When she came out of her first spelled-heat, she claimed the pain was bearable and thanked me for not touching her.
A lie, I'm sure, but I was too relieved to call her on it.
But it's draining her. I don't know what it's doing to her long-term. Maybe nothing. But her scent is changing. My wolf can sense it. She's still a delta…
Yet, not…
Neither of us has the luxury of energy to dwell on it, and while I'm sure she knows something about her is changing, she hasn't asked me about it either.
Not sure what the fuck I'd tell her.
I tilt an ear toward the main floor, above the prison cell. "I'm sure. It's the only time they'll separate."
"So close to the full moon, though. They're at their most powerful—"
"We'll disrupt them before they circle. Trust me. I've been listening to their coven gather at the moon for years. The lower witches prepare the circle. Pierre supervises. Deidre waits in her room until the moon is highest in the sky. Pierre comes in to get her. That's when we strike."
"You really think I'm strong enough to fight Deidre?" Lily asks shakily. Her eyes are wide and dark, and for a moment, she looks like a child, doll-like in her fragility.
No, she's not strong enough. She doesn't have to be, though. "You aren't fighting her. You're cutting off her necklace, taking back my blood. That's your only job. I'll kill Pierre when he comes inside to get Deidre, while you sneak into her room andget my blood. After that, I'll kill her myself. You can do this. You only need to distract her long enough for me to catch up to you."
No one ever would have asked me to give a pep talk, and I find myself lacking. Still, I'm all Lily has, so I try to smile, though I'm sure it looks more like a grimace.
The plan is haphazard at best, with a million variables. But it's what we have.
It's more than I've had in years.
Lily nods, tucking her knees under her chin, hugging her legs close.
"How did you do this for so long?" she asks. Her haunted eyes look at me, then around the cell. I imagine she thinks she'd never last five years. Maybe she wouldn't. But Lily's shown a kind of strength I hadn't seen in some of the other stolen shifters these witches have brought here before. Many of them broke long before Deidre was done with them, before their bodies went cold.
I don't have an answer that would make sense.
Do I tell her some years were easier? The chains felt lighter when I stopped fighting? How do I even admit to Lily—to anyone, because a fucking reckoning will come—that there was ever a time I stopped fighting?
There were days in the beginning when I couldn't tell where Deidre's commands ended and my will began.
Even though I was blood-soaked, dragged back here after every task, every mission, they still stripped me of everything but my shame, and eventually, I got so used to it that the emptiness inside me became cold and calcified. I just adapted. Numbed myself.
I got used to it. Moon Goddess fucking help me, I got used to it.
There was warm food, full meals. A roof and a bed.
How do you admit that the worst parts weren't that bad because I got food and a bed?
It was that scent that destroyed the careful alliance with my sanity.
Jasmine. Dogwood flowers. So sweet. Almost too sweet. Summery heat, like the wind picked up and carried the flowers through the breeze. Succulent, too. Honeycomb dripping nectar, rich and ripe, ready to be cut open and feasted upon.
The scent dragged me toward a dingy party, and I followed, like a cartoon pup stealing pie from a windowsill. And there she was. Glowing. Like a goddess. Fiery red hair, pink lips. Tiredness in her eyes.
The faintest hint of an omega scent, stuck beneath her skin, pulsing, like it needed—begged—to be let out.
I was living in gray-scale.
And then there was color.
And that's when it all started to hurt again. That's when the emptiness, which I'd so carefully crafted, began to fill with wants and needs. Emotions and desires, plans. My heart fucking beat again. A dull thud, at first.
