SEBASTIAN

Sebastian raised his hand.

With a crunch that reverberated through his very bones, scores of Weavers imploded, sending up a fine mist of blood that painted the forest blue. Wood cracked and groaned as the shockwave levelled even more trees again, rippling through the forest and driving birds from their nests in a flurry of feathers. Their shrill, distant cries rang in his ears, and for a split second he thought he could hear Red screaming.

Then all he could hear was the sizzling of embers, driven up by the wind whistling through the crater in the canopy. Such devastation. It had been his intention, but the power he'd been reaching for still lay dormant, idling behind the many locks and chains he'd put in place throughout the years, to stop himself from accidentally accessing Nya's Grace in his sleep or when his guard was down.

Sebastian curled his fingers into a fist and lowered it, brows drawing together as he scanned the terrain for a sign of the person who'd wrought this destruction. A flash of movement in the trees snatched his attention, confirming his suspicions: a muscular man with sun-kissed skin stood with his feet planted wide, hand outstretched like Sebastian's had been moments prior. His shoulder-length hair was the colour of a raven's wing, his eyes the hazy grey of a storming sky. A black wolf paced behind him, hackles already raised as it surveyed Sebastian from afar.

Their last battle had proven Sebastian the sound victor, but that had been one on one; he knew he'd be sorely tested if Hunter entered the fray. When his eyes flicked back to the heir of the Blood Moon Pack, however, he realised that test might come sooner than anticipated. The man's eyes were wide with recognition.

"You," Hunter said, face tightening with rage. "You were the silver wolf this whole time?"

Sebastian froze, like a field mouse in the wake of a swooping hawk. He'd forgotten the significance of remaining in his human form. Gone was the guise of the Wraith he'd relied upon for so long.

"Are you truly intent on taking away everything I love?" Hunter asked, his great strides swallowing the distance between them. "Was my mother not enough to sate your bloodlust?"

Sebastian shook his head, as much to banish the bitter memories as to deny the accusation. "I didn't mean for her to get hurt," he said, raising his hands in supplication. "She came for me in the middle of the night. Tried to —"

"She took you in!" Hunter roared, close enough now for the spittle to land on Sebastian's face. Sebastian was half a head taller in this form, but knew that Hunter's weight would matter more in a fight. He'd grown up with a steady supply of everything he needed to gather that strength, while Sebastian had fought tooth and nail to earn his. "A bastard stray come crawling to our door for scraps. It killed her to see you every day; to know that our father forsook his mate-bond to share your mother's bed. And yet she arranged sleeping quarters in our family home; fed and clothed you and rid you of lice; treated you like her own —"

"In public," Sebastian snapped, bristling to have someone try to tell him his own story. "And whenever you were looking the other way, she would pinch me hard enough to bruise, stuff rocks in my bedding and throw my food on the floor and make me eat the scraps. I endured it all, thinking I somehow deserved it, that I was somehow responsible for Rogan's infidelity, but I drew the line when she tried to suffocate me in the middle of the night."

"Preposterous," Hunter spat, but it all came rushing back.

Once again, Sebastian was waking up in a blind panic, unable to open his eyes or draw in breath, his mouth and nose smothered by the feathery down of his own pillow. The Change refused to respond to him; he was trapped in the malnourished body of a twelve year old boy, pinned down by the full weight of an adult. The knees planted on his chest were small but surprisingly strong, unrelenting as he shoved back against a decidedly female form, scrabbling at her wrists and pushing her face to the side. She'd bitten him for his efforts, clean through to the bone of his middle and pointer fingers, and the pillow swallowed his scream as the pain punched through his entire body. Still he scrabbled for purchase, lungs burning and brain screaming for oxygen as he stubbed his fingers on the wall, the bed frame, the bedside table.

Finally, they'd closed around something solid: the clay vase of flowers sitting on the side table. He'd gripped the handle tight and swung the vase into the woman's head, smashing again and again as he wormed his way free, punching the fragments that caught in her skin even deeper. It wasn't until Sebastian had stood victorious over her limp body, clawing in breath for all he was worth, that he realised what a bloody mess he'd made of her face. And it was only when he saw the twin mating scars on her shoulder that he'd realised who had tried to kill him; who he had killed in turn.

Carin. The Luna of the Blood Moon Pack, and above all else, Hunter's devoted mother. He suspected it was fear for Hunter's future that had driven her to that desperate act of violence; heard enough of her whispered arguments with Rogan over the dinner table to feel sure of the fact. Rogan had insisted that Sebastian was the logical choice to succeed him, for he was the eldest; Carin had insisted that Hunter was the rightful heir to the Blood Moon Pack, for he was the only legitimate child, the offspring of their Goddess-destined courtship.

Despite Rogan's initial support, Sebastian had known he would never forgive the brutal murder of his wife. And so Sebastian had fled into the night, turning his back on the closest thing he'd ever had to a real home. It had taken days for him to recover his ability to morph, and it wasn't until years later that he'd realised Carin must have poisoned his evening tea with wolfsbane, but in the end Sebastian was grateful for her underhanded tricks. That wolfsbane had numbed his connection with Nya just enough for Sebastian to carve a small kernel of power for himself in the recovery process, just enough to keep the Change, before breaking free of her puppeteering influence once and for all.

"I didn't mean to kill her," Sebastian said quietly. "I only meant to break free. But I won't apologise for acting in self defence."

Hunter burst into incredulous laughter, the sound setting Sebastian's teeth on edge. "You thought you killed her? That makes the fact that you ran even worse."

The words stopped his thoughts dead in their tracks. "What?"

"She bled out until until Rogan and I came home, from the party celebrating your induction to the Pack," he snarled, the veins in his forearms bulging as he clenched his hands into fists. "She survived, but she was never the same afterward. Her face was mangled and the scars never healed; Harry said her shame and despair allowed the wasting sickness to take root. She was dead within the month."

"I am sorry for your loss," Sebastian said. It was all he could offer, because if he was being honest with himself, a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. All this time, he'd thought he was responsible for tearing the Callahan family apart. "But don't you think it's strange that she came down with a wasting sickness after living a long and healthy life? What other lycans can you honestly say have been afflicted by one in the past?"

"It happens," Hunter insisted, despite the flicker of doubt in his eyes. "Red suffers from a heart condition. Lycans are blessed with advanced regeneration, yes, but even we are not infallible."

Sebastian searched his face long and hard. "You truly believe it, don't you? That she's sick. That you've been helping her all this time."

"Of course she's sick," Hunter snarled, skin glowing with the Grace that hearkened to his call. Sebastian edged back a step, making fast work of the locks on his own power. "I swear, if you prevented her from taking that medicine —"

"Poison," Sebastian clarified, anger building in his chest, like a storm gathering strength for a lightning strike. "They've been poisoning her this whole time, and you let them."

"No," Hunter said, shaking his head. "That's —"

"She knows," Sebastian snarled, something savage in him rejoicing in Hunter's bewilderment. "And she's never coming back to you now. How could she trust the man that tried to kill her? That rejected her for the illness he helped to inflict?"

In the space of a blink, Hunter's fist connected with his jaw. His world spun to the side as his head snapped back, hot, salty blood pooling beneath his tongue. It took every ounce of self control he possessed not to tackle the bastard to the ground and give it back tenfold.

"You lie!" Hunter exclaimed, throwing another punch.

Sebastian sidestepped it with ease, spitting blood as he went. "The only reason I haven't killed you yet is because I need you. Red's in trouble. I need you to use your mate bond to find her."

"I should kill you for your insolence," Hunter snarled, chest heaving with his ragged breaths. "Why should I let you take the credit for her rescue?"

Sebastian closed his eyes, willing icy calculation to steel the fire in his veins. "It's the least you can do to make it up to her," he said, even though he wanted nothing more to bash Hunter's thick skull against a rock to see which broke first. This wasn't a competition; Red's life was on the line! "The Weavers took her and I can't track her scent. If she's going to survive, we have to put aside old grievances and work together. Do you think you can do that? For her?"

For a moment, Sebastian thought he was going to try and swing another punch. A muscle ticked in Hunter's jaw as he contemplated his options, attention drifting to some distant place beyond Sebastian's shoulder. He made a mental note of the direction the bastard was looking in, certain he was responding to some silent summons from Red. It was useless to wish that he was the one who could hear it, but alas, he wished anyway. Sebastian was itching to take action, could only imagine the horrors Red was enduring as the Weavers prisoner. He refused to consider the alternative: that she might already be dead.

"Please, brother." All he needed was a direction to run in, something tangible to seek his teeth into.

"Very well," Hunter said gruffly, whistling to the black wolf. "Follow me."

HUNTER

"I don't understand," Hunter growled, casting his eyes about for a tunnel, an irregularity in the webbing that smothered their surroundings — anything to match the impression he'd received from Red when she was first dragged away. Since then he'd only received flashes of darkness and terror that made his own blood run cold. "The bond says she's right here."

The white-haired man paused, aristocratic features bunching in a frown as he also searched the area. The expression failed to shift, however, confirming Hunter's suspicions: this stretch of the woods was no different from any other.

"Check again," Sebastian barked.

Hunter bristled at the causal authority in his tone. That alone reminded him too much of their father; the bone-white hair and blood-red eyes merely added insult to the injury. "I'm telling you, she's here," he said, pointing at the ground beneath his feet. "Whenever I step beyond this point the bond grows fainter."

"Maybe you're not as close as you thought," Sebastian muttered, running a hand through his hair. It was the only sign of agitation on the otherwise stoic man, attesting to the strength of his attachment to Red.

Hunter was about to whirl on him when the meaty snapping of bones demanded his attention. Bradon relinquished his wolf form, taking on the visage of a sullen, dark-haired youth with baleful yellow eyes. The whites were still bloodshot from grieving his brother, but there was only cold, calculating menace in his expression now.

"You said it felt like Red was being dragged somewhere?" he asked Hunter directly, refusing to humanise Sebastian with conversation. A spark flared to life in Hunter's memory, and he recalled that their enmity spanned far beyond their most recent encounter. Much as they had with Red, the twins delighted in tormenting Rogan's bastard son when he first came to the village as a child. Unlike Red, however, Sebastian had the strength and tenacity to fight back. He'd gone straight for the jugular, and only the Alpha's intervention had spared the twins' lives.

Sebastian was but a child, then. A man full grown stood before him now, with over a decade of experience in the Wylds under his belt. How he had survived alone and for so long eluded Hunter; the Blood Moon Pack had made certain that no other lycans dared to offer him sanctuary.

"Hunter?"

"Aye," Hunter replied, blinking as he resurfaced to reality. "What of it?"

"Funnel web spiders build their nests in burrows," Bradon said, looking pointedly at the ground beneath their feet, covered in a brittle layer of matted, greying threads. "And line the tunnels with opaque spider-silk. I know because I used to pour lantern oil down down the shafts and drive them out with fire." A ghost of a smile, the first Hunter had seen all day, graced the man's lips. "I doubt your girl would appreciate the tactic in this instance, though."

"Of course," Sebastian hissed. "That explains how we caught up with her so easily. The entrance to the tunnel must be further away, but they doubled back underground to where we are now."

Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose, warding off a burgeoning headache. "We don't have time to search for the entrance. With no scent to track, we could be looking for days."

"If we survive that long," Bradon muttered, stroking the base of his neck absentmindedly. He stopped abruptly when he noticed Hunter's gaze. "What do you suggest?"

There was only one recourse. "We blast straight through the rock," Hunter said, drawing on the lake of power that flowed up from the very centre of his soul. It tingled as it sept through his muscles and bones, strengthening and refining them before oozing out of his pores, desperate to be unleashed upon the world.

"Are you mad?" Sebastian snarled, gripping his silver-limned forearm. "You could cave in the whole tunnel system. She'd be crushed in an instant!"

"Do you have any better ideas?" Hunter snapped, shrugging off his touch. "We don't have time to —"

The mate-bond snapped tight, choking off the words. Hunter clutched his head, staggering into the nearest tree as a deluge of pain came rushing through the silver thread.

"Hunter?" someone asked, but their voice was distant, incorporeal. "What is it?"

He didn't know; couldn't have answered if he tried. Memories whirled before his eyes that made no sense, for his own face featured in them. It took a moment for Hunter to realise he was seeing himself as Red had seen him through the years. A strong and noble child, rushing to the defence of a butterfly; a ruthless, charming womaniser, inaccessible as the cold face of the moon; a panicked bachelor, blanching at the thought of responsibility, of caring for another human being besides himself; and finally a jealous, possessive male who was only capable of seeing a person's exterior, never the heart or soul residing within.

How far he'd fallen.

A distant shout of alarm reached his ears before nausea shredded his senses. There was no relief in vomiting; it splattered on his boots and up the legs of his trousers, the vile stench only worsening his condition. A wave of dizziness crested and broke over him as he slid down the tree trunk, gasping and shuddering like a beached fish as he lay on his side, curling up into a ball.

Goddess, he felt like a wreck. His own body was turning against him, eroding away from the inside out, leaving him riddled with weakness and panting for breath. What is this? he cried out to Nya, silently pleading to be spared.

Twelve years of suffering, Red whispered in his ear.

The memories rolled together and crashed through him with brutal force, relentlessly as the waves of the surf. He tried to break for the surface, to suck in air, but the water only caught in his throat and burned in his lungs. He started clawing at his chest, trying to ease the pressure that kept building around his heart, spreading to his back, up his neck and through his jaw. The ache made his teeth hurt, like he'd bitten into something sickeningly sweet and washed it down with frigid snowmelt.

He knew in his bones that he was dying.

And yet, through all his suffering, petty hurts were thrown into the mix: the shriek of nerves in his scalp as someone yanked him up by the hair; the bite of gravel in his palms and knees as he collapsed to the ground; the sharp crack of a wooden spoon against his knuckles, when he couldn't keep up with the others in the kitchens. Every time he failed to live up to the standards of those around him, despite pushing himself to the brink of death to appease them, the people of the Blood Moon Pack disparaged his efforts and measured him only by the results of his actions. As punishment, they dragged him back to the fetid darkness of that squat, mud-brick building on the outskirts of the village, where the muggy air made his head spin and his sweat turn sour. His only reward for surviving was the bitter tonic they forced down his throat and had the audacity to call medicine.

Twelve years of poison, while you turned a blind eye.

The silver thread propagated, other threads lashing out to join the first, binding their souls together one memory at a time. The light shone brighter, surer, casting all of his failings into stark relief.

You sensed something was off every time you stepped into the healing hut, Red said, leaning into the bond, intent on taking as much as she was giving. Why didn't you do anything?

It was useless to protest, to resist; the history of his thoughts were laid bare in the fusing of their souls. I was scared, he confessed, vaguely aware of the tears streaming down his cheeks. I didn't want to stand up against my father.

You're still that little boy at heart, she said, fingertips brushing his cheek. His eyes flew open at the touch, and all of a sudden the woman the Orchid Mantis had shown him was there, leaning over him. The strands of her hair were tongues of writhing flame, her eyes the stark white of hot coals, shimmering with twelve years of anger, sorrow and neglect. Smoke wreathed her form and heat radiated from her skin, glowing golden as a field of wheat under a summer sun.

But there was also a softness in her expression, despite that harsh, monumental power. Understanding — if not forgiveness — that took into account what he had also suffered, in the crushing fist of his father's iron rule. Neither of them had been afforded the luxury of a normal childhood, though his hardships paled in comparison to hers.

I'm sorry, Hunter rasped through the mating bond, tears streaming down his cheeks. I'll do my best to make it up to you.

It's too late for that, Red whispered, and for a split second, he caught a murky flash of her present. They screamed as one as ebony fangs punched into her throat; writhed in agony when the venom ate its way to her heart. But I won't be alone at the end.

"I understand," he croaked aloud, finally seeing the true heart of the woman he was destined to love — and to lose. He saw and accepted all of it, the good with the bad, and gave everything of himself to that dark, howling void of despair that threatened to swallow up everything she was and had the potential to be. He drew deep from the well of Nya's Grace, pouring it into the silver thread that bound them, willing it to fill every dark crevice of her soul with blinding light. She would not be alone at the end. He owed it to her —

Thank you, she whispered, leaning down to press a kiss against his temple. He screamed as her lips, hot as an iron brand, seared their shape into his skin. Think on who you want to be. The boy at heart can become a good man yet.

With those parting words, Red sucked every last drop of light from his soul in one fell pull. The thread binding them grew so engorged it threatened to burst, the silver turning a ghostly, iridescent red as death hastened to claim her.

There was a terrible wrenching sensation in his chest, as every last thread of their bond ripped free of his soul, tearing vital fragments of his personality as it went. Too late, Hunter realised that he was the one unworthy of their partnership; how much growth he could have achieved with Red by his side. He screamed at the loss of his potential, at the loss of hers, as darkness ripped her life away and left his own in tatters.