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I make sure my side of the Bond is locked down. I don’t want them feeling anything until I’ve had time to evaluate the situation.

Relief floods into me from Vae’s side of the Bond. His joy at seeing me awake is so pure and overwhelming it’s impossible to keep my soul from reacting.

Daxen’s relief is more subtle but no less real. He can’t hide the ebbing tension from his side of the Bond, even though I can tell he’s trying to. There’s something else I’m getting a read on, too… a mix of feelings.

Protectiveness. Pride. A heavy dose of confusion?

Interesting.

“Thank the Fates,” Vae laughs. “Fuck, Brother, I thought you were a goner.”

Tears spring to his eyes, and I won’t lie, it’s hard to keep my heart from softening. Harder still when Dax unexpectedly erases the distance between us and bends over, wrapping his arms around me and holding me in a tight embrace. I can feel the love pulsing between us. It’s so real and visceral that my eyes start to burn with tears of my own.

I return his embrace, centuries of brotherhood allowing me to fall easily into the comfortable lie of what I used to believe was unwavering loyalty and love.

Has it always been a fucking lie?

“I’m so fucking glad you’re alright,” he whispers, squeezing my shoulder and releasing me. His hands slide into the front pockets of his grey slacks, and my gaze catches on the pinkish hue of new skin on his right hand.

My instinct is to ask him what the fuck happened. But then I remember… I don’t fucking care. Instead, I ask something else. Something easy, something I already know, to get the conversation started.

“How long?”

“Almost two weeks, you asshole,” Vae pulls back his fist like he’s going to shoulder-punch me, but catches himself and lets his arm drop with a wince. “So, uh… how do you feel?”

“Like something died in my mouth,” I answer honestly. They both laugh, which eases the tension. Dax crosses the room, pours me some water, and hands it over. After draining half the contents, I decide it’s time to get to the point.

“What the hell happened?”

Vae groans, collapsing next to my legs at the end of the bed. Daxen drags a chair over and falls into it. He exhales, visibly deflating like this is the first time in weeks he’s been able to finally set down the invisible weight on his shoulders.

I hope it’s guilt. And I hope it weighs a thousand pounds.

He looks like shit. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his frown looks permanently etched on his face. It matches the deep crease between his brows, and the faint lines at the corners of his eyes are pinched in worry.

I should care more. This is my Packmate. My brother.

But when I look at him, all I can see are all the times he tried to convince me Idril was lying, manipulating me. In the War Room, the SUV, Redmark, a dozen other places.

“What’s going on?” When there's no answer, I turn to Vae—who doesn’t look much better than Dax. We give Vae a hard time about his looks, but in reality, they’re the source of a lot of his anxiety. The guy truly believes that when we meet our Mate, and she discovers his Curse, his looks will be all he has going for him.

Stupid fucker’s going to wish his Curse was his only hurdle. After he spent weeks traumatizing her and accusing her of being the cause of my injuries, neither that nor his charming good looks are going to matter.

“What do you remember?” Daxen asks, leaning in and bracing his arms on his thighs.

“Not a lot.”

It’s not even a lie. What happened in the basement is still fuzzy. I remember Varenthrall monologuing me to death. I remember the Doctor begging me to get Idril away. I remember my Mate lying on a metal table next to me, pale, injured, and beautiful in a macabre way I never want to see again.

I remember her blood flowing from her veins to fill the bags at her feet. Blood her father stole from her, nearly killing her in the process.

“Varenthrall had you hooked to a slow-drip of silver,” Vae answers gently. “Do you remember that?”

He sounds so earnest. So worried about me. Our Bond squirms, urging me to soothe my Packmate’s obvious distress. But my Bond to Idril thinks he needs to sit in his discomfort.

That’s the side that wins.

“I remember,” I say flatly. “Kinda hard to forget.”