Trial by Heart (Trial Series Book 4) (8 page)

“I’m going to end this,” I tell him. “I don’t care what you do or try to do.”

“It’s easy to say that when it’s your life on the line and not someone else’s. I would gladly give mine again but hers … I wouldn’t lose her again, not for anything,” Erish says somewhat wistfully.

“One life, two, three … it’s worth it to save thousands.”

“I think the same thing every generation. If I fail in my duty, many more die.”

Not after Wednesday, I vow in silence.

I sit at the base of the tree for a long time. The chill of autumn never really lifts from the forest, and I tug my arms inside my t-shirt to keep them warm. I don’t want to leave the peace of the woods and don’t feel ready to face Ben. I’m numb again, but it seems to come and go, stepping aside when anger surges to life as I think about everything I’ve been through and all I’ve learned.

It’s hard for me to hate Erish. I pity him too much. He’s trapped, too, even if his stupidity created this disaster. Despite the thaw in our rocky relationship, I’m not about to lower my guard completely around him. He’s bound by magic to try to force me into fulfilling the curse. I can’t take any chances with him, even if this feels like a truce of sorts.

I remain where I am until I’m stiff and shivering as the sun starts to set, and grainy dusk settles into the forest. Only when it’s hard to see and I’m shivering from cold do I consider leaving my spot.

“I brought your shoes.” Ben’s soft, low voice causes a pang of regret to flutter through me. He lowers them to the ground beside me, his cinnamon smell light.

How does he not hate me? Resting my head back against the trunk of the tree, I gaze up at him. His silvery eyes seem to reflect the last of the daylight and glow.

“Was it the worst day of your life when you found out you were destined for a Kingmaker?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“No.”

I want to tell him to give me a much more satisfying, robust answer but hold my tongue. He’s right to keep his distance, emotionally and physically. I’m the kind of poison that causes a slow, excruciating death. I wouldn’t take a chance with me either.

Tugging on my shoes, I stand up and dust off my clothes from the pine needless that fell on me whenever the breeze rustled the branches above. Ben waits for me on the path, his form dark.

“I invited Tristan and Myca for dinner,” he says. “You can’t see Nate again until Wednesday, according to the official rules.”

I almost laugh. “Almost all the exes together at once!”

“I thought you needed your friends today.”

My smile fades. “Why are you doing this?” I ask in a hushed tone.

“What?”

“Don’t give me that shit! I know you’re the puppet master!”

Ben begins walking, leading me away from the ravine. “You need a break.”

It can’t be that simple. I’m in the most critical part of the trials, when Erish wins or I do, before the assassin my father chose decides whether or not I fucked up.

Maybe it’s a good thing if I fuck up. I don’t look forward to offing myself.

I want away from my dark thoughts and to say something to Ben but don’t know what. Staring at the back of his head hard, I follow him and try to come up with a topic that won’t sound forced. A part of me wants him to know how much I appreciate what he’s done and acknowledge aloud he’s put more effort into breaking the curse than anyone, even the Kingmaker’s.

Another part of me is too ashamed to broach anything related to the curse or the pain it’s caused.

The only problem is, I don’t know what else to talk about with someone I barely know. It’s not like me to be shy or uncertain, or to feel lost as to what to say. I’m generally pretty outgoing, or was, until this week. Maybe I hesitate because I’m trying to wrap my head around a complete stranger knowing me intimately without ever meeting each other.

“Was that you or Nathan who got stuck in the bakery and ate all the cinnamon roll dough?” I ask finally in a lame attempt to start a discussion with him. I don’t even understand why I have a
need
to talk to him at all.

“Both of us,” he replies.

God, I wish he’d say more than three words at a time! Does he know how hard it is to hold a conversation with someone who just doesn’t talk? “And you told Myca not to watch
Twilight
.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you doing this on purpose?” I explode.

He stops walking, and I barely avoid running into him. “Am I doing
what
on purpose?” he asks, facing me.

I can’t see his features in the darkness, and I’m suddenly paranoid knowing he can see mine. “I’m trying to talk to you and you don’t say more than two words at a time!” I exclaim. “Is it because I’m a fucking Kingmaker? I’m cursed? I killed your sister-in-law? You just don’t want to talk to me? Because you didn’t have to follow me to the forest or make me breakfast or spend years plotting to break the curse!”

He laughs softly. “I’ll try harder.”

I stare at him.

“Three words that time,” he adds with his subtle humor.

“You’re not doing it on purpose?”

“Do you usually talk this much?”

“What?”

“It’s no different than asking me why I
don’t
talk much.”

He’s right.

What a dick.

“As a matter of fact, yes, I do. I talk a lot when I’m around someone I like to be around.” Wrong. Answer. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. “And … other people. Anyone really. I just talk. Always. Never stop.” I push by him and start walking, humiliated for the umpteenth time today. “You’re not special, Ben.”

What is wrong with me? I can’t afford to be attracted to, or flirting with, anyone. I’m going to die in four days, either by my hand or that of the man my father chose to assassinate me.

Ben’s quiet laughter stirs all kinds of feelings, none of which are right.

“People aren’t normally interested in having a conversation with me,” he says as he follows me.

“What do you mean?”

“I give orders, attend business meetings, and solve problems. There’s not much room, or time, for purely social discussions.”

“But you have siblings and I’m sure, friends,” I point out. “Don’t you talk to them?”

“I generally listen. I’m not much of a talker.”

“I see that.” I roll my eyes. “You texted me a lot that one night.”

“You’re fun.”

My brows furrow. I don’t know how to take this comment. I don’t think he means it in a derisive way, but it doesn’t seem like someone as smart as he must be in order to create a plan to outsmart a two thousand year old curse would find
me
fun. In fact, I don’t see him having fun at all. Ever. With anyone. He’s cautious and serious in everything he does. I don’t see him running away with me like Tristan would or drinking beer all night at a bar with Myca. I’ve always been reckless and wild, but he’s …

“We’re kind of the opposite, aren’t we?” I voice aloud.

“
Completely
the opposite.”

I start to smile again. “That can be good. I can make you laugh and drag you out of boring meetings to go skydiving, and you …” Wrong. Again. Pretending there’s a life, or world, without the curse is foolish.

“… bring you shoes when you wander into the forest without them?” he finishes.

“Something like that.” I shouldn’t, but I like this line of discussion and imagining what it would be like to draw someone as reserved as he is out of his shell. “Though if you’re willing to risk everything to break the curse, you’ve got bigger balls than me.” Fuck. Sometimes I seriously need a filter. “I’m not commenting on your balls. I just mean your risk tolerance is …” I sigh. “I’ll be dead in four days, so you won’t have to worry about trying to talk to me anyway.”

He says nothing.

I’m suddenly angry again, this time at myself. Feeling a little reckless, a whole lot raw, I decide to complete the impression he must have by now that I’m a babbling idiot and leave him no doubt as to why I shouldn’t be trusted with something as important as the fate of the Community. “So I read through a lot of your texts because I’m a complete bitch,” I start. “I noticed that everyone in the entire Community seems to come to you for stuff. Who do you go to?”

“For what?”

“If you have a problem or need to talk, who do you turn to?”

“I don’t.”

I twist to see him over my shoulder, disturbed by his answer and the fact I can’t see his face to gauge if he’s joking or not. “You never need help with anything?”

“Not really.”

“Is this some sort of werewolf male ego thing?”

“Not to my knowledge.” I hear the smile in his voice.

“That’s really … sad, Ben,” I say, unexpectedly touched by the admittance. “You’re all alone.”

“I’m the alpha. If I can’t handle it, who can?”

Clearly no one. I’m not sure if I should be impressed or concerned for him.

But I also believe him capable of handling anything and everything.

“I’ll help you,” I volunteer. Something about Ben makes me say the stupidest shit. “I’m currently the biggest charity case on the planet, but if there’s somehow anything I can do … I have no idea what that’d be. Maybe help you lift your couch if you move in the next few days. Whatever. I’ll help you.”

“It’s sweet of you to offer.”

I don’t know how to take that. He’s pretty candid, so why am I trying to read into his responses and get him to open up? Is it because of the mate-thing? Because I’m curious about the man who might’ve been destined to marry me, if I weren’t supposed to either kill him or die in the process?

Tired of sounding like the fool I am, I shut up the rest of the walk back to his home. The smell of meat on a bar-b-cue reaches me before I spot the light of a bonfire on the back porch, and the two familiar forms standing near it. Ben’s dogs are lying nearby, too, and a table with food sits a safe distance from the flames.

The moment I see Myca and Tristan, my dark thoughts explode into happiness.

Ben is right. I do need my friends tonight.

I race towards them and end up tackle hugging Myca, nearly driving him to the ground. He laughs and manages to keep us both on our feet, squeezing me in a fierce hug.

“Good to see you, angel!” he says cheerfully.

I breathe his familiar scent and sigh. “You, too.” I probably hug him longer than I should and release him to sling my arms around Tristan.

I love these men. Nothing will ever change that. The temporary mating bonds may be gone, but I’ll always love them, always believe them to be two of the most beautiful people in the universe.

Wiping my face free of happy tears, I release Tristan and step back to grin at them. I don’t know if this is supposed to be weird having two exes together, but it’s really not. Myca’s too laid back to be offended by pretty much anything, and Tristan can read souls and is as far from petty as possible.

I’m not going to let myself think about how they’ve been talking about me for several months, since my father chose the candidates. They’re conspirators, but ... they’re also mine and always will hold pieces of me.

Seeing them both, however, also reminds me of my last talk with Nathan, and how he told me the truth about what he lied about, which ended up being everything, considering he was pretending to be someone else. At some point tonight, I’m going to ask Tristan and Myca what they sacrificed and hid from me.

But not yet. I don’t feel ready to be crushed.

“Dig in,” Ben says, reaching us.

“Werewolf rules: Food first, then whatever else,” Myca says with a wink.

“Absolutely,” Ben agrees.

I smile. I’m not really hungry, not when my emotions keep me on the verge of panic and nausea, but I fill a plate anyway. The four of us sit down around the fire.

“I watched
Underworld,
” Myca says, shaking his head. “Why does everyone think vampires and werewolves are born enemies?”

“At least Hollywood doesn’t give you wings or pointy ears,” Tristan responds.

I laugh.

“You’re both predators,” he continues. “Might have something to do with that.”

“You’d look adorable with pointy ears,” Myca teases.

Tristan ignores him.

Ben is smiling. “Buffy’s my favorite,” he admits. “There aren’t a lot of shows where vampires or werewolves are the good guys.”

“I noticed,” Myca replies.

I listen and eat, gaze on Ben more often than the others. I’m still trying to figure him out and finding it difficult. I’ve never encountered the strong, silent type in my life, and being an extrovert accustomed to the company of other extroverts, I’m not sure how to talk to him. The man who doesn’t say more than a sentence every ten minutes to me opens up when it comes to movies. He’s too reserved to be considered social, but it’s obvious from the discussion he likes his movies. Easygoing Myca has a way of drawing him out, too, and is good at keeping the conversation alive.

Watching them, I’m struck by the idea the three friends wouldn’t know each other this well if not for the trials. I wonder if they’re able to see the smallest positive to come out of the trials, such as friendship, or if they’re stuck in the rut I’m in and unable to acknowledge anything but the morbid darkness of the whole thing.

It’s gratifying to see them happy and talking, to know they really are good friends, and that my part – however terrible – in this mess helped bring them together. When I’m gone, when the trials are over, they’ll have each other.

It’s a small blessing but one that helps ease some of my suffering, even if temporarily.

Warmed by the fire with my belly full, I grow drowsy and rest my head back. The three continue to talk between bouts of comfortable silence. Ben is right. I need this. I need
them
. They’re a reminder of why I have to be stronger than Erish, of what I have to lose, if I don’t find a way to break the curse in four days.

Chapter Six

Three hours after dinner, when everyone is full and quiet, I sense the night winding down and rouse myself reluctantly. I’m not sure how to ask the questions I need to and have no false pretenses about my ability to handle more shitty news.