Thirteen
Ireturn to the cabin, shaken but resolved. There’s no mates for me. No one I want enough to hold tight.
Once this adventure is over, I’ll let Kier go. I have to.
“We’ll leave the day after tomorrow,” I announce, watching Kier’s back as he stokes the fire.
He turns, studying me with that unnerving intensity I’ve come to know over our days in the cabin. “You sure? Your side?—”
“Is healing,” I say firmly, cutting him off. I lift my shirt to show him the wound. The angry red gash has faded to a thin pink line, the bruising around it more yellow than purple now. “I’m not saying it’s perfect, but it’s good enough.”
Kier rises from his crouch by the hearth, wiping his hands on his makeshift pants. He’d found some of the outfits left by the cabin’s owner and refashioned them into something cleaner than the filthy prison clothes we escaped in. The result is ridiculous—a patchwork of faded floral fabric that somehow still manages to look good on him.
Turns out our cabin’s owner isless hunter and more hippy.
“It’s not just about the wound,” he says, approaching to examine my side. “The silver?—”
“Is still a problem, yes.” I gesture at the cuffs we still haven’t managed to remove. “But it’s a problem whether we’re here or on the move.”
The silver has been our constant companion, the cuffs impossible to break. Despite searching the cabin thoroughly and even venturing into the surrounding forest, Kier hasn’t found anything strong enough to break them. They continue to burn against our skin, a constant reminder of our captivity, slowing our healing and keeping our wolves subdued.
“I’m as healed as I can get out here,” I continue, pulling my shirt back down. “Zella will have search parties combing every inch of these mountains. We’ve been lucky so far, but luck always runs out.”
Kier nods reluctantly. “What are you thinking?”
I move to the old map we’ve pinned to the cabin wall, dragging my finger southward. “Shadowmist territory is still at least another three hundred miles from here in a straight line.” I tap the mountains marked on the map. “It’s also rough terrain and we can’t shift. Which means even if we push hard, that’s at least a three to four weeks’ journey on foot.”
“And that’s if we’re fully healed and don’t run into bad weather or trouble,” he adds grimly.
“Exactly.” I run a hand through my hair, now clean thanks to the cabin’s rusty but functional pump. “We need to get moving. Find a town, maybe. Steal a vehicle if we have to.”
Kier raises an eyebrow, amusement quirking his lips. “You’re suggesting grand theft auto, Beta? What would your Alpha think?”
I snort. “Ryker would probably ask why we didn’t steal something faster.”
He laughs, a sound I’ve come to treasure for its rarity. In the days since our escape, Kier has slowly emerged from theshell that three years of imprisonment created. The hallucinations have faded, the moments of confusion grown less frequent. But there’s still a guardedness to him, a careful distance he maintains even in our close quarters.
Except at night. At night, when the temperature drops and we huddle together on the narrow bed for warmth, that distance collapses. He curls around me protectively, his arm draped over my waist, his breath warm against my neck. I tell myself it’s practical—survival, nothing more—but my wolf knows better.
Ours, she insists each time, and I push the thought away.
I can’t afford attachments. Especially not now, when my failure still burns fresh.
Kitara.
I push down the grief that threatens to envelop me. If Kitara’s gone, then Ryker won’t be far behind. True mates are bound together. Where one goes, the other must follow, and if our Alpha Female is dead, then our Alpha will turn feral searching for her.
A feral that will see him stuck in wolf form for the rest of his days, his mind as fractured as his heart.
Just get home. Then you can deal with all the what ifs.
Kier moves to our small pile of supplies, interrupting my thoughts. “We’ll need food, water containers, clothing, and better bedding than this.” He holds up the threadbare blanket we’ve been sharing. “Not to mention weapons.”
“I’ve been thinking about that.” I join him, rifling through the supplies. “We should check the shed out back again. There must be something we missed.”
“I’ve been through it three times, Lithia. Just some old fishing gear and rotted wood.”
“Then we’ll make do.” I pick up the knife, testing its weight. “Do you want the gun or the knife?”
