“Hey, console yourself. You’ve got my company for a little while.”
“Lucky me.”
“I’m not that bad. I’m practically the prison’s den mother at this point. Shall I give you the tour? It involves cookies—sorry, I mean torture. Definitely torture.”
Despite everything, I find myself almost smiling. “What do you call this place?”
“Prison. Why, what would you call it?”
“Hell?”
“Also works.”
We fall into a more comfortable silence after that.
“Are you still trying to escape?” I ask after a while.
His reply takes a long time to come. “Every day.”
I close my eyes. “Me too.”
Chapter
Three
KIER
The voices had started sometime in the second year, when the isolation finally eroded my sanity.
At first, it had been my own voice echoing back at me, fragments of conversations with people who were long gone. My mind’s desperate attempt to fill the crushing silence that had become my entire world. Then other voices joined in. The bear seer I’d failed to save, whispering accusations that grew louder each time she came to me. My long-dead pack members, reminding me why I’d chosen the nomad life in the first place. Conversations with wolves I’d known decades ago, arguments I’d had, words I wished I’d said.
And now there was a new one. Female, sharp-tongued, with a voice like broken glass that somehow still managed to sound beautiful. She’s fast become my favorite.
“A redhead,” I decide. “With big breasts and shapely hips.”
“Are you talking to yourself again? Cause it’s starting to get old.”
I laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls of the cell. “Hush. I’m just trying to imagine what you look like, imaginary friend.”
“Imaginary friend?”
The voice sounds confused now, which is new. Usually my hallucinations are more predictable. They say what I expect them to say, accuse me of the things I already know I’ve fucked up. Rarely do they ask questions and prompt laughter.
It’s clear to see why she’s the favorite.
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. You’re just my brain trying to keep me from losing what’s left of my mind.” I shift on the stone floor, my body protesting. Another day, another beating
“I’m not a voice in your head,” she growls.
“Sure you’re not,” I grin into the darkness. “You’re my next fantasy. Fancy coming into this cell so I can imagine us?—”
“Don’t eventhinkabout finishing that sentence.”
I chuckle. “So you’re not a redhead and well endowed?”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
I close my eyes, leaning against the stone. “Let’s see. Are you a brunette, slim and sensual? Or perhaps you’re a blonde with a wealth of curly hair. Or maybe?—”
