Page 39 of Entangled

My stomach slithers.Mateo is worried about Alastair, I remind myself. He’s not going out of his way for my sake, certainly. I’m not sure what Alastair and Mateo’s plans are, but they’ve made it clear it doesn’t involve my freedom, or Madison’s.

And they were at Bristlebrook.

They signed their lives away the moment they threatened my men.

“Is something bothering you?” Alastair asks, and the edge of abrupt interest makes me realize I’ve been staring into the woods for too long. His eyes are intent on my face, and I force myself to keep still.

Despite my bowl of poison, beside this man I still feel like I’m the one in danger. Adrenaline has me tense, my veins electrified with nervous lightning.

“Apart from the obvious?” I ask, thankful my voice is only a little unsteady.

I catch sight of Madison staring at us from beside the pot. When she sees us looking, she turns away. From this angle, I can see the large, matted chunk of bloodied hair on the back of her head.

“Is it serious?” Alastair asks, and when I look at him, his eyes are on Madison too, as they so often are. There’s a careful blankness to his face that says too much, but my blood is already pounding, and the abrupt flood of bitterness is too much.

“I’m not sure why you care. She and I would have been free and safe if you hadn’t had Mateo bring us back.” The words tumble out with a raw viciousness, and that curiosity in Alastair sharpens as he refocuses on me.

Idiot, I berate myself. The sounds of slurping are slowing. Owen dunks his bowl in the pot again without asking, taking a second helping, and that cold storm sears me with savage satisfaction.

I need to get back to Madison. I can’t miss this chance.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt before he can say anything, and those green eyes narrow on me in speculation. There’s too much devious cleverness in them. “I shouldn’t have said that. You were just following Sam.”

I shove the bowl at him, as if in peace offering, then hide my shaking hands behind me when he takes it.

“Following Sam...” Alastair muses, stirring through the soup absently. My eyes track the motion. “Sam attracts a lot of followers. Loud, ambitious men usually do, no matter how stupid they are. With those followers comes power. He acquired a base. Weapons, medicine?—”

“Women,” I say quietly, wondering where he’s going with this, and his head tilts like a bird of prey as he looks up at me. His stirring pauses, and I drag my eyes away before he notices the way I’m staring at it.

“No. Not women,” he replies, equally as soft, but with resolute firmness. “You can’t acquire something that isn’t a possession.”

My lips purse. “And yet here we are.”

Alastair’s eyes grow somber. “You might be held captive here, but Sam doesn’t own you.”

“Splitting hairs,” I snap back. Someone groans behind me, and my muscles tense. Was that a pained groan? Or just a complaint? Time, time. I’m running out of time. “I am not free. I am notsafe. And that’s in large part thanks to you and Mateo.”

“Just how far do you think you would have gotten?” he hisses at me in an undertone, sitting forward suddenly. The soup sloshes over the rim, and I try to hide my grimace. “If you and Madison had left. You’re both injured. He would have hunted you down in hours, and even I couldn’t have protected you from his rage then. You need a better plan thanthat.”

“Protected us?” My lips twist, caution falling away. It doesn’t matter now. I only have minutes before this all falls apart. “Look at her.”

I throw my head at Madison, at her knotted, bloodstained hair. At her limp. At the cascade of blues and greens and yellows and purples that make up her skin. She’s going to be hard to get out of here, even with everyone poisoned.

“Does she look protected to you? Your leader did that. And there’ll be worse to come when he gets us back to this Den of yours. But out of sight, out of mind then, I suppose.”

I’m shaking with my anger. It’s eating me. Sam won’t get us back there, but only because ofme. Alastair is a hypocrite and a coward. Howdarehe pretend to be the better man?

Alastair gives Madison a long, hard look, then his gaze comes back to me. Slowly, he shakes his head. “There are two types of followers. Some people will follow because they need something to believe in—or who just find it easier than carving their own path—and theyneedsomeone to take charge. They’re the herd, Eden.” He settles back against the tree and lifts a spoonful of soup to his lips. I hold my breath, trembling, watching the steam, but he pauses his motion to continue. “Then there’s the other kind of follower.”

There’s something fanged and hungry skulking in his eyes now. “The other kind of follower watches the herd. He watches the leader. He listens, he obeys, he learns. And he waits for the opportunity to take the herd for his own.”

My mind is racing too fast. Nerves and fear and anger and confusion are shaking me hard.

Alastair’s lips part around the waiting poison.

“You want to kill Sam?” I blurt, only just remembering to quiet my tone, and he hesitates, lowering the spoon again.

I don’t know if I’m disappointed or relieved.

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