with Zephyr, which Buck had won by threatening to sack every last motherloving one of them if they tried to take his nephew anywhere other than home to Thunder Mountain. In the end, even Rory had had to give way.
“The crew should be halfway back by now,” she said to Fenrir. “Ready to head off too?”
“No.” He looked up at the imposing, gloomy mansion, reaching out to lay a hand on the weathered stones. “Not quite yet.”
Darcy trailed him as he methodically worked through the rooms, gathering up items. He didn’t take much; some documents, a small golden locket, a photo album. A threadbare stuffed toy, earless and much loved, that might have once been a wolf.
He stayed for a long time in one room on the upper floor. When he opened the door, it scraped through thick dust. Spiderwebs draped a baseball bat in the corner. Faded posters of spaceships and superheroes curled on the walls. The moth-eaten blankets on the small bed were thrown back, as though someone had got up one day, and never returned.
She didn’t have to ask whose room it had been.
He shut the door again at last, carefully, without saying a word. She hugged him once, gently, and they went on.
The last room they went into was another bedroom—this one clean, neat, feminine. Fenrir ignored the expensive perfumes arrayed on the dressing table, the large jewelry box, the designer dresses. He knelt by the bed, pulling something out from under the mattress.
“Look,” he said, showing it to her.
It was a framed picture. A family, laughing, sunlight caught in their hair. A tall, bearded man, his copper eyes shining with love. A little boy on his shoulders, beaming. A chubby, dark-haired toddler, giggling, her arms stretched toward the camera.
Darcy looked up at Fenrir. “Your mother’s not in it.”
“She’s the one who took the picture.” He added the photo to his rucksack, as tenderly as if tucking a baby into bed. “They did have some joy. Despite everything. It was not all darkness.”
He swung the pack onto his back, tightening the straps, and nodded at her. “Almost done now. Just one last thing.”
She followed him back outside, wondering. He gazed up at the house one last time—and then shifted.
*Was not all darkness,* he said in her mind. *But needs to be cleansed. Help me?*
Now, she understood. She shifted too. Fury burned in her throat, for all the lives blighted by this place. Buck’s family and Diana’s; and all the other unknown Storm Society warriors, and their families, the descendants of Thunderbirds. Fenrir’s parents. Even Lupa; lost, misguided Lupa, who’d just been a child desperate to please something she’d thought was her mother.
And Fenrir himself.
Side by side, they set the building ablaze. Not even stone could withstand hellfire. Together, they banished the darkness forever.
He leaned against her, flank to flank, watching the past burn, until nothing but ash was left. All gone; but not forgotten.
Never forgotten.
*There.* Fenrir looked down at her, his eyes at peace at last. *Let’s go home.*
Chapter 46
He had run with wild wolves, in the long years of his exile. And he had run with his pack, his friends, matching paws against hooves and wings.
But he had never run like this.
No matter how he leaped, how he stretched his legs, his mate was always there. Matching him perfectly despite her smaller size, fleet-footed and agile.
He sped up, trying to evade her for the sheer delight of the chase. She cut him off, leaping to nip teasingly at his nose before bounding away herself. Now it was his turn to give chase, striving to catch her taunting, high-flung tail.
They danced in and out of hellspace; leaping through trees and mountains and oblivious humans alike. Sometimes one leading, sometimes the other. But always together.
She stopped at the summit of Thunder Mountain, leaping back into the real world to stand proudly at the very crest of the great peak. She looked down at him, eyes shining brighter than the stars crowning her head. Then she lifted her muzzle, and let out a long, clear howl.
His heart swelled in his chest. It was like moonlight sparkled through his veins instead of blood; pure, liquid joy. He joined her, adding his voice to hers; a tone deeper, but following the same instinctive, ancient song.
Their pack lay below, curled up in their dens. He knew that they heard his voice, and his mate’s, echoing down from the mountain. Warmth radiated down the pack bond, an echo of his own happiness.