Page 118 of Thunder's Reckoning
I followed.
‘Cause there wasn’t no other choice.
Not when they had my family in chains.
Not when this was the first real shot at bringin’ ‘em back.
And not when my blood, scarred by the same fire, stood in front of me, offerin’ fire for fire.
Ash turned toward the tree line, but before I could take a step, the gravel behind me crunched.
“Thought we agreed you weren’t going in blind,” Devil’s voice cut soft, grounded.
I didn’t turn. Didn’t have to. I could feel him there, solid as a wall at my back. Mystic’s boots shifted to my right, Chain’s heavy frame looming close, rifle slung like it was born to him.
Ash froze. His shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t reach for a weapon. Just looked over mine at the men who’d stepped outta the dark. “You brought company.”
“Damn right I did,” I said, jaw tight. “Ain’t nobody walks me into shadows alone.”
Devil’s hand brushed my shoulder once, a grounding weight, then dropped. “So this him?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I muttered. My chest was still twisted from the photo, the revelation. “This is blood.”
Ash’s gaze flicked between them, measured. “If you don’t trust me yet, fine. But if you want your family back, we don’t have time to circle wagons. Follow me or don’t.”
Chain’s rifle creaked as he shifted his grip. “If this goes sideways, he’s the first to drop.”
Ash gave a short nod, no argument. “Fair.”
We moved.
The trail cut narrow through the trees, gravel crunchin’ under boots, and the sound of tires going through dirt from our motorcycles where we pushed them. The night was heavy, the air thick with pine and damp earth.
Ash walked ahead, his frame bent like a man used to bein’ hunted. Every now and then his hand brushed the scar at his jaw, like it itched when the silence stretched too long.
I couldn’t stop starin’ at him. The way his shoulders hunched, the same tilt of his head I’d seen in my own reflection but scarred.
Mystic leaned close, voice pitched for me alone. “You alright, brother?”
I swallowed hard. “Don’t ask me that right now.”
He didn’t push. Just walked with me, eyes sweepin’ the woods like always.
The trail opened onto a clearing. A farmhouse sat at the center, white paint, porch light flickerin’ weak against the dark. Barn off to the side, fencing around the property. It looked like any backroad Carolina farm.
Except the hair on my neck stood straight.
Ash slowed. Lifted a hand, palm out. “We’re back,” he called into the darkness.
The porch door opened.
A man stepped out, broad-shouldered, his silver hair catchin’ the light same as Ash’s. His face was older, lines carved deep, but the resemblance hit hard. His eyes locked on me, and for a breath the whole world went still.
Behind him, a woman followed, dark braid streaked with gray, her eyes piercing, her posture proud despite the wear of years. And in the doorway, two younger figures lingered. A boy with the same blue eyes as mine, watchful, wary. A girl, maybe a year or two younger, her arms crossed, jaw set stubborn.
Family.
Blood I never knew I had.
