Page 28 of Black Moon

On the other hand, Colt could get Brook killed with his good intentions.

I followed him in, and he closed the door behind me. “Skye admitted what he said, I take it?”

“He did. He might gossip a bit, but he never intends to hurt anyone. He’s a good kid.” There were two chairs in the room, sitting at a tiny round table. It looked like Colt had been sitting on the bed to work, if the papers and computer lying there were any indication.

“He’s an adult,” Colt pointed out. “You’re not serving him well by acting like he’s a child.”

I sighed at that. “I know he’s not. It’s habit. When he started working for me, he had a little bit of a crush. I tried to remind him of the gap without overtly rejecting him, by pointing out that I’m almost twenty years older than he is.”

Colt cocked his head one way, then the other, and finally nodded. “I guess that would work.” Then he gave a sly little smile. “You’re not that old, though. You couldn’t be more than thirty-five.”

“Thirty-seven.”

“Twenty-nine,” he answered immediately. I almost insisted that no, I was thirty-seven like I’d said, but...no, he’d been talking about himself. Was he—was he flirting with me?

“I—” I had no idea how to address that, so I cut off, shook my head, and went back to the subject at hand. “Brook. You can’t write about Brook.”

He quirked an unimpressed brow at me. “Oh I can’t, huh?”

I groaned and scrubbed my hands down my face. “The Reids are already on edge. What do you think they’ll do when every single person in the country hears about what they’ve done? And what about Brook? You think he wants everyone to know what he’s probably gone through—going through—at their hands?”

Colt paled, his lips parting, and he sat on the edge of the bed. “You think they’d hurt him?”

“I think they’re a pack whose omega population has been completely destroyed by the Condition. They were always alpha-heavy, and since things started falling apart for them, they’ve been bleeding betas as people leave in search of more stable packs.” I grabbed one of the chairs, turned it to face him, and sat down. “You’re talking about a pack that, at this point, is mostly alphas. Not a single omega. They’re desperate, and frightened, and have no ability to deal with that fact.”

“Aren’t alphas supposed to be the pinnacle of werewolfkind?” His lips were twisted in irritation, and I could just picture the alphas he’d grown up with saying nonsense like that. Like my own father had thought.

“I always thought that was omegas, personally.” He scoffed, but I shook my head and leaned forward. “Yes, alphas are bigger, stronger, more obvious fighters. We tend to make good leaders. But it’s not because we’re good; it’s because of instinct. Something deep in our bones screams at us to protect. And we’re not level-headed like omegas and betas. We don’t have the ability to cut off our emotions and do what needs done. People are always spouting that bullshit about omegas and women being emotional, but it’s not you or them at all. It’s us. We’re the ones who struggle with control. We’re the ones led by our emotions. Our instincts.”

He was still frowning, but he seemed to be listening, so I took it as a good thing. “And you think those protective instincts will make them hurt an omega if I try to get him help?”

“Yes.” He scowled at my immediate answer, but I held up a hand. “Hear me out. They kidnapped him. He’s not one of them. Their protective pack instincts don’t apply to Brook. Their instinct is to protect each other. Themselves. Every alpha wolf’s psyche is a daily battle between his demons—his violent protective instincts—and those better angels given to him by the people he’s supposed to be protecting. But the Reids don’t have any angels left. Just a downward spiral of anger and violence that begets more anger and violence.”

“They murdered your father,” he pointed out. “Don’t you want to get them back for it?”

I thought of my father. He’d been old fashioned, flawed, stuck in outdated gender and dynamic roles that he’d been taught as a child and clung to. But he’d been a good man. A balanced alpha, disinclined to jump immediately to violence. He had deserved better. He had deserved a long, quiet retirement, sitting with Zeke on the front porch of Grove House, drinking cider and telling stories.

“If I run off half-cocked right now, looking for revenge, that doesn’t serve my pack.” I looked down at the carpet and shrugged. “I guess today, my better angels win.”

“You really think an article in a newspaper will make that much difference to a pack like them?” He was wavering, and I could see it. I hated to get between him and his story—hell, I even thought it was a story people should hear. Just not while Brook was still caught in the crossfire.

I nodded. “I do. I promise you, if you wait until we get Brook home safe, I won’t question whatever you decide to write. I’ll give you an interview. Not Brook, but me. Anything you want from me. Just let me get Brook home first. Please.”

He stared at me for a moment, blinking, then his lips quirked up on one side. “Anything, huh?”

I threw up my hands. “You’ve got a one-track mind, you know that?”

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding terribly sorry at all. But then his expression went serious for a second, and he nodded. “Okay. I won’t write about it until he’s safe at home. But I’m not letting those assholes get away with kidnapping someone. I don’t care if it goes back to the Condition or not, their behavior is still their responsibility.”

I held up my hands in supplication. “Clearly, I agree. I manage to control myself. It’s not always easy, but everyone knows that staying in a dying, omega-less pack isn’t the way to self-control, and they’ve all chosen that.”

He nodded decisively, then got that look back in his eye. “But you’ll give me an interview, huh?”

Good lord. I was going to get whiplash at all the tone changes. And as much as I didn’t have time for beautiful Colt Doherty and his eyelash batting and his seductive smile right now...I kind of hoped that I would.

After we got Brook home, safe and sound.

14

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