A ghost of a smile touches my lips. “Yes, Alpha.”
They leave and the medical team resume their checks and balances, poking and prodding until I feel like a porcupine.
“All right, that’s enough,” I snap, pushing away another needle. “Just let me sleep. All of you, out.” I point my finger at Levi. “That includes you.”
He glares at Kier, who’s laying on the bed beside mine. “What about him?”
“Do you have silver poisoning?” I ask Kier, now done with Levi’s theatrics.
He checks his wrists which are mattered scars from the cuffs. “Looks like it.”
“Then you can stay.” I raise my chin, glaring at Levi. “Out, Levi. Now.”
He slinks off, shooting daggers at Kier as he goes.
“That gonna be a problem?” Kier asks when we’re finally alone.
“Not if I can help it.”
He nods. “So, about last night…”
It’s my turn to glare at him.
“Right, got it.” He pretends to zip his lips.
I don’t for a minute believe him.
Chapter
Nineteen
The healing chambers are quiet as the silver light of dawn filters through narrow windows carved into the stone. I’ve been here two days, mostly sleeping as my body purges the last of the silver from my system. Elena warned I’d have a fever, and the terrible chills then heat finally broke sometime in the night, leaving me weak but clearheaded for the first time since our arrival.
I trace the newly healed skin at my wrists, marveling at how quickly my wolf has repaired the damage now that the silver restraints are gone. The constant burn that had become my companion is just a memory, though sometimes I still wake reaching for the collar that’s no longer at my throat.
A soft knock interrupts my thoughts. Before I can answer, the door swings open, revealing my brother’s tall frame.
“Dane,” I say, smiling a welcome. “Come in.”
He steps inside, closing the door quietly behind him. We’re twins, but not identical—where my hair was white-blonde before I shaved it, his is a shade darker, more gold than silver. His eyes are the same pale blue as mine, though set in a face that’s all sharp masculine angles and stubborn determination.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” he says, dropping into the chair beside my bed. He picks up one of the maps I’ve been examining.
I snatch it back, smoothing it out on my lap. “I’ve been resting for two days.”
“And Elena says you need at least five more.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “How are you? Really?”
I consider lying, giving him the standard “I’m fine” that I’ve been offering everyone else. But this is Dane—my twin, my other half. He’d know the lie before it fully left my lips.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like I escaped, and I start to question if all of this is real.”
He reaches for my hand. “You did, though. You’re home.”
“I know.” I squeeze his fingers.
We sit in comfortable silence. Even as children, we never needed many words to understand each other. After our parents’ deaths, that connection had only deepened—grief making us inseparable.
“I thought you were dead,” he says finally, his voice cracking slightly. “When we couldn’t find you, when the days turned to weeks and then months…”
