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“When,” the first voice—Silas—cuts in. “When we find out she’s working with him. Come on, Gav. You heard what Dax said. There’s no other explanation. Dax said⁠—”

The footsteps stop suddenly, right outside the bathroom door.

“I am so fucking sick of hearing what Dax said. Do you think this is my first rodeo, boy?”

He’s irritated. Angry. His voice makes me whimper in fear and I slap a hand over my mouth to stifle the noise. I suddenly really don’t want these men to find me…

“No, sir.”

“Then let me do my job. I’m not a child. I can make up my own mind without falling all over myself because ‘Dax said.’”

My pulse stutters. I force myself to move, crawling further into my bathroom.

I need to move. I need to hide. Need to make myself small and silent just like Mother taught me.

My arms give out.

I slump against the wall, head spinning. Blackness bleeds into the edges of my vision and a tear falls silently down my cheek before once again, everything goes dark.

My thoughts are disjointed when I regain consciousness.

They flit in and out like butterflies, never landing anywhere long enough to get a good look. I peel my eyes open and beams of light blur around me. Is it moonlight? The ceiling?

My body tilts, falling backwards. I barely catch myself, landing on my elbows. A gasp wheezes from my lungs.

The beams of light stop on the ceiling. Then it moves to the floor. It moves again, landing on the open door. It flickers wildly, hitting the walls, the ceiling, the floor, then zipping away like a wounded bird.

A flashlight. Someone has a flashlight.

“Found her!” An oddly familiar masculine voice cuts through the ringing in my ears, making me wince.

“Fates above, that smell. She’s like twelve seconds from going into heat.”

Heat? No, I’m not going into heat. My suppressants…

My suppressants must have worn off. That’s why I could smell myself.

As though my own body’s decided to taunt me, the warm scent of honey and vanilla wafts through the air.

The scent is off, though, fear and pain making it burnt and bitter around the edges.

“Please,” I croak, limply raising my hand to block the bright light aimed in my face.

I have to tell them. Have to get someone to help⁠—

“Easy,” the deep voice murmurs. It’s careful, but not kind. Not exactly cruel, though, either. “She’s in here. I think she’s hurt.”

The other male’s reply is dismissive and cruel. “Yeah? Oh well. So is Caelan.”

“Caelan.” His name falls from my lips in an exhale full of longing. I wonder if I actually spoke, or if the sound was only in my head.

“Don’t you worry about Caelan, sweetheart.” The endearment should be kind, but the voice is cruel. I frown, blinking up at the stranger.

Green eyes, a long Mohawk, tattoos running down his neck and disappearing under his shirt. The light is too bright, though, and I can’t see more than a flash before I have to shut my eyes again.

I push through the fog, struggling to remember what I need to tell them.

“I did…”