He was the one I was most worried about. Everyone else was unhappy with what was going on, but it was a more general ‘we should do something about climate change’ thing than people we love and cared about being in danger.
“Just give me a sec,” he replied.
“Stay for a moment,” Brandon said, leaning down and whispering in my ear. I nodded, squeezing his hand before he pulled away. I waited until all of the guys had gone, picking up the empty beer bottles and taking them to the kitchen. When I sat down beside him, Finn was perfectly still, just staring at the table. He gave nothing away, that’s something I was beginning to realise about my mate. He held everything inside and only let what he thought needed to be expressed out. It was an admirable display of emotional control, but it missed something crucial. He looked up when I put a hand on his arm, his hand moving automatically to remove it.
“No, Finn,” I said, and covered his hand with mine. He looked into my eyes, the muscles in his arm twitching with the need to remove it. But he didn’t, and in I went.
I could see now why he didn’t want me in here. The bond was a roaring river, and I was whisked away by it. I felt myself gasp as I was smashed by waves of frustration and anger, the breath catching in my chest and unable to go anywhere as his emotion swamped me, taking all I was as a person and throwing it to one side. He was angry at the matriarchs for sending the men through the gate, at the fucking Volken, at Sylvan for bringing this stuff to our door, and then ashamed that he would respond that way. They were his dads. He’d done as asked and tried his best to forget them, which just pushed his mood lower. While he’d been tugging his forelock, they’d been brutalised over and over. He could have gone through the gate after them. He could have asked the mine guys if they’d heard word. He could have stood up when they sent them into exile, not just stayed there holding his mum’s hand as they filed through the gate. And the other guys. How many had been fed to that fucking wolf thing, their existence winking out in seconds? He’d tried so hard to not ask questions, to keep the side of him down that made the women look at him with appraising gazes, and not face the same fate. His mum had begged and pleaded when it became apparent he’d have similar abilities as Max.
“Finn...” I said, pulling my hand back and fighting for breath. “Finn, you need to stop.”
“Can’t. I’ve got to get them back or die trying.”
“Finn!”
“I know, I’m a shit mate. I should never have made the offer... I want to be sorry about what happened, but I can’t.” His smile was horrible, a mockery of his former expression. “I should have realised this was never going to work.”
“Finn, you need to stop. From what I saw, you were a kid when your dads were exiled. That wasn’t your responsibility to stop.”
“No? And how many men have I sent on their way since, Jules? I don’t know, I’ve lost count. I condemned men, sent them through the gate myself on Kelly’s orders. Mum always said it was a test, to see if I was loyal or not. Well, I passed. I passed and I passed and I passed, and those blokes have ended up in fucking hell because of me.”
“And because of Kelly and the matriarchs, and everyone else who thinks it’s fine to boot people through a portal because of a difference in opinion. You can’t take this all on, Finn.” He pushed my hand off his arm, breaking the connection. “Finn?”
He was fairly determined to nail himself to that cross, and nothing I could say would stop him. I stared at my mate for a moment, feeling doubly helpless now that I knew exactly what was going on inside him. I took in all the little signs—the tense set of his shoulders, the play of muscles in his chest as he grew even more wound up, the harsh clench of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes. I couldn’t tell him it would be OK, because I didn’t know that. I couldn’t talk him around, because he’d done things that were at complete odds to his values and did so to stay here in Sanctuary with his family. I couldn’t stroke him or fuck him out of it. I couldn’t give him a pint of ice cream and sit down with him and watch re-runs of Friends, this was too big. I watched my mate suffer, and I suffered along with him.
Reach out to him, my Tirian said.
I have!
No, reach out to him.
I looked back at Finn, and then I realised the bond went both ways. He might be able to drown me with his feelings, but I could do the same to him. I stood, and he barely acknowledged my movement. So caught up in his spiral of self-hatred, he didn’t flinch until I’d wrapped my arms around him tightly. I felt the rush of his emotions—now coloured more by anger—and pushed. It kinda felt like pissing in the wind for a moment, but I visualised myself standing within the torrent and then adding to it with my own feelings.
I held all that I had, felt, knew about Finn in my hands. It was still small and fragile, we didn’t really know each other that well yet, but we would, and I pushed that certainty out. I pushed all the funny superficial things, like the quirk of his smile, the way his eyes grew brighter when he was really touched by something, the sinewy muscles of his forearms when he rolled up his sleeves, the long tapering fingers as they clasped mine. I pushed the confidence he’d shown me when we first met, looking at my skirt, checking me out as he brought in all my stuff. I pushed the care he’d shown in helping me get settled, his many check-ins to make sure I was OK. His quiet, certain push back against the guys when they’d gotten pushy. His advocating for my needs when I was in heat. The feel of his arms around me. The fucking beautiful glow inside him when we’d mated. His Tirian fighting for me when the guys went mad.
Finn, I said as the emotions raged higher and higher. You did something you hate, but you’re a good guy. I love you, I’ll always love you, and I can’t stand by and let anyone attack someone I love, not even himself.
It felt like my love was a bomb that exploded out into Finn’s emotional landscape, and for a moment, everything quietened. I could hear my heart hammering in my ears, the sound of my own breath, but that was it. Then, his arms wrapped around me.
Tight, so tight it was hard to breathe, but I was glad for the pain. I felt the restive shift of his hands as he struggled to hold me closer, his face buried into my chest. I stroked his back, his hair, and felt like the emotion came with it, like I was bathing him in it. And then it all broke.
Men don’t seem to cry like women. It’s like the tears, the misery, has to be ripped out of them to come. Like those big, muscular bodies fight every sob, only adding to the agony. His cries were subdued and muffled, but I felt them tear through his whole body. I hung on—it was all I could do—and as I did, I saw the glow rise. It was as if his self-imposed exi
le dampened it, but when we connected, it was allowed to shine again. It grew brighter and brighter with each cry, until I was forced to squint my eyes against it. Stray tears that had formed out of sympathy ran as I held on, sending my vision blurry. Perhaps that’s how I missed her.
When I blinked my eyes clear, she stood in the darkened dining room, the White Wolf. Not scarily huge like last time, just the same size as any other Tirian, her fur wisping away to nothingness. She bowed her head to me and then said, You will come to us. You will help restore the balance.
She disappeared when Finn pulled back, wiping his eyes, his breath still ragged.
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Don’t, please don’t, Finn. Are you feeling better?”
“Yeah, it’s weirdly cathartic, that crying thing.”
“Of course, it is.”
“Still feel like a fucking dickhead.”