Chapter 267
Ronan's POV
I was still standing there, frozen in indecision, when Elowen's voice cut through the night like a whip crack.
"Are you planning to stand out there all night having a mental conversation with your wolf, or are you getting in this truck?" Her tone was sharp with impatience, and I could see her fingers drumming against the steering wheel in that particular rhythm that meant she was approximately three seconds away from doing something incredibly stupid. "Because I swear to God, Ronan, if you don't make a decision in the next ten seconds, I'm leaving without you."
She's got a point, Soren observed, his mental voice dry with amusement. You've been standing here long enough that she's probably planned out the entire rescue mission, driven there and back in her head, and decided what she's going to yell at Casper when she finds him.
"Shut up," I muttered, but my wolf was right—I'd been so caught up in my internal debate, in weighing my options and trying to figure out how to handle this situation without anyone getting killed, that I'd forgotten the most important rule when dealing with Elowen: never give her time to think, because thinking led to planning, and planning led to her doing exactly what she wanted regardless of what anyone else said.
I watched as her hand moved from the steering wheel to the keys dangling from the ignition, watched as her fingers closed around them with the kind of determination that made my stomach drop, and I knew in that moment that I had exactly two choices: get in the truck or watch her drive away without me, and both options were terrible in their own special ways.
"Elowen, wait—" I started, taking a step toward the truck, but she was already turning the key, already starting the engine, and the roar of it in the quiet night was like a countdown timer ticking down to disaster.
"I'm done waiting," she shot back, her amber eyes flashing with a combination of frustration and determination that I recognized all too well. "I've been waiting for you to stop arguing with your wolf and get in this truck, I've been waiting for you to accept that I'm going to do this whether you like it or not, and I'm done. So either get in, or get out of my way."
The threat was clear, and I knew she meant it, knew that if I didn't make a decision right fucking now, she was going to put that truck in gear and leave me standing here in the cold, barefoot and shirtless, while she drove off to rescue her ex-mate alone.
"Let me call him again," I said, pulling out my phone with fingers that were starting to go numb from the cold. "Just—let me try calling him one more time, and if he doesn't answer, we'll go. Together. But you have to let me drive."
I could see the refusal forming on her lips before she even opened her mouth, could see the stubborn set of her jaw that meant she was going to argue, was going to insist that she was perfectly capable of driving herself, that she didn't need me to chauffeur her around like some kind of damsel in distress.
"I've already called him twice," I continued before she could interrupt, holding up my phone to show her the call log, the two unanswered calls to Casper's number glaring up at us from the screen. "Two times, Elowen. And he didn't pick up either time. So let me try again, and if he still doesn't answer, we'll go. But you're not driving."
"I'm perfectly capable of—" she started, but I cut her off with a look that I hoped conveyed just how serious I was about this, how there was absolutely no way in hell I was letting her drive my truck while pregnant and emotional and determined to do something reckless.
"You're pregnant," I said bluntly, because apparently tonight was the night for laying all our cards on the table. "You're emotional. You're not thinking clearly. And I'm not letting you drive my truck when you're in this state, so either you get out and let me drive, or we're not going anywhere."
The standoff that followed was tense enough that I could feel Soren stirring restlessly in the back of my mind, could feel my wolf's anxiety bleeding through our connection as he waited to see how this was going to play out, whether Elowen was going to back down or whether this was going to escalate into something even more dramatic.
And then, like a gift from the universe or possibly a sign of the apocalypse, Kade appeared from the side door of the house, moving with that particular kind of purposeful stride that suggested he'd been watching this entire drama unfold and had finally decided to intervene.
He was dressed now, wearing dark jeans and a black henley that made him look even more intimidating than usual, and he had a bag slung over one shoulder—a bag that I recognized as his emergency medical kit, the one he kept stocked with everything from bandages to sedatives, and the sight of it made my stomach clench with unease because Kade only brought that bag when he expected things to go very, very wrong.
"You're pregnant," he said, his voice flat and uncompromising. "You're emotional. You're making decisions based on feelings instead of logic. And I'm not letting you put yourself or those babies at risk because you're too stubborn to admit that maybe, just maybe, going out in the middle of the night to rescue your ex-mate is not the smartest plan you've ever had."
I could see Elowen's hands tightening on the steering wheel, could see the way her jaw clenched with frustration, and I knew she was about two seconds away from saying something she was going to regret, something that would escalate this situation from tense to explosive.
"I had plans tonight," Kade continued, his tone shifting to something almost conversational, almost casual, except for the underlying edge of steel that suggested he was absolutely serious. "Good plans. Plans that involved someone who is not my half-sister, who is not pregnant, and who is definitely not going to drag me out into the middle of the night to rescue her alcoholic ex-mate. But instead, I'm standing here, having this conversation, because apparently you've decided that tonight is the night to do something monumentally stupid."
"What kind of plans?" I asked, because apparently my mouth had decided to engage before my brain could stop it, and Kade's eyes cut to me with a look that suggested I should probably shut up now if I knew what was good for me.
"The kind that don't involve you," he said dryly. "The kind that involve someone who appreciates my company and doesn't argue with me about literally everything. The kind that—"
"A hookup," I supplied helpfully, because if I was going down, I might as well go down swinging. "A booty call. A—"