Moon Bound (The Witches' Bind Trilogy Book 2), page 6
Each word strokes the beast of irritation he had created. My jaw clenches and I bite down on the inside of my cheek to prevent me from cursing at him. After three deep breaths, and ensuring my words remain nicer than I want them to be, I say, “Respectfully, Amos, but you weren’t there. You’re not alpha, and most importantly, it’s not your father. I did what I needed to do. Now.” I shift my attention to Marissa’s wide-eyed expression, already feeling soothed by the woman who is much more logical than Amos. “How is my father?”
At my question, her expression melts into one of grief. Her eyes darken and her expression slackens. She shifts on the chair, rubs her hands together, and then readjusts once more.
Her crumpled expression floors me; throws a heavy rock in my gut and drags me under the water with it. “What is it?”
“Ryder… he doesn’t have long.” She shakes her head once, eyes darting to the table in front of us. “He worsened in the time you were away,” she pauses, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, “a lot.”
Her words shoot acid up my throat as I work to swallow and digest her words.
He won’t die. He can’t die.
Marissa continues, as if she has possibly more bad news to share, “We need to think realistically from here on out. Every hour, more and more of him is deteriorating. His aging is rapid—much more rapid than I expected. At this rate he has…” her eyes bounce around the room, before settling on the ground at my feet, “…maybe a week.”
A week.
A week.
No matter how many times my brain repeats her words, they don’t seem real. They can’t be real. If they are, it means I’ll lose my father—my rock—within a week. And then I’m supposed to pick up and live normally after that? Horror wraps me in its arms and instantly, my life becomes more of a nightmare than it ever was.
“A week?” I repeat, my voice low and strained. Perhaps hearing it a third time will be the final chink I need to break my armour and make this understandable.
Marissa’s nod makes my head turn light, and I blink, trying to focus on the elders in front of me and not on my heart, which has officially been smashed into a toxic pile of waste.
“There’s no exact science,” she murmurs. “But based on what I’ve seen today… I don’t see him lasting much longer.”
I jump to my feet, a sudden urgency forcing me out the door and into the darkened camp. It’s empty now, everyone having gone to bed. I was tired too—before I learned my father only had days to live. Sleep is the furthest thing from my mind now. If it requires pure adrenaline to get me through the next few days, then so be it.
I don’t knock, just throw open the door to my father’s cabin. The ire in me won’t be shushed, even if he’s asleep. Soon, he’ll have a lot of time to sleep.
His heavy breaths carry through the room and to me, faltering my steps. The room is dark, only lit by a single dull lamp in the corner. Its light is hardly bright but it’s enough to emit a glow through the room.
“Ryder?”
His low, cracking voice grates at my nerves, reminding me what a failure I am. Everything melts away then—Carina’s presence isn’t my problem, the pack’s opinions don’t matter. Comforting him is the priority.
“Father,” I reply, striding toward his bedside. I drop to the chair left beside his bed and lift his hand in mine. It’s cold to the touch and limp. I force more air into my lungs before examining his matured body. Within a day, my father has aged to the point he appears to be a grandfather. He’s never looked like the fifty-year-old he is, but without his magic, he could now easily pass for a seventy-year-old human. He’s worse than Marissa described, but I force a smile on my face for him, hoping it masks the grimness I feel.
His other hand comes to his side, pressing into the bed beside his body as if he’s going to use it to sit up. Before he has a chance to attempt what I’m sure would be a failed and feeble endeavour, I rest a hand firmly on his chest.
“Rest.”
“Blast you, boy, let me up.” His weakened cough counters the strength in his words and I flinch, praying he didn’t pay attention to my reaction. “I’ve been lying in this bed too long. I need to stretch my legs while I still can.”
The blood disappears from my body, his words chilling me to the bone. “You’re not amusing, Father.” But still, I loop an arm around his back and lift him into a sitting position. Nearby pillows are used as a cushion behind him to ensure he’s propped up.
Once he’s steady, I release him, taking my seat once more.
Father stares at me, his familiar twinkle glistening through the barely-there lighting. “Heard you brought a witch back instead of magic.” He taps his ear. “The pack was speaking about it outside.”
His amused, light tone stuns me. He should be furious with me—and for good reason too.
“The witches were unreasonable.”
His next round of chuckles turns into a cough. “They were protecting their own. We would do the same.”
I suspect the witch I have locked in my cabin would have something to say about that statement. “She’s ransom.” My hands fist on my leg. And she better be worth the trouble.
Father shakes his head slowly back and forth. “It’s over, Ryder. You tried, and I love you for it, but don’t create a war on my account. It’s time to think like an alpha now, and not my son.”
He’s giving up? Wants me to let him go—let the witches live after they’ve taken his life from him. A low growl builds in my throat. It won’t happen.
“Remember, I chose this. I knew what I was getting into when I made the deal. I wanted you to have more time with your mother.”
“Even if it meant less time with you in the end?” The words break past my lips before I can stop them and I gasp, wishing I could suck them back inside. “Sorry,” I murmur, voice lowering. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
His mouth twitches into a smirk. “Yes, you did, or else you wouldn’t have said it. Ryder, I know you’re angry and understandably so. I would be too if I was you.”
“But you still did it,” I bite out.
His eyes shift to the side, a faraway look taking over. “When you find the one, you’ll know why.”
I huff, not knowing how else to show my frustration that won’t end up with my fist through the wall. He’s talking of romantic notions, when I’m focused on his survival.
“Besides,” he continues, “look at me. If I got the magic now, I’d be old and weak. Unable to remain alpha.”
The bitterness doesn’t leave my tone. “At least you’d be alive. We could be joint alphas.”
Even as the words leave my mouth, I’m aware of the expression he’ll give me, and unsurprised when he does. His mouth folds into an amused half-smirk, half-frown, and he tsks. “You know as well as I do, two alphas cannot lead the same pack. It’s unnatural.” Father pauses, glancing at his curled-up hands on his lap. “You’re ready, Ryder. You’ll need to let me go at some point and I’d rather it be now when we can have this conversation.” His eyes lift again, and rather than reflecting my agony back, there’s a peace in him. Serenity I’ve only ever seen when Mother was alive. He’s right—he’s accepted this. Said his goodbyes and is welcoming his end.
Too bad I’m not and will hold on until the bitter end in hopes Carina’s coven comes through.
“I want to meet the girl,” he says softly. His topic change has me swallowing down the ball in my throat and sitting up straight—ferocity replacing despair.
“Why? She’s only a witch.”
His eyes cut to me, a fiercer expression than I’ve seen since yesterday. “I wish to meet the girl. I raised you better than that—hating a species for their differences. Why do you think I went to the Fortunas in the first place? I had hoped we could become allies of sorts. I offered them protection, but they spat in my face and made me a deal that best suited them.”
And yet he still believes in peace. I resist rolling my eyes and stand, prepared to grant what may be one of his final wishes.
“I’ll be back then.”
I fly across the camp, past Marissa’s startled expression and toward my own cabin. The door smashes against the wall announcing my arrival. My eyes zero in on Carina who remains perched on the end of my bed. Her mouth flies open as if she’s going to speak, but I stride closer, towering over her, effectively halting whatever she’s about to say.
Her chin lifts in simple determination. It pairs well with her otherwise timid expression. It’s obvious this whole thing is a power struggle. Her narrowed eyes and lifted chin are the bit of bravery she’s using to mask the clenched hands, stiff body, and lack of breathing.
All niceties from earlier have been depleted and I grasp her upper arm, hauling her away from the bed. Because she’s so petite against my strength, it’s too easy and as her feet skitter across the wooden floor, small pieces of guilt poke at me, but I keep my mind on the purpose of her presence. Helping Father get better. Until that happens, she’s my enemy.
“Where are we going?” she calls out as I drag her down the stairs and through the darkened camp. She’s a ragdoll in my grip, her bound hands giving her no leeway to fight back. “Ryder—stop!”
I don’t, not until I push her up the stairs of Father’s cabin. Marissa’s disapproving gaze remains on me, but I ignore it and nudge Carina through the doorway, remaining close behind.
Her steps falter and I have to sidestep her to get through the cabin. Curious why she stopped so sudden, I peer through the dim light, going cold at what I see on her face.
Shock in its basic form. Her hand darts up to cover her wide-opened mouth and her head shakes slowly back and forth. She takes another step, her full eyes almost dazed at what she sees. Gone is the princess act she’s been performing so far, and after a beat, her shock is replaced by something that has me stiffening in wariness. Her lips part, hand falling away from her face, and her dark eyes go soft—caring.
Carina quickly glances over at me, before glancing back to Father. Without an order, she walks slowly toward his waiting hand, taking a seat in the chair I earlier abandoned.
As I witness the all-consuming compassion on her expression, I have to question all I know about witches—their tenacity to be unfeeling, their general unkindness, as made evident by this whole situation. She’s clearly practiced in the art of deception, but then watching her lean toward Father what seems to be a genuine smile, I wonder which personality is the real Carina and what game she’s playing.
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.
