He took a seat on an overturned bucket outside of the tack room and ran his fingers over his latest carving. It was almost done, he thought, but only time would tell if it’d stand tall or keep toppling over. Just a few more details, a little more shaping, and he’d see.
He felt light. Lighter than he had in years. Which should have made him wary. Good, for him, was shifting only once a day and not drawing blood, not laughter and light touches.
And Sage, well…
Rhys shook his head. Fucking hell. He poked himself with the point of his knife just to make sure he wasn’t asleep. The prick of pain and tiny drop of blood were real enough to almost convince him. Even if he was still dreaming, he preferred it to the bleakness of days before.
Her little show had been entirely unexpected. From her asking what he’d do if she could handle it to requesting he strip down with her, every damn second had been a blessing and a surprise.
Little cat had much more fire in her than she realized.
His lion unfurled inside him, stretching his claws in pure contentment. Her scent was still thick in his nose. He’d fallen asleep with the memory of red spreading over her cheeks, her head thrown back, pleasure etched into every inch of her frame. That was how a woman should be made to feel, not the fear and anger that spawned from mistreatment.
He’d do his damnedest to fill her up with all the good and distract her from thoughts of the bad.
A shadow fell over him, and he stopped whittling away more of the wood.
“You better not hurt my sister,” Lindley growled.
“You’re the one who asked me to save her, remember?” Rhys leaned back, slowly dragging his eyes up in a show of complete unconcern. Well, maybe not complete. He liked the idea of getting under Lindley’s skin. “It’s her choice who she spends time with.”
“In a social setting. With others around her,” the man said between gritted teeth. “Not sneaking away like a couple of handsy teenagers.”
Rhys flashed him a toothy grin. “I wasn’t aware you held the key to her chastity belt.”
Lindley’s eyes narrowed as anger dumped into his scent. “She’s been through enough. I won’t have her taken advantage of when she needs help.”
Rhys shoved to his feet. “You think I’d really do that to her? Push her into something she’s not ready for?” He growled sharply, yanking back on his inner animal before the creature jumped for the man’s throat. “She makes the choices, and until she chooses to tell me to leave her alone, you can fuck off.”
Lindley’s lips peeled back in a snarl and his eyes flashed a dangerous amber.
“Heads up,” Seth called. “Someone’s coming up the road.”
The words closed Lindley’s mouth with a click and they both turned their faces to the doors of the barn. Rhys wasn’t sure which of them moved first, but they stepped into the waning light at the exact moment.
The faint purr of an engine grew louder as the seconds passed. The rainy October weather kept any clouds of dust puffing into the air, but they didn’t have long to wait before the blue SUV mounted a hill.
“What now?” Dash growled, folding his arms over his chest.
“Just one,” Seth said, making the obvious point. “Maybe good news. Maybe someone here for the mates.”
“Maybe someone with a death wish,” Trent muttered darkly.
Rhys kept his mouth shut. There wasn’t any use speculating. They’d deal with the threat if one stepped out of that damn vehicle.
The SUV slowed as it neared the barn, then made the turn to take a place next to all their trucks.
Not for the mates, after all.
His lion coiled tightly inside him. The others, too, shifted from foot to foot as fur and baked earth thickened in the air.
The driver’s door creaked open and Rhys snapped straight. He knew the face of the man rounding the hood. Never in a million years would he have suspected him making good on his threat of an in-person conversation, but there he was.
Alton Chapman came to a stop a short distance from the lions staring him down. “Rhys. You’re looking well.”
His brain blanked for a solid thirty seconds before kicking back on. His lion twisted and snarled in his head as remembered pain lit up his backside. “Dad,” he said flatly. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Surprise washed through the others. Their tense stances slowly relaxed, but none spoke or gave the man a warm welcome. They were taking their cues from him, and he was ready to fight.
Alton passed a look over the rest of the pride before turning dark eyes on Rhys. “Is there somewhere we could speak?”
Four sets of eyes turned toward him. His lions hissed and screamed to turn and run, to fight and bleed, to do anything, anything, but dip his chin and turn on his heel.
Rhys ground his teeth together and strode for his room in the barn.
He didn’t bother to check to see if his father followed, or take in the man’s reaction to his little studio. It was a far cry from the den he had next to Sage, or the bigger home he’d shared with Hannah. He couldn’t bear to see a flicker of acknowledgement at how far he’d fallen written on Alton’s face.
He cracked open a beer and downed the liquid in four big gulps, then shoved the empty to the back of the counter and pulled another bottle from the fridge. That one he lifted in his father’s direction in a silent question. When the man nodded, he grabbed another, popped the tops, then joined him at the table.
For the first time, he really and truly looked at his father.
