Chapter 14
Fourteen
CHRISTIAN
The cage is large enough for me to walk around in.
There’s nothing inside of it—not a toilet or a bed or a sink or a couch. Of course, in here, I don’t have to eat, go to the bathroom, or sleep, but it becomes monotonous to do nothing but pace.
Never in a million years did I imagine that this was what happened when someone went feral.
To be trapped in your own mind…
I swallow around the shard of glass in my throat.
Time moves differently here, in this in-between place. Sluggish, almost, but only when I’m paying attention. Sometimes, I’ll fade away, if only for a moment. When I return to myself, I know that a good chunk of time has passed.
It scares me when I fade away.
I don’t know where I go or how I return to myself. Hell, I don’t even know where I am.
All I know is that my life becomes characterized by darkness, and then I think of her. Of Izzy.
Of my mate.
My beautiful, perfect, witty mate.
I hold on to the memory of her, even when the rest of me threatens to fade away. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane.
Sometimes, when I’m strong enough, I’m able to push my consciousness into the wolf’s head. I can see what he sees. Hear what he hears. Feel what he feels.
I haven’t been able to do that in quite a long time. Or, at least, it feels like a long time. An eternity.
As I said before, time moves differently here.
How long has it been since the bastard took control? Minutes? Hours? Days? Years? Centuries?
Izzy. Think of Izzy.
Izzy’s beautiful face is quickly replaced by Lacey’s, a second before she got shot in the head. My heart begins to thump even faster, and I fall to my ass, placing my head in my hands.
I don’t want to see Lacey and Sam die again. I’ve seen it enough times already. My subconscious likes to torture me with memories of it over and over and over again, as if it’s blaming me for their deaths.
You should’ve saved them.
You should’ve been faster.
Lacey was my girlfriend for years, and though we ended things well before I met Izzy, I wouldn’t want her dead. Never dead.
And Sam had been my casual friend throughout high school and college.
Dead. Dead. Dead.
Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.
Once again, I try to grab a hold of the image of Izzy—the way the sun shines on her golden hair, the laughter in her eyes, the minuscule dimples on her cheeks when she smiles.
I become keenly aware of someone’s eyes on me. A prickling sensation races up and down my spine, and every hair on the back of my neck stands straight up.
Slowly, I lift my head and swivel in my cage, unsurprised to see my wolf on the other side of the bars, staring back at me. I’ve never actually seen what my wolf looks like before. A part of me was always too terrified to shift once I discovered I was fated to be a lone, feral wolf for life.
And even when I did shift, it wasn’t as if I studied myself extensively in the mirror. I knew I was gray, but that was about it.
I have to admit that my wolf is stunning. His fur is gray but is lined with white and black streaks. His intelligent amber eyes regard me as intently as I do him. It’s easy to forget that our wolves are actually part of an ancient alien species that has been around for centuries.
We’ve learned to cohabit so flawlessly that it’s often difficult to differentiate the human from the wolf.
At one point, wolves would have entire conversations with their chosen humans, but that changed throughout time.
The animals—because not all shifters are wolves, though the majority of them are—may be separate entities, but they’ve meshed with us humans almost seamlessly, until their thoughts and desires mirror our own.
Except for situations like mine.
“You come here to gloat, you furry bastard?” I ask, glaring at the asshole.
He sits on his hind legs and stares at me, his head cocked to the side. I wonder if he even understands me.
I studied the mythology of wolves and other supernatural species extensively when I was in college. It was something I was passionate about.
But it also gave me hope for the future.
I thought I could find a cure for lone wolves and ferality. I thought I could save myself and the thousands of other shifters out there who weren’t blessed with a pack.
What a fucking idiot.
All that work, and look where I ended up?
“Please. Can you just tell me that Izzy and Ashton are okay? Please.” I crawl forward and grip the bars of my cell.
I hate having to beg, but I don’t have much choice.
A strange sound emits from the wolf.
“Just nod your big, stupid head if they’re okay,” I plead.
The wolf rises and takes a step closer—so close I can almost touch his fur.
Then I hear it—his voice in my head. Gravelly and succinct, as if it’s taking considerable effort to form each word.
“Mate. Brother.”
My heart thrashes against my chest—well, my metaphorical heart. I’m pretty sure I don’t have a heart in this form.
“Yes.” I tighten my grip on the bar. “Mate and brother. Are they all right? Where are they? What—?”
Before I can finish my barrage of questions, my wolf turns on his heel and races off, and the darkness instantly swallows him.
“No! Come back here, you slobbering idiot!” I scream. “Fuck you!”
My wolf, of course, doesn’t respond.
Trembles ricochet through me as I fall to my ass once more on the cool ground. There’s nothing else for me to do but sit here.
All I can do is pray that I don’t lose myself once and for all.