Mate.
Three fucking years. Three years of talking to ghosts, of begging for death, of existing in a hell where hope is another form of torture. Three years of believing I was destined to die alone and forgotten in this concrete tomb. And now…
I lean my head back, exhaling slowly. “You’re sure?”
Yes.My wolf presses against me from within, his intention clear.She is ours. We will not die in this place.
His affirmation changes everything. The walls of this cell are no longer my tomb—they’re just an obstacle between me and my future.
Our future.
“No. We won’t.”
Not now. Not while she breathes. Not while she’s close enough to touch.
My palm spreads wider against the stone, as if I could somehow reach through it to touch her. Everything has changed.
We’ve found her. Our mate.
Gods help anyone who tries to take her from me.
Chapter
Four
The slamming of a door jolts me from a restless sleep. I tense, listening to multiple sets of boots shuffle down the stone corridor. They stop outside my cell.
Damn.
This is it. My first real interrogation.
My mouth is cotton-dry, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. When did I last have water? Yesterday? The day before? Time blurs in this windowless hell. My stomach clenches with a hunger so sharp it’s become a constant companion, gnawing at my insides like a living thing.
“They’re coming for you,” Kier whisper-hisses through the hole. There’s something different in his voice—an urgency with a hint of panic that makes my skin prickle with unease.
“I know,” I mutter, dragging myself into a seat.
“Don’t be a hero. Give them your name if they ask, maybe your rank.”
Let them come,I think, settling my shoulders back. Let them do their worst. They have no idea what they’re dealing with.
My heart hammers against my ribs, adrenaline flooding my system as footsteps approach my door. Fear tries to clawits way up my throat, but I swallow it down, transforming it into something sharper, more useful.
You want to play? Let’s fucking play.
I force myself to sit up straighter, ignoring the way my vision wavers from the movement. My body trembles—not from fear, but from the effort of holding myself together when every muscle screams for rest, for food, for relief from the silver’s constant burn.
Control,I remind myself, taking a slow, deliberate breath.Always control.
But beneath the surface, rage builds like a pressure cooker. White-hot fury at Zella’s betrayal, at my own failure to see it coming, at these bastards who think they can break me. The anger is good—it’s fuel, something to burn when the pain gets too much to bear.
I flex my fingers, testing the mobility in my hands despite the silver cuffs. My wolf stirs weakly, adding her snarl to mine. We might be trapped, poisoned, starving—but we’re Shadowmist. We don’t break.
“The important thing is to remember who you are,” Kier tells me. “You are Shadowmist. You are Lithia. When they try to convince you otherwise, hold true to that.”
“What do you?—?”
The slot in my door scrapes open with a metallic shriek, cutting off my question. “Morning, sunshine.”
