“He took a pill that completely suppressed his powers. Then went skiing. On an unplowed run in avalanche conditions.”
“It wasn’t suicide.”
“Then what would you call it?” I snap.
Bolan chokes back a sob, and only then do I realize that he’s been doing so over and over since he wrapped himself aroundme. “It was … we didn’t talk about it. For me, it was the worst I ever felt. Almost the worst …” His voice trails off, and his arms tighten around me. “I felt empty, like I’d lost half my soul. I was fucking freaked out of my mind about it, locked myself in the bedroom to ride it out. Alone.”
The wolf, he means. The wolf is the other half of his soul, no matter how much he tries to suppress it.
“But Armin?” Bolan shakes his head. “For Armin, I can only guess that it felt like …”
“Freedom,” I whisper, focusing on the ashes in my hand. “Skiing always did for him as well. On a smaller scale. It felt like freedom.”
“I should have been with him,” Bolan croaks. “We were supposed to do that run together.”
“I should have been with him,” I murmur, brushing my ash-coated fingers together. The small mound of ashes in my palm crumbles at the edges and falls into the water. I fight the instinct to close my hand around the remainder. I have to let it go. I know I do.
“You weren’t your brother’s keeper. He should have been protecting you. He left you —”
“He left us.” I force myself to tip my hand over, allowing the remaining ashes to fall into the pond. When I turn my hand back over again, some ash remains, clinging to my skin. But before I can make the decision to brush it off, Bolan runs his thumb across my palm, across my fingers, brushing away the remnants.
His touch is warm and solid. Comforting.
It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.
So I pull my hand away.
I pivot to put the urn back into my backpack, effectively breaking Bolan’s hold on me to do so. Though he still crowds against my back.
“Do you think it’s possible for you to ever forgive me?” Bolan asks.
I don’t look at him. “Did you shove the pills down Armin’s throat? Ever?”
“No, I —”
“Armin made his choices, Bolan. You two might have influenced each other, but … if I blame you for not being on that ski run with him, then I have to blame myself, right?”
“It’s not the same thing —”
I sigh heavily, straightening and leaving Bolan kneeling behind me. The bottom of my duster slaps against my calves, heavily coated in mud. I ignore it, gazing out over the pond for a moment. “It’s done. It has to be done now.”
“I know.”
I pick up my backpack, swinging it over my shoulder. “I can’t stay for breakfast. Will you let Adeline know that —”
Bolan wraps his hand around my knee, stopping me from stepping around him. Then he drops even lower in the mud, head hanging forward.
“Bolan …”
“I need to say the words. I need to —”
“It’s done,” I say again.
That twist of pain is back in my chest, writhing around my heart. With all my grief over saying goodbye to Armin, of having the simple truth of his senseless death confirmed, I didn’t realize the sensation stilled while Bolan held me. That realization comes with an extra slice of agony, right across my heart. But I shove it away. I steel myself against it, as I would if it were a malignant spell or even a knife.
Deflect. Fortify my defenses.
“I know,” I whisper.
