Chapter 10. Rick

I woke to a growl. Not thunder, not wind — a low, animal sound that vibrated in my chest and cut through my doze like a knife. It was Grey growling. Not at me.

First came the cold. Yes, I’d slept in Alex’s arms, and his body was hot as a stove, but the morning air seeped through the blanket, worked under my skin, sent goosebumps racing down my spine. The damp from the rain had soaked into the fabric until the blanket was heavy and cold — it clung to me like a wet sheet, and every time I shifted, a chill draught slid beneath it, touching bare skin. I moved, and the cool air slipped between my thighs, reminding me that under the blanket I was utterly naked.

Second — the smell. Wet earth, ozone, rain-soaked grass — and something wild, animal, hanging in the air. The smell of wolves. And the smell of sex, not yet washed off my skin. I could smell it on myself — his sweat, my wetness, the come dried on my thighs. The rain had rinsed some of it away. Not all.

Third — the pain. My muscles ached as after a long, punishing workout. My whole body throbbed, especially my lower back and the insides of my thighs. Between my legs pulsed a dull, nagging ache — a reminder of the night. I clenched my thighs, trying to hold in the trembling, but my body still remembered every touch, every thrust. Every movement inside me that had stretched, filled, broken.

Fourth — the growl. It was coming from Grey, who stood over me like a stone effigy. His fists were white with strain. His eyes — amber, like molten gold — burned with fury, but not at me. At the man standing in the middle of the clearing.

I opened my eyes properly and went still.

The stranger was tall, broad-shouldered, scars crossing his chest and arms like a map of old battles. His amber eyes — the same as Grey’s, but colder, more calculating — looked at us with icy calm. As if he’d come not for violence but for a business meeting. Dark, long hair stuck to his forehead; his lips were pressed into a thin line. He stood straight, arms held slightly out from his body, as if showing he was no threat. But I knew the threat was there. Not in his gestures — in his presence.

Grey was different. His muscles were strung to breaking point, his fangs just bared, and in his eyes there was more than fury — there was pain. Self-loathing. As if he blamed himself for not being able to protect me. His breathing was ragged, a beast cornered. His chest heaved, fists clenching and unclenching, as if he wanted to launch himself, and something held him back.

“Brother.” The man’s voice was calm but hard as steel. “You know the rules. And you know I’d have had to come anyway.” A pause. He glanced at me, and a shadow of something crossed his eyes. “So let me do my duty while the others aren’t here.”

Grey didn’t answer. He leaned back against the post and covered his eyes with his hand, as if he couldn’t bear to watch. His chest was heaving, his fists clenched so hard the knuckles had gone white.

“Don’t look,” he whispered. Not to me. To himself.

He was right, and we both knew it. Someone had come, and that meant the ritual was moving, and it would move whether we were ready or not. Standing still wouldn’t stop it. Nothing would. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen — the only choice we had was how much worse to make it by fighting. And Rick, whoever he was, would have to do what he did, just as I would have to do what I did. We were both sent here by something bigger than either of us.

I crawled out of Grey’s arms. His hands let me go reluctantly, as if he feared I’d vanish. My bare feet touched the cold, wet grass — the dew settled on my skin, and I flinched. Drops ran down my ankles, my toes, leaving wet traces. The air was cool, and I felt the cold reaching my bones in spite of the warmth of Grey’s body still on my skin. I got to my feet, and the blanket slid from my shoulders, opening my naked body to the morning light.

I had my own role to play. I knew that.

I stood facing the stranger. My heart was pounding so hard he must have been able to hear it. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks — not from shame, not from anger. From fear. And from a strange, almost painful awareness: I was doing this not because I wanted to, but because there was no choice.

The man was still looking at Grey. Then he turned to me, and his gaze went straight through me. There was no cruelty in it — only calm certainty.

“Name’s Rick.” His voice was level, almost emotionless. “Half-brother of this—” He nodded towards Grey, and the ghost of a smirk crossed his lips. “—pillock. And I’m here to do what I have to. And believe me, it’s no pleasure to me.” He added it more quietly, as if speaking only to me. “But if I hadn’t come, someone else would have. And he wouldn’t have been as polite.”

He took a step towards me. I felt warmth coming off him — not like Grey’s. Drier. More businesslike.

“You know why I’m here.” His voice grew more matter-of-fact still. “And I’d have been ordered to come anyway — it’s my duty.” He shrugged. “But don’t worry. I’m not one for torturing without reason. You stay calm — I’ll be quick.”