“I was supposed to protect my Alpha Female. She was taken because I failed to see the threat.”
“Which was?”
“Zella. A fellow wolf.”
I wince. “Pack or friend?”
“Both.” Her voice hardens. “For five years she was in our pack. For five years I trusted her. I never saw what she really was.”
“Sounds like she was good at hiding her true self.”
“No, it’s because I was arrogant. I thought I could read people. I assumed my instincts were foolproof.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “Turns out I’m about as perceptive as a rock.”
“So you’re blaming yourself for not being psychic?”
“I’m blaming myself for failing in my duty. Kitara, the Alpha Female, trusted me to protect her. My Alpha, Ryker, trusted me. I couldn’t protect her from the person sitting at our own dinner table.”
The pain in her voice is raw, deep.
“Where is she now? Your Alpha Female?”
“I don’t know.” The admission seems to physically hurther. “They caught her. We were together for a little while then they separated us. For all I know, she’s dead.”
“But you don’t think she is.”
Her voice lifts slightly, surprised. “What makes you say that?”
“Because if you thought she was dead, you would have given up by now. You’re fighting to get back to her, which means you believe she’s still alive.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “You’re right. I can’t feel her through our pack bonds—the silver disrupts that—but something inside me says she’s still breathing.”
“Why?”
Lithia’s silent so long I assume she’s not going to tell me. It’s a surprise when she finally speaks.
“Kitara is a seer.”
I close my eyes. “Which is why they want her here.”
“Yeah.”
I pull my arm out of the hole, shaking it out as I rotate to slip my other through. There’s an ache in my shoulders and neck, but I’m so desperate for more of her touch that I’d rather die than not have my hand out and ready for when she next wants to touch me.
“Then hold on to what you know. They crave seers. Kitara is useful to them. Whatever instincts you think failed you before, they’re telling you she’s alive now.”
“What if I’m wrong?”
“What if you’re right?”
I jump when her thumb absently strokes along my knuckles.
“How do you do it?” she asks suddenly.
“Do what?”
“Stay sane. You’ve been here three years, Kier. Three years of this hell, and you’re still fighting. How?”
The question cuts deeper than any torture they’ve put me through. Because the truth is, I haven’t been sane. Not really.The voices, the hallucinations, the conversations with dead people—I’ve been teetering between madness and sanity for longer than I know.
