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Marin can feel her here in the school, so close. It’s been years since they’ve even been in the same room, but some connections never fade, and this one burns as readily in her heart as it ever did. Still, they aren’t alone, and Deucalion is as easy to sense as Braeden is. It isn’t until the connection starts to fade, lifeforce spilling out over tile floor, that Marin can’t help but make her move.
She finds her in the locker room, choking on her own blood. It seems like she’s still smiling anyway.
"Why did you come back?" she asks, even though she knows. Even though she gave Braeden’s number to Alan, told him that there was no one she trusted better. She did this. It may have been a wolf’s claws that slashed through that perfect throat, but if Braeden dies the blood will be on her hands.
She presses her hands against the wound, dripping with oil she smeared on them in the privacy of her office. It takes power, this sort of work. Takes something to channel her own life through, to pull from the land around them. She can feel it working through her fingers, knitting together blood vessels, torn tissue, muscle and skin. It won’t be pretty. She doesn’t have that ability anymore, not after going this long without access to her Alpha, but she thinks maybe Braeden won’t mind. Scars are common in their line of business.
"You don’t have to," Braeden whispers, as soon as her throat’s healed enough to do so. "Leave it."
"As if I’m likely to do that," Marin spits, pressing harder on the wound, hoping to keep her quiet. Braeden squeaks, like she knows what’s happening and she’ll protest, even if it takes the last of her breath. "Don’t. Please don’t."
She watches as the skin closes, puffing up into large, jagged scars marring the beautiful length of Braeden’s throat. Her hands shake as she steadies herself, bloodied and oily. Alan will know. He’ll feel it in the earth, and when he does, she needs to be far away from here. Braeden needs to be far away from here.
"I…" Braeden stops, clears her throat. Even through her exhaustion, her eyes shine in that familiar way that makes Marin’s stomach swoop, reminds her of what might have been. "Thanks. I mean it. I know that was… not something you do anymore."
"Apparently it is," Marin says, slumping down next to her against the lockers. Her knees are weak with something more than just the drain of pulling power from the earth.
"Hey," Braeden says, voice gentle. "Hey, Mar, look at me. You saved my life."
"I endangered your life to begin with," Marin sighs. She almost runs her hands through her hair, but stops, remembering the blood and the dittany.
"You asked for my help. I’m the one who endangered my life. You’re not responsible for me." Braeden sticks her chin out, breathing slow and steady. It has to hurt, still. The healing process is fast, but it’s messy, and it still hurts. Brae’s never been one to back down from pain, though. "I would come any time you called. You have to know that. Even now."
She knew it was coming.
"That’s not fair." The words come bubbling up before she even recognizes they are going to, and Braeden’s hand on hers is warm, tight.
"It doesn’t matter that we…" she trails off. "I know you miss her. That you’ll always miss her. That’s okay. I’ll still come when you call."
"You can’t promise me that," Marin argues, but she doesn’t let go of Braeden’s hand. "You can’t - you can’t make promises to me."
"She’d be here if she could be." It’s a cold comfort here, with blood on their hands, but it is a comfort. And she’s right. If Laura could be here, she would be, and everything would be…
Different.
"We can’t stay here," Marin says, pushing herself to her feet. "You can’t stay here if you’re going to live, and I can’t stay if I’m going to escape Alan’s vague lecture of eternal disappointment."
"So basically if either of us wants to live, we have to run." Braeden cracks a smile, and despite the blood on her shirt and the pain in her face, it looks the same as it always has.
Maybe she just always has blood on her shirt, pain on her face. Maybe Marin tries not to notice.
"I won’t be able to stay with," Marin tells her, steeling herself for the disappointment she’s sure she’ll find in Braeden’s eyes.
"Maybe I can stay with you then." Braeden shrugs. "I hear you need a hand with the wolves around here from time to time. You know how well I handle wildlife."
Marin lets herself picture it as it might have been: Laura standing tall over the preserve, Marin at her side, twined together like the roots of a tree and the soil that feeds it, with a pack at their backs that has power, has potential, has room for someone like Braeden in it, even with all their history. She lets the image wash over her like the serenity she found in Laura’s eyes, in her hands.
It’s not a thing that could ever come to pass now, and that makes her heart stutter in her chest, the way it always does when she thinks about Laura and what might have been, what they might have wrought here together. Still, the best way out is through, and maybe there’s another way. Not a better way, just… different.
"There’s a man," she says. She holds out her hand for Braeden, helps her to shaking legs. "Laura’s brother. I have a feeling he’ll need someone like you, sooner rather than later."
"I’ll be around," Braeden nods, brushing herself off. "I have a feeling you need someone like me right now, though."
Marin shrugs, turns toward the door. She can’t help the way her fingers ache for Braeden’s again, but she holds steady, never offering more than she can give. “You might be right.”