my best to convey a cold glare. "Sure, Julian. Go ahead and explain."

His eyes go to the mark of Dane's hand, and I hear his quick intake of breath. "Shit. He said he hit you, but I... I didn't really think..."

I cover the mark with my hand and turn away from him again. "Well, go on," I say, "explain. Tell me why my brother knocked me on my ass and expelled me from his pack. I've had plenty of arguments with him over the years, Julian—some pretty violent ones, if you recall—but he's never turned it into something physical before. So, tell me what's different this time."

He sniffs. "Can we go somewhere else?"

"No."

There's silence, and then he sighs. "This is all my fault."

"You think?" I return, glancing at him and, with some satisfaction, see him flinch.

He pauses and swallows, hugging himself tight. "The tea was working," he says softly. "At least until last night."

"All right—what happened last night?" I prompt, turning my attention back to the books and making a pretense of straightening them.

Even more quietly, Julian goes on. "Dane and I were... Well we were...getting 'intimate,' you know. It was...more intense than usual, somehow. My whole body felt alive—lit up inside—and then... Well, then I freaked."

"You 'freaked?'" I repeat, frowning at him over my shoulder. "What does that mean?"

He frowns back at me, a little of his usual spark returning to his eyes. "It means I had a fucking panic attack in the middle of sex," he snaps. "I lost it—scared out of my fucking mind by the thought of what might happen—and Dane had no idea what he'd done wrong. I didn't know what I was saying, and by the time he got me calmed down, I'd told him all about you and that Thom guy, and how much I wanted to help you prove the truth, and all kinds of shit. Everything except... Well, everything except what's really wrong with me," he finishes with a wince.

"Nice," I drawl, "so you sacrificed my confidence to keep your own. That's what makes you such a great friend."

"Noah, I'm sorry..."

I sigh. "Fine. So maybe that explains why you told him. It doesn't explain what happened this morning."

He rocks back and forth on his heels, still hugging himself. "Dane's pissed," he says. "He feels like, as alpha, he's supposed to take care of you, and he can't do that if you don't trust him. He's not used to feeling powerless. Plus, he's worried about you—scared that you're vulnerable and unprotected, and that Thorne's preying on that. He'd meant to talk to you about it—warn you to take things slow—and then this morning he saw that it was already too late. And when you told him we'd been to Faerie, he realized you weren't the only one hiding stuff. He snapped because he's afraid, Noah. He's afraid for you, and then you confronted him with the thing he fears most about me, and... I guess it just pushed him over the edge."

He takes a step closer and rests a careful hand on my arm.

"He feels awful, Noah. We both do."

"I don't," I say, surprising myself. "You know, Dane told me that there's always a place for me here—a place in his Pack." I shake my head. "Well I don't want it. Not if it's something he thinks he can take away from me every time I piss him off, or if I have to buy it with blind loyalty. I'd rather be alone. I'd rather be with Ambrose."

"Noah, he didn't mean that. Of course you're Pack—you'll always be Pack. He—"

"No," I shake my head again. "When Dane Chose you, you became Pack. Well, I've Chosen Ambrose, and until he's Pack, too...neither am I. In the meantime, I suggest you tell Dane the truth, because until you do, this—" I gesture at him, "—isn't going to resolve itself, and I'm done helping you."

I walk away from him and get back to my work, and a moment later I hear the chimes on the door ring softly as he leaves.

~ ☾ ~

I stay late, and it's nearly evening by the time I say goodbye to Shanti and head home. By then, the mark on my face has faded to a light discoloration, barely noticeable against the caramel tone of my skin. I might not heal as fast as some Wolves, but half a day is plenty to hide a bruise.

Again, I take my time, walking slow. Unlike that morning, though, when I'd been too wrapped up in a confusion of pain to notice much else, I enjoy the fresh air, the slanting golden light of the early autumn sun, and the scent of dry earth and hot pavement, interrupted now and then by a cool breeze carrying the aroma of the nearby forestland.

Dane's words and actions, and Julian's betrayal—conscious or not—still sting, but not as much as before. I might not have a pack, but I have a home, and someone who loves me, and for now, that's all I need.

As I approach the old house, Dougal runs to meet me, barking a happy greeting from the other side of the low brick wall. I stop at the post box and open it, pulling out a handful of mail, and turn to open the little gate when an irregularly shaped envelope escapes the rest of the bunch and falls to the ground.

It's small and brown, the size and shape of a greeting card, and I note with surprise that it's addressed to me. I haven't updated my residence anywhere official yet, and I can't think of who might send me something in the mail. There's no return address, and mine is printed on an adhesive label rather than written by hand.

Curious, I tear open the envelope and pull out the folded piece of paper within, and then nearly drop it again in surprise.

It's from Thom.

I scan it quickly, and a weird, sick feeling lodges in my throat.

Noah,

Please forgive me. I'm not a well man.

I've done terrible things, and I know that I can't undo all the harm, but I'd like to try. Meet with me—please—and let me explain. I miss you, and I miss what we had together. Give me a chance to put things right, while I have time.

Repentantly yours,

Thom

Below his name is the address of a local bar, and the words tomorrow, 2 pm.

I stare at the note for so long, the shadows have noticeably lengthened by the time I look up from it again.

If I hadn't already received one 'Sorry, I'm sick and didn't mean to,' apology today, I'd have torn the note to shreds, fed it to Dougal, and then mailed it back to Thom in the form of a shit.

Instead, I fold it into a little square and tuck it in my pocket, let myself in through the gate, and walk up the path to the house. The whole way, I have an unsettling feeling of being watched.

I don't know what I intend to do, yet. For one thing, there's the question of how Thom knows where I live. Then, there's the matter of what he wants and why. Maybe he's telling the truth, and he's really had some life-altering change of heart, but I trust that about as much as I'd trust a stone not to sink. Then again, the very idea that he imagines I'd even consider speaking with him, after what he did...

I let myself in the front door, and notice that two unfamiliar pairs of shoes are arranged on the rack. Voices drift from the library on my left, one of which belongs to Ambrose, but the others are as unfamiliar as the shoes. I sneak past and make my way upstairs, not at all prepared to pretend to be sociable.

In Ambrose's room—our room—I fall back on the bed with a sigh, rubbing the little bump of the folded note through the fabric of my pocket.

I can hardly judge Julian for keeping secrets from his Mate, when I'm keeping secrets from mine, after being mated less than a day.

I resolve to tell Ambrose everything—as soon as we have a moment to ourselves. In the meantime, I pull out my phone and open my contacts.

There's one person who's always had my back, no matter what. The only problem is, I hate to ask a favor, because I know it will be recalled in the most humiliating, juvenile way imaginable.

It can't be helped.

I sigh once more, commit myself to some unknown, future torment, and call Freya.