The corridor is quiet at this hour, most of the pack settled for the night. My bare feet make no sound on the stone as I pad toward his guest room, my heart hammering against my ribs with each step.
When I reach his door, I hear him speaking. I’m about to retreat when his door swings open, revealing Kier dressed in dark clothing and sturdy boots.
He freezes when he sees me, golden eyes widening in surprise. “Lithia.”
“Sorry,” I say quickly, suddenly self-conscious about appearing at his door in sleep clothes. “I didn’t realize you were busy?—”
“I’m not.” He steps aside, gesturing for me to enter. “I’m speaking to myself again. Turns out the hallucinations aren’t so easy to let go.”
I step into his room, closing the door behind me. “Are they getting worse?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Not worse, exactly. Just… persistent. Elena says it’s normal after prolonged isolation and trauma. The mind creates voices to fill the silence, and even when the silence is gone, the pathways remain.”
I lean against the window ledge, watching him. “Are they the same from when you were inside?”
“Mostly. Sometimes it’s Adelaide, sometimes my old pack members. Other times it’s prisoners asking why I left them to die.” He meets my eyes, pain flickering in the golden depths. “And lately, you.”
“Me?”
“A version of you that tells me I’m not good enough for this pack. That I’ll mess this up somehow, hurt you, disappoint everyone.” He shakes his head. “Elena says they’re manifestations of my own fears and guilt, not real external voices. She’s been working with me on grounding techniques, ways to distinguish between what’s real and what’s my damaged psyche trying to protect itself.”
I reach for his hand, threading our fingers together. “How long does she think it will take?”
“Months, maybe longer. Maybe I’ll never get rid of them.Three years of that kind of isolation…” He shrugs. “The brain doesn’t heal quickly. Elena’s been having me practice reality checks—touching something real, naming five things I can see, focusing on physical sensations. I can differentiate what’s real by trying to touch them. If they move, I know they’re false. It helps, but the voices still come.”
“Is that what you were doing when I knocked? Reality checking?”
A rueful smile tugs at his lips. “Adelaide was lecturing me about going out alone tonight. She likes to tell me I make silly decisions when I’m emotional. I was explaining to her that she’s not real and I’m perfectly capable of making my own choices.” He squeezes my hand. “Though she might be right.”
“You survived three years of hell,” I say firmly. “That’s incredible strength.”
“Elena says the same thing.”
“She’s right. Can I help? Is there anything I can do?”
He shakes his head. “You’re already doing it.” He brings our joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles. “Elena’s explained that healing isn’t linear and setbacks are normal. She offered medication, but I want to see if I can manage it with the other strategies we’re building. She also says having real connections and relationships will help, as this was brought on by the trauma of isolation.”
Before I can respond, he clears his throat and changes the subject. “Did you need me for something?”
“Where were you headed?” I ask, noting his outdoor gear.
“Running trail. The kind that requires four legs.” He studies my face in the lamplight. “Couldn’t sleep either?”
“Too wired. Too much energy for tomorrow.”
Understanding passes between us—that electric tension that comes before battle, when your body knows violence is coming and prepares accordingly. We’re both predators, both warriors. We both feel the storm approaching.
“Want company?” The offer slips out before I can second-guess it.
His entire expression shifts, something hungry and hopeful flickering behind his controlled facade. “You sure? I was planning to hit the northern trails. Rough terrain.”
“I know those trails better than anyone,” I counter, lifting my chin. “Question is, can you keep up?”
His grin is sharp as a blade. “Try me.”
Within minutes we’re outside, the crisp night air filling our lungs as we strip down and shift. My wolf emerges with a satisfied growl, stretching muscles too long confined. Beside me, Kier’s wolf is breathtaking—powerful shoulders, intelligent eyes, coat like burnished copper in the moonlight.
Perfect,my wolf purrs, and I can’t disagree.
