Deacon is a brute of the highest order who probably got his training in Juan’s school of charm for asshats. He
half drags me and half lets me walk on my own feeble legs down the hallway to an elevator. Only stopping to bark orders at another guard sat at a desk nearby before shoving me inside and taking me down to a level with an aircraft hangar air. The doors slide open to reveal an ample, empty space in semi-darkness, with concrete floors and strip lighting on the ceiling, which stands a good twenty feet above us. The area is vast, and there are three trucks parked at the far end on what looks like a platform, which I’m assuming raises up. It’s dull, definitely many degrees colder, and seems like a part no one frequents all too often.
As we walk, the lights flick on automatically over our heads, and I note in the middle of the wall on the left, a low glow is already illuminating from what seems to be an open alcove. From this angle, I don’t see what it is until we walk level with it and turn right, my head snapping to turn back, even while being dragged away from it, so we head in its exact opposite direction, where I catch a glimpse of what it is.
A room behind an entire glass wall stretching its width for ample viewing that looks like, at one point, was a sectioned area for parking and has been repurposed. Tire grids are running up to the window, but the inside room has smooth concrete floors as though they have been resurfaced. It houses a bed in the center, surrounded by machines, carts, and equipment, all making flashes, low beeps, and hums, keeping the solitary figure within the bed silent.
A motionless brunette woman, hard from this angle to tell if it’s Sierra, lies out like sleeping beauty, amid wires and tubes, under a single dull spotlight hanging directly over the bed. She’s so still, pale, and lifeless, tightening my stomach in knots, choking me with emotion. It’s almost like an art piece of a priceless mummy in a museum.
She’s in full view of this entire area in her glass box, yet completely unmanned and with no caregiver monitoring her, which speaks volumes. I guess all the monitors and machines are doing the job of people, and it breaks my heart to see her so alone, even if she isn’t aware of it. Colton would die if he saw how she’s being kept, with no human contact, no care or interaction ... just machines and isolation, in a goddamn basement. My heart aches for her, for him, and I’m glad he doesn’t know this is what Juan has done to his mom.
Deacon gets annoyed with my straining backward to stare and jerks my arm cruelly, snapping my face back around, and I give him a hateful scowl, scared of him less and less the more I’m in his company. He’s a typical Santo bully and not unlike a lot of the pack was my whole life. Pushing people like me around to exert his dominance in the hierarchy. He’s a dumb jock type with a bad attitude and the need for a dart gun to take down a running femme. He would last ten seconds out there if he made me mad enough to throw air at him, as stupid as that may sound. Loser.
I focus back on where we are heading, and I can see my room mirrors hers, and I’m about to join the glass casket crew. I’m guessing it’s the backup room should they need to move her to do whatever, or maybe in case something happens in there and she needs moving over here. God knows, but it’s almost identical, and I wonder if there was ever a second person like Sierra here. Or maybe Juan has plans to add one—me.
Mine is not full of tubes and machines, but it houses a single hospital bed in the center, which appears to be bolted down, and a wall of units and cupboards behind it. One corner holds a very public portable toilet that the other room lacks, and I don’t struggle when Mr. Security pulls me level with the transparent wall. There’s no privacy or places to hide with its matching glass barrier, and as we stand here, I see the almost invisible outline of a singular door within its vast transparency.
“Is this so you can watch all day and night without opening the door? Getting your freak on and watching defenseless women!” I snark at Deacon, who has avoided saying anything more to me since we left the doc in our wake. The only words he uttered were at the guard outside the door when he informed him my three meals a day were to be added to the rota and reported to the cook until further notice. Another Santo-looking douchebag upstairs who glared at me like I was something disgusting he found stuck to his shoe.
He glares at me with that sardonic asshole expression, scans a swipe card against a panel on the wall to our right, and pushes me inside aggressively when the door slides open. It’s a bit sci-fi tech, and I refuse to react in any other way than hostile bitch. I almost trip over my own feet and slap my hand on the wall to steady myself before turning my head with a half turn to snarl at him, wishing I could turn because that boy’s throat would be in need of repair given half a chance.
I have so much aggression inside me that I can’t contain the sudden hatred for him. I can almost taste his blood and feel his pulse beating out of his jugular as I focus on what I could do, given half the chance. I spin back to him, my robe flapping around, so he probably gets an eyeful of naked ass as I do and throw the angriest, most vicious sneer I can muster right at his smug face.
“I’m so glad I got to shoot you at least once. God, it made me hard to see you go down like a sack of shit.” He smirks as the door slides shut, and the urge to punch him in the throat overwhelms me to the point I jump angrily at the door as it slides between us. I end up palm-slapping it level with his face, panting heavily as fire consumes me.
“You were clearly too slow to catch me then if you needed a gun, you moron. Probably the only time you’ve ever been tougher than a girl or got a hard-on over one!” I stick my middle finger up at him and return the smirk he’s dishing me as he turns on his heel to go, face grim with a darkening mood. I can tell I pissed him off on every level, but he’s trying to act like I didn’t.
“Enjoy your cell ... Carmen!” He snorts, using the name I gave him, and I throw sass right back.
“You know, you should remember that name. A mountain wolf with no standards and loose panties … right up your street. You and she would be perfect for each other if you were ever allowed to leave. You might get laid for the first time in your life. She’s a prize bitch which matches your prize assholeness!!” I yell it after him. Temper unleashed a little and furious for the sake of being furious. Annoyed to find myself banged up in this hellhole and under the care of a sanctimonious Santo like him.
Colton would rip his head off if he were here. God, if I could link him right now, I so would. Just to see him roll on up and tear Deacon a new one. He would beat seven shades of shit out of him without even needing to turn wolf. That’s the difference between an asshole looking to be Alpha and one who is naturally born that way. Colton never needed to push me around to exert his dominance; you could feel it whenever you were around him. He was gentler than most wolves once you got close to him, but you knew he could turn savage and destroy anything in his wake if he needed to, like vampires in a courtyard.
Deacon blanks me completely, waves a dismissive hand at me
like he has the last word, and leaves. Stalking back the way we came, like an arrogant shithead who needs to go choke.
I honestly cannot stand that guy, and if I could turn, God, he would be first on my hit list to air punch across the room. I have enough rage bubbling through my veins to ignite it, but unfortunately, no actual ability in this weird futuristic building. All I need is a tiny bit to link Colton, tell him where his mom is, and bust everyone’s ass in here. I have enough rage that I think I could, maybe. I wish I’d been bright enough to find and use that gift when they chased me through the damn forest. I only have myself to blame for not being able to harness my given talent.
As soon as I watch him storm off into the elevator and completely disappear, I turn my attention back to the room across the floor from me and focus on that lifeless, sleeping body. She’s twenty feet away at the least, maybe more, but these glass walls, although thick, don’t keep the sound out. The low beep, beep, and swish of her life support machine are humming and repeating subtly in the air now that the asshole has gone, and the place is almost silent once more. I lean forward until my palms touch the glass, only this time softly, and press my forehead to it so I can steady my still, pretty weak self and stare at the side profile of the figure laid out over there. Instantly enveloped in a feeling of hopelessness as I watch her lifeless form.
She’s been down here like this for God knows how many years. I can’t believe Juan would do this to his mate. It’s like he just put her aside and forgot about her, and the only reason she’s still alive is that their link would kill him if he let her die. So, this is what he does—breaking the bond and rules of being mated. He’s not protecting her or caring for her in sickness and health. He isn’t allowing the pack to nurture their Luna the way they’re supposed to. He’s ashamed and hiding her in a place no one knows about. There’s no dignity in what they’ve done to her, and the doc slipped up and made it clear there’s nothing wrong with her mind. Juan obviously has other reasons for keeping her down here if madness is not it, and I will her to give me some sign that she knows I’m here.
“Hey! Luna Sierra, can you hear me?” I yell as loud as I can, hurting my throat in the process with scratchy rawness. It doesn’t elicit any response, not even a change in heart rate on one of her many machines. I observe, listen to the sounds, but there’s nothing. “Can you hear me?” I try again, not as loud, but my throat aches with the effort, and I cough dryly, quickly giving up on that method.
I sigh, sliding down the glass and watching her desperately, trying to figure out how someone in a building that blocks gifts, in an induced coma, could somehow reach out to me and guide me to her with the weird dreams and urges to come east. It doesn’t make sense now that I see her and know she can’t call to me. She doesn’t seem like she can do much of anything except breathing independently as she doesn’t have a ventilator. She didn’t urge me here. There’s simply no way in hell it could have been her. She’s all but a vegetable down here.
The only answer I can think of is maybe the Fates did this instead, and it wasn’t her at all, but I guess I’m not about to find out. If I thought she had answers, it’s pretty clear she won’t be giving me them, and this is a dead end. The Fates delivered me back to Juan for absolutely nothing. And when he gets here, knowing I found this place and saw her like this, he isn’t going to let me get anywhere near Colton ever again.
Everything in here is bolted down, probably because they don’t want prisoners throwing things at the window, and I am not about to kill myself by hurtling my body through it to see if it breaks. I hate being stuck in human form and completely powerless to even get out of this dumb glass. Without being able to turn, I would probably bleed to death. Be that unlucky girl who brought down a shard over my neck or something and still be stuck here. A shriveled, empty corpse to stink the place up.
That jerk didn’t even let me eat, as he said, and my stomach growls at the lack of having food since God knows when. I don’t even know what time it is, morning or night, or how long I was sedated in that room, considering there are no windows underground. I last ate the day before sleeping in that damn tree, where all my possessions are, and I’m starving. It’s no wonder I feel weak and shaky. I’m running on empty.
It’s weird, but maybe it’s my years of being bossed around, held captive in a less than caring home, and treated like a reject at the hands of my so-called pack, but I’m not even afraid anymore. Being here held captive, I know that the worst will come with Juan, but even then, what’s he going to do to me? He can’t kill me or inflict too much pain because his son will bear the brunt, and lord knows his legacy is always at the center of everything. I guess he could do what he’s done to Sierra, but it’s not like she seems aware of anything, and maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing—no longer tied to Colton, carrying this burden of heartache while he lives his life with that ‘skanky puta.’ Maybe a long sleep would be better than being stuck in a glass box for a lifetime.
I abandon the glass and walk across the cold concrete floor on shaking legs. I need to lie down and finally get rid of the rest of this drug in my blood, so I can at least walk around normally and not feel like I’m on newborn legs. Maybe I’ll feel better if I take some time to let it work out and sleep off the rest of it. My body is shaking internally, and I keep having minor bouts of dizziness that remind me I’m in no state to take on the likes of Deacon if I ever get a chance. Before I leave this place, my first goal is to knee him in the balls for shooting me in the back like a coward.
I don’t get to the bed before the noise of the elevator whooshing open sways this way, and I stiffen instantly, expecting Deacon to come back and grace me with his toxic personality. I mentally try to figure out the likelihood of being able to kick him between the legs for the sake of it. I climb on the bed, turn around and sit with my legs dangling off the edge in readiness to give him more attitude and lure him inside to my perfect level of height. I hear footsteps and the squeaking of wheels rolling across the hard floor, coming my way.
It’s not Deacon. It’s the doc and a female in a white lab coat. I frown as he appears in front of the glass door, pulling the food cart and carrying a bag in his other hand, while she pushes another behind him. He waves at me before accessing the door and slides it open with a smile.
“My dear, we never fed you, and I couldn’t let you go hungry down here in this bleak nightmare of a place. I brought you some clothes. They’re nothing fancy, just the smallest size from the supply closet that I could find and a fetching shade of military gray.” He pushes the trolley inside, the sudden smell of food filling the air, and my mouth waters with the reminder I’m near famished. He drops the bag just inside the door but hesitates about coming in, and I sit here waiting patiently. His female companion stays back, arranging some medical implements on a tray on top of her trolley, and avoids looking my way completely. She’s young, maybe early twenties, and seems a very small-town white girl, medical student, and human. Blonde and blue-eyed, so definitely not a Santo.
“Thank you.” It’s a genuine response because this gown is not exactly great at hiding things or offering comfort, and maybe eating will help straighten me out a little. In human form, I’m suffering from the effects of not eating and probably have low blood sugar to boot. The female seems interested in me but keeps her distance, and it’s easy to tell that my kind makes her nervous. She pushes the trolley near to him, then turns and walks away without a word.
“It’s nothing too adventurous, just a chicken salad and bread. The cook is normally quite wonderful with our hot food, but you were an in-between-meals visitor. It won’t be long before lunch is served, and it’ll be something hot as always. I believe today is carrot and coriander soup, followed by delightful steak tartare. A fabulous, talented chef, and we are most grateful to have one here.” Despite his overly friendly chatter and enthusiasm over food, he seems awkward now that we are down here, and I catch him glancing over his shoulder at our sleeping beauty, watching our departed medical student walk into her room and check on the equipment and levels. The door closes behind her quickly and dampens the noise back to a low hum that intensified when she opened it. I catch the doc pause for a second longer before a slight sag gives away a little tell.
“You knew her?” I ask brazenly, seeing a sadness as he turns back to me and a fake smile pops up to hide his obvious reaction. His expression clouding over a little, and despite my senses not being on form, I can almost taste the change in his mood. He looks at me oddly, eyes narrowing, and it’s as though he goes to say something, then stops and falters, his mouth opening with no sound before he draws back, looks around once more, and leans in a little, lowering his tone. Only too aware of the female across the way.
“She was my friend. This was her project long before the war—the hybrid research. The learning about the rare wolves no one talks about. I never imagined she would end up being one of its inhabitants.” His face reddens, and he shakes his head as though he can’t quite believe he told me this. Mentally shaking himself, but I won’t let an opportunity pass me by, and I have to show he can trust me.
“He just left her here to rot. Juan, I mean, ... because she got sick?” I ask innocently, fully aware that upstairs he said there was nothing wrong with her mind, but I need to draw him into this gently. I need to win him over slowly.
“Sick? Hah! If that is the sickness to which you refer. Her mate has no interest in my research, but we serve a purpose that he needs to fulfill—keeping her alive and quiet. So, he pays the facility’s bills, funds my grants, and leaves us to do whatever we want as long as she exists here, and we don’t ask questions.” His low, hushed voice signals that maybe he doesn’t entirely trust either the female across the way or there are cameras down here. I sit up a little, pushing my hands under the edges of my legs, and change tactics. A common ground to show him I’m not about to run to Juan.
“I knew her too ... and her son ... I know him. Colton.” I don’t know why I hesitate to call him my destined mate, but the sharp, piercing stab to my heart before the word comes out stops me. Maybe because all I can think of when he comes to the forefront is that he has betrayed me and marked that bitch and is now her mate. I can’t bear to say the word out loud. I swallow it down, the bitter taste almost making me gag.
“Ahh, yes, little Colton. Such a blessed boy. So many years since I laid eyes on that beautiful child. She was so very proud to bear a son, you know. She always wanted a child of her own, and the Fates blessed her, finally, with that little bundle of cheekiness while providing Juan the heir he was pressing for. His future legacy. He was such a little rebel as a pup, always climbing and running around when I visited the manor. I can’t imagine what her being taken did to him. He loved her so very much.” The faraway look, the distance as he locks onto a memory, and I slide down from the bed, motioning to the food tray so as not to make him think I’m coming at him, but I want to be closer, so he feels more able to talk freely in a hushed tone. I want to lull him into a sense of security and kill him with kindness.
“She struggled to conceive him?” I ask innocently, trying to direct the conversation and keep him engaged in what he assumes is a neutral topic. Get him talking. If I’m going to win him over to my side, I have to make him feel he can talk to me and not like I’m prying too much for answers to Sierra’s current predicament. ‘You move around the prey to suss out the best angles and lull it into calmness before you pounce on it’ is something my grandfather always used to say. I’m curious, though, why a wolf would have issues with fertility, as it’s not something we suffer with. We’re physically perfect. Fertility is a given when the Fates decide it’s your time to pup.
“Curse of some hybrids, I’m afraid. It’s that when they mate with a pureblood, sometimes the pure genetics destroys the hybrid cells, and the child becomes non-viable. In vitro cell death. It’s been so hard to reproduce with your kind because, as I said, your DNA destroys imperfections. An invasion of another species in the makeup is exactly like a virus in your body. It has a little war of its own and diminishes the fertile egg. Fascinating, yet heart-breaking, especially for her. Colton was her seventh, and I think it would have finally broken her had he died. Such a special boy.” Not where Juan is concerned, he’s not. That’s a whole other thing.