Her knees didn’t knock as she walked calmly back through the house, past her father’s lab, to hide it in her bedroom.
She didn’t wonder what would happen after they escaped as she sorted through her meager belongings and carefully stowed them in a carpet bag. It went safely into her steam trunk beneath her bed.
Her courage did not fail her when she waited until Harrod and her father had gone to the sitting room for a night cap. Over the years on the homestead, they had gotten lax with locking her in at night. The likelihood was that they would not remember to do so until one of them went to bed.
Knowing they would not bother with Otto’s chains until the second day of stage two, she slipped the twin keys to his collar and shackles off of their ring and into her skirt pocket.
When she laid in bed, listening to the sound of her father shuffling to her door, tipsy and muttering, to slide the bolt into place, she thought,I’m coming, my mate.
ChapterTwenty-Three
The next morning,Josephine was surprised to find herself still simmering with the quiet, calm rage. She half expected a return of the meek creature she was before, heralded by the cold realities of a new day, but it did not return.
Fury and determination carried her through the motions of preparing Otto’s food, folding her blankets, and sipping from the cup that he would drink from — the first step of stage two.
Ridiculous,she thought. It was no wonder the benefactors were upset with her father when he wasted time on hisWyeth Protocols,knowing full-well they would never work.
Not that Josephine wanted them to, but now she saw her life with new eyes. She saw her father’s arrogance, his single-minded determination to do things his way, no matter how foolish or cruel those things were. She saw Harrod’s doglike devotion to her father, too, and was disgusted by them both.
Her new state of mind was a revelation. It was as if she had been seeing the world through a fog of terror, and now that she could see clearly, she did not feel small, nor weak.
When her mother turned her nose up at Josephine over a late breakfast, she felt nothing for the woman. No hate, no regret, no longing. All she saw was a miserable woman who did not know how to love anyone but herself. It would be as much a relief to be rid of her as it would be to throw out shoes that were slightly too tight.
When Harrod escorted her to the barn, her arms laden with her delivery, she didn’t listen to a word he said. She stared straight ahead as he went on in his cold voice about how he was certain they would be bonded, despite her father’s clear reluctance, and what he expected from her moving forward.
He demanded she be obedient. He would have her loyalty above all others, even her father. He would put a child in her as quickly as possible, for efficiency’s sake, and she would do well to make that process as easy as possible, lest she spark his temper. He would require she tend to him often, and speak as little as possible.
He declared it as if the matter was decided. They would be bonded. He would tie his magic to her and he would consider marrying her if she pleased him well.
With every word, Josephine’s rage expanded in her chest like a great Parisian balloon. If he continued, she wondered in a detached sort of way if she might simply float up into the sky, buoyed by the hot air of her fury.
You will not have me in your bed,she thought as they approached Otto’s cell door.Because very soon you will be dead.
For all that he’d done to her. For all that he’d done to Rasmus and every subject who came before and after. Most of all, it would be because he’d threatened her mate and children.
Harrod would never leave Meadow Creek again. She would make sure of it.
She kept her jaw firmly clenched and her fingers tucked into fists beneath the blankets, hiding what would have terrified her only a few days ago — her fangs, fully extended, and her claws, which previously only ever showed themselves during the full moon.
If he continued to speak, she feared that the burning in her muscles would coalesce into a full transformation.
Her father had puzzled over her inability to change unless the moon was full. His other subjects transformed into their monstrous forms often. Even the slightest hint of aggression might see their bones extending, their faces stretching, the part of them that was human buried under the animal rage.
Never, even under carefully administered torture, had she shown the slightest transformation.
Until now.
The beast hadn’t found its claws until her mate and her children, yet unborn, were threatened.
Nothing would happen to them. She would not allow it.
Otto said she had power. That submissives were some of the fiercest beings alive when provoked.“A pack’s submissives are the last line of defense,”he’d explained in his patient, accented timbre.“They are responsible for protecting the young. Tell me, kone, if submissives were truly as weak as you think, would we leave them to guard the cubs? Our elders? No. Once roused, a submissive is the most dangerous creature in the world.”
She doubted him before. No more.
Josephine watched Harrod carefully as he traced the sigil on the metal door. A flare of magic, hot and carrying the tang of blood, filled the air. That sigil was all that stood between her mate and freedom. There wasn’t even a proper lock.
Was it possible that Otto was right about this, too? If she traced the sigil, would it work? She found it hard to believe. If one had magic running through their veins, she thought they ought to feel it. Certainly her father’s tests had never revealed anything.
