Chapter 196 – A Trap of His Own Making

Chapter 196 – A Trap of His Own Making
Eli
Some people meddle quietly. I prefer style.
The morning feels too calm. The pack is busy rebuilding, Ronan’s being disgustingly competent, and I’m restless. I’ve already decided happiness shouldn’t be hoarded, now I just have to find a way to spread the joy.
Specifically in Hazel and Jace’s direction. Anyone unfortunate enough to get stuck in a room with the two of them ends up feeling like they’ve walked into a lovers’ quarrel halfway through act two. Where the lovers in question are studiously ignoring each other. It’s unhealthy.
So, naturally, I take it upon myself to fix it.
It takes a bit of wrangling to get all the pieces into place, and a hell of a lot is riding on the weather doing what it’s supposed to, but by mid-morning the ball is rolling.
Hazel needs to pick up a supply delivery from Hollowrock. A handful of barrels stored near the old watchtower halfway down the ridge road. Normally, she’d drag two juniors with her. Today, she’s getting Jace.
She doesn’t know that yet.
I corner her in the gear room, where she’s elbow-deep in ledgers and complaining about inventory accuracy. “I thought being Captain would involve a lot more training and not nearly this much paperwork,” she grumbles irritably.
The girl badly needs to get laid.
“You should take someone competent with you on the supply run,” I say sweetly.
“I was going to take Nessa and Cole.”
“Right, but they’re… what’s the word… children. You’ll want muscle. Someone who won’t faint if a barrel rolls at them or a rogue band of marauding wolves try to steal our mead.”
Her eyes narrow. “You mean I should take Jace.”
I grin. “That’s a brilliant idea! Well done, Hazel. I’ll tell him you volunteered him.”
“Eli-”
But I’m already gone.
Outside, Jace is sharpening blades with the focus of a man allergic to fun.
“Mara needs you,” I announce. “Urgent matter. You’re to accompany Hazel to check the Hollowrock delivery. Some seal issue, or something on the shipment.”
He looks up suspiciously. “Since when does Mara send orders through you?”
“Since she’s busy with reports and I’m her beloved brother-in-law,” I say smoothly. “And since Hazel needs someone who can carry more than a clipboard. Mara says there may be rogue Redmaw wolves in the area and it is mead...”
That warrants an immediate frown. “I’ll grab my coat.”
Perfect. It’s a good thing he has such a saviour complex and a permanent hard-on for Hazel.
Ten minutes later, they’re heading down the trail together. Hazel muttering under her breath, Jace silent as a saint. I watch them go, proud as any parent in history.
Ronan finds me in the courtyard not long after, arms crossed. “What did you do?”
“Me?” I smile innocently. “Nothing nefarious. Merely ensuring pack efficiency.”
“I was looking for Jace and Chris informed me that he accompanied Hazel on the ridge road trip.”
“Yes.”
“There’s a storm rolling in. Mara told you to tell Hazel to put off the trip until it’s over. They’re going to be trapped there. Or get stuck in the middle of it.”
“Ah,” I say, tilting my head toward the clouds gathering over the peaks. “Bonding weather. And I made sure they left in time to reach the watchtower before the worst of it hits.”
His sigh could power a windmill. “Eli.”
“They’ll be fine,” I promise. “Competent adults. Worst case, they share a cold night in the tower. Best case, they manage not to set it on fire with their burning passion.”
He gives me the kind of look that could strip bark off trees. “If this backfires, you’re the one they’ll come for.”
I shrug. “It won’t backfire. All they need is a lick of flame to touch the powder keg they’re sitting on.”
By late afternoon, the storm breaks. The first roll of thunder rattles the windowpanes. I stand by the hearth, watching rain blur the valley. I can picture the way the ridge trail will disappear in the mist, the outlines of the watchtower swallowed by clouds.
Ronan appears beside me. His presence fills the air the way it always does, with quiet gravity, heavy and warm. “You sent them up there knowing they’d be trapped in this?”
“I may have underestimated the weather a tiny bit,” I admit, “But honestly, this is even better. Hopefully one of them is afraid of thunder.”
“Even better,” he repeats flatly.
“Think of it as a trust exercise. Your General and your newest Captain can surely be counted on to keep themselves safe during a storm.”
He closes his eyes for a moment, like he’s calculating whether murder counts as love. “You do realize the bridge below the watchtower floods every spring.”
“Well, yes. Otherwise they may stubbornly decide to travel back in the downpour. This way they have to stay there. Alone together.”
“Eli.”
I’m becoming a bit worried that my name’s going to get worn out by being said quite so frequently and with that level of exasperation.
“They’re werewolves,” I argue. “They can handle a little rain.”
“You’ve trapped them on a ridge in a flash flood.”
I blink at him. “Trapped is such a negative word. And they have the tower to use for shelter.”
“What word would you prefer?”
“Encouraged proximity.”
That earns me the slow, dangerous narrowing of his eyes that says ‘stop talking or I’ll find a creative way to silence you.’
I smile brightly. “Would you like some tea?”
He mutters something that sounds like a prayer for patience.
The rain doesn’t stop. It pours through the night, hammering the roof, turning the world outside into a single sheet of moving silver. Ronan’s at the dining table reviewing reports. I’m perched near the fire pretending not to glance toward the window every five minutes.
I tell myself they’re fine. Hazel’s too stubborn to drown, and Jace could probably build a shelter out of sheer willpower if they weren’t close to the tower.
Still, the thoughts won’t stop circling. What if they’re cold? Or hungry? Or at each other’s throats?
Then I remember the way Jace looks at Hazel when he thinks no one’s watching, and I relax. If they are at each other’s throats, at least it’ll be entertaining.
Ronan glances up from his paperwork. “You’re pacing.”
“I’m reflecting.”
“You’re worrying.”
“Reflecting on worrying.”
He sets down his pen and leans back, studying me. “You usually act like you’re immune to consequence.”
“I am,” I say automatically, then shrug. “Mostly. But I wasn’t expecting this much storm.”
He shakes his head at me, “I can’t believe I’m being forced to reassure you after your laissez-faire attitude earlier. Jace won’t let anything happen to Hazel. If I wasn’t sure of that, I’d have sent someone after them to tell them to turn around.”
I crawl into his lap and kiss him soundly, staying put while he struggles to keep working with me in the way. He doesn’t ask me to get up, so I stay put.
Sometime past midnight, the rain finally eases. The fire’s burned low, and Ronan’s fallen asleep in his chair with his head tipped back. I press a tender kiss to his cheek and he murmurs something in his sleep that sounds suspiciously like my name. I can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face.
Outside, the forest drips quietly, steam rising off the sodden earth. The ridge road will be impassable until morning, maybe longer. Which means Hazel and Jace are still out there. With nothing but body heat and unspeakable tension to keep them alive.
I get up and pour myself a drink, raising it toward the rain-dark window, “To young love and poor decision-making,” I toast quietly.