Page 68 of Broken

She ran over, dropping the bag, and slid to her knees beside him, tears running down her face. Boomer was holding on to Cole, frantic, trying to stop him from hurting himself.

She put her hand on Boomer’s arm. “Boomer. Listen to me. I know you want to help him, but this time you can’t. This is between us. Him and me.”

Slowly, Boomer raised his head to look at her, his hand still on his brother’s flank. “You’re his mate, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

She met his eyes squarely. “Yes. And we’re going to get through this. But you have to leave it to me.”

He bit his lips, and she could see the indecision in his eyes. She knew he’d always taken care of his brother. They always had each other’s backs. For most of their lives, they’d had no one else.

He couldn’t stand the thought of walking away when his brother was like this.

“I know,” she said softly. She put her hand over his. “You’re a good brother. The best. Cole loves you. But it has to be me.” She tried to smile. “I’ll take care of him. I promise.”

He looked into her eyes for a long moment. Then he said to his brother, “Don’t throw this away, Bro.” He reached over and hugged Ireland, hard, and then got up and walked over to DB.

Turning back to face her, he said, “Don’t fuck it up. Either of you.”

DB changed to human form—somehow wearing clothes—and fished a gold coin out of the pocket of his leather vest. “If things go sideways, I can come back. Just hold onto this, think of me, and say ‘Twinkies.’”

Ireland didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Thanks.”

He flipped the coin from his fingers, and it flew over to the duffel bag and slipped inside. DB said, “Come on, Boomer.”

He changed to dragon form once more, picked up Boomer, and they were gone.

Cole had pulled away from Ireland while she was talking to DB, and was growling and pacing, his golden wolf eyes fixed on her. He walked a couple of steps away, then back. Wanting to run away. Wanting to stay.

She could feel the emotions surging through him—shame, despair, and more than anything, that terror of opening up to her, of letting her see what was happening inside him.

She sat down on the ground, and held her hand out. Then she opened herself to him—through the bracelet, through their wolves—and reached for him with the connections that bound them.

That always would, whether he decided to stay or run.

“Cole,” she said softly. He stiffened. “Come here.”

Ireland waited. She couldn’t force it, couldn’t make him come. He had to choose.

“Come here. Please.”

He tipped his head back and gave a mournful howl, full of sadness that tore at her heart. It spoke of his years of being alone, how he’d stopped even hoping for anyone of his own. Because he believed he didn’t deserve it.

“Cole.” It was almost a whisper. She reached out to him with her own loneliness, her own feelings of shame, and her own despair.

And most of all, her hope.

Everything around them seemed to go completely still.

Slowly, he walked toward her. A step. Then another one. She opened her arms, and he walked into her embrace, resting his head on her shoulder, his fur soft against her cheek. He wanted this, but she could still feel the resistance in him. The belief that if she ever saw what was inside him, she’d never love him again.

She whispered to him, “You’re a good wolf. A good man, a good brother. A good partner.”

He stiffened, and she stroked his back. “Don’t give me that. You are. Whatever you did—whatever they made you do, in Special Ops, holding it inside is killing you. It’s blocking our magic. It’s blocking our bond. You have to let it go.”

He started to pull away, and she tightened her arms around him. “You have to let me see.”

She felt one last push of resistance, and then his barriers dropped. Memories hit her like a tidal wave. A kaleidoscope of secret, unsanctioned missions, in parts of the world they should never have been in.

Ambushes. Assassinations. Bombings. Destroying half a village to get to one person. Each time eroding a bit of his soul, annihilating who he should have been.