Page 35 of Remy & the Wildcat

As if everyone had been waiting for someone to tell them to leave, the pride suddenly raced from the clearing. Remy dropped to the grass with Thyme, where the smoke was the least thick and rubbed his eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, in between coughing fits.

“Yeah. You saved me.”

He brushed at smokey smudges on her cheeks. “That’s what mates do.”

The male who was screaming was now moaning in agony.

“Liam?” Thyme called.

The grass rustled near them and he crawled into view. “Let’s head back to the house where the air is clear. You’re safe?”

“We’re good,” Remy said. “Who’s injured?”

“I believe it’s Brentiss,” he said with a snarl. “He’s being taken to the house with the healers.”

They all stayed low until they were clear of the smoke and could breathe and see more clearly.

Remy sat back on his heels and stared at the smoke that had filled the clearing. “I met Brentiss,” he said.

“Yeah,” Thyme said, coughing violently for a moment. She brushed at her cheeks where tears from her stinging eyes had made tracks through the soot. “He’s one of Leif’s friends.”

Remy knew exactly what the plan had been: the smoke bomb was to disorient them and hide their intentions, providing perfect cover for Brentiss to rush to the front and shove Thyme into the fire.

“I want to have a talk with him,” Remy said. He hugged Thyme close, thankful that they were both safe.

“Who, Brentiss? I have a feeling he’s suffering a good bit right now.”

“No, Leif.”

“Definitely. He’s got some explaining to do.”

She stared toward the bonfire, which was barely visible as a flickering orange glow through the smoke and shivered.

Remy hugged her a little tighter.

He didn’t want to think about how close he’d come to seeing her badly burned or even killed.

Her half-brother was going to pay for what he had done.

Enough was enough.

Thyme and Remy made their way to the backyard, checking on every pride family along the way. She ensured that every single person was accounted for, save for Brentiss who was being attended to by the pride healers, females who had medical training.

She bypassed the backyard and took Remy to the side of the house where she turned on the spigot and washed her face and hands. Remy splashed water on his face and rubbed his hands, then they both dried off as best they could with their shirt hems.

“Do I look like a depressed clown?” she asked, smoothing her hands over her hair. She was trying to lighten the mood and not panic, but she’d nearly been shoved into the bonfire.

She could have died tonight.

The sudden realization that her half-brother really did want her dead made a wild tide of emotions rise in her. She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle the sob that was about to break free, because she didn’t want to look weak in front of the pride.

Remy pulled her close and held her tightly. She buried her face in his chest and tried to rein her emotions in.

“It’s okay to cry,” he whispered. “Crying doesn’t make you weak, I promise.”

She choked on her sobs, her hands curled into his shirt. She felt like she cried for a long time, but she knew only a few minutes had passed. When she felt like she could talk without hiccupping, she whispered, “I knew he hated me, I never really knew why though. But he tried to get one of his guys to push me into the bonfire.”

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