KIER
Iwake before dawn, the remnants of a nightmare still clinging to my consciousness like cobwebs. In my dream, I was back in that cell—walls pressing in, silver burning against my skin, accusing eyes watching me from the shadows.
“You left us there to die,”my sister whispers in my mind, her voice as clear as if she were standing beside me.
“You’re not real,” I mutter, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. “You’re a memory. A hallucination.”
“Then why can you hear me?”
Ants squirm under my skin as the walls close in. Desperate for fresh air, I throw off the blankets and shift. The den is quiet at this early hour—most wolves still sleeping, leaving the corridors empty and peaceful. Outside in the crisp mountain air, I inhale my first real breath since waking.
Three years of captivity taught me to value open spaces, to appreciate the stretch of horizons that seem to never end. The Shadowmist territory unfolds before me—towering pines silhouetted against the lightening sky, mountain peaks crowned with early snow, mist curling through valleys like smoke.
It’s beautiful. Perfect, even. The kind of place I might have dreamed about during those endless days of isolation.
But I’m still an outsider here.
My wolf dances from side to side, restless after days of recovery. He doesn’t like being surrounded by so many other wolves whose scents carry pack markers that aren’t ours.
I know. I feel it too.
Every instinct I have screams that I don’t belong—that I should move on before I get too comfortable, before I forget what it means to stand alone.
But there’s Lithia.
Just thinking her name makes my chest tighten. We’d leave but for the white-blonde Beta who saved my sanity in that stone hell, who fought beside me to escape, who shared her body and her fears with me under the stars.
She’s the woman I’m falling for with terrifying speed.
The woman who’s been avoiding me.
I understand why, of course. She’s Beta here—she has responsibilities, pack members who need her, a position to maintain. She can’t afford the luxury of showing weakness or vulnerability, not when her pack is looking to her for leadership.
Doesn’t make it any fucking easier.
My wolf whines in agreement.
With a huff, we pad back to our room and pull-on clothes. I need to stretch my muscles after days of enforced rest. But even I know running through an unfamiliar territory unescorted is a recipe for disaster.
I find my way to the training yard easily enough, grateful for the open space and the chance to work out some of the restlessness that’s been building inside me. I begin with simple exercises—push-ups, pull-ups using a sturdy branch that overhangs one corner of the yard, sprints from one end to the other.
My body responds eagerly, muscles loosening as I pushharder. By the time the sun crests the mountain, I’m drenched in sweat but feeling more centered than I have in days.
“Impressive stamina for someone who spent three years in a cell.”
I turn to find a tall wolf leaning against the fence, watching me with sharp eyes. The Alpha’s presence is unmistakable, a quiet power that fills the space without effort.
Ryker.
“I worked out inside my cell,” I reply, grabbing a towel someone left draped over the fence. “Push-ups, mostly. It was one of the only things to do unless you count antagonizing the guards.”
“Most wolves wouldn’t have survived what you did,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact rather than sympathetic. “Three years in silver restraints? I’m not sure I’d be able to do it.” His gaze drops to the scars around my wrists. “That kind of fortitude takes something special.”
I shrug. “I was too pissed off to die.”
Ryker’s lips quirk into something approaching a smile. He studies me for a moment, then pushes off from the fence. “Want a real workout? I could use a sparring partner.”
The invitation catches me off guard—sparring with the Alpha is no small thing. “You sure? I’m pretty rusty.”
