Twenty years is nothing.
Twenty years is a short time to be free.
Free of fear. Free from worry.
“But?”
Birds scatter from a nearby tree, and Arlo follows their flight. Nix suspects it would be a mistake to think he was distracted.
“My lawyer,” Nix hesitates, then continues. “She found an old law where Jamie—or whoever—could fight, and it would mean…”
“Trial-by-combat. Hmm.”
Arlo tilts his head, turning his sharp gaze on Nix. It’s like he’s reading his mind.
“You want to do it.”
“…How did you know?”
Arlo’s jaw tightens. Then, matter-of-factly, he says, “Because if it were me? I’d want to protect my mates. I’d want to feel his bones crack under my teeth, pull his heart from his chest, and watch the light fade from his eyes.”
He exhales.
“For myself. Just to feel free.”
Nix sits forward, eager, relieved—finally, someone understands.
“That’s it. But they—” he waves a hand toward the house. “They won’t let us. They don’t think we can do it because we’re frail. Harmless. That we don’t deserve this reward for our suffering. That the Goddess hasn’t made us to protect and grow our pack. That we aren’t the strongest.”
It’s not entirely Nix’s voice.
Arlo shivers, his eyes wide.
His wolf is speaking.
The sheer novelty of being fully present while his wolf is doing the talking—is amazing. Maybe they really can reach that understanding.
“Sorry. My wolf is loud as heck.”
Now it’s Arlo’s turn to sit at attention.
“Your wolf is strong enough that he speaks through you?”
He has the same fascinated look Finn gets when he’s hearing something worth investigating.
“I’m just getting the hang of it, but I think so,” Nix shares ruefully.
Arlo looks like he has more questions, but then—he sucks in a sharp breath and rubs his belly over his jacket again.
Nix frowns. “Hey, are you okay? You look uncomfortable.”
Arlo tilts his head, considering him like he’s making a decision.
Then, wordlessly, he unwinds his scarf.
Two sets of white bites are exposed on either side of his neck.
Next, he shrugs off his jacket.