Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
Iforce my eyes open despite the throbbing at my temples and the dull ache radiating from every limb.
The room is small, windowless, stone-walled, and silent.
I lie on a narrow cot with a threadbare blanket that smells faintly of mildew and blood, neither of which are mine but both make my stomach churn.
A single chair sits near the wall. A camp torch flickers in a bracket overhead, casting long, shifting shadows that creep across the cracked floor like ghosts.
The air is heavy with age and dust, and thick with the scent of wolf-kind.
There’s no breeze, no sunlight, and no sounds beyond those made by the wolves holding me prisoner.
My clothes have been changed. My dress has been replaced with coarse leggings and a too-thin shirt. My boots and socks are gone. The shadow silver dagger Ryker gave me? Vanished. My feet press against the frigid stone floor as I roll off the bed to stand, and I grit my teeth against the cold.
My chains rattle as I move. They’re long enough to let me take three small steps in either direction—far enough to reach the chair, or touch the wall, or pace like an animal—but no farther. I test them with a sharp jerk. They don’t even creak.
My wolf growls inside me, feral with rage. We don’t stay in a cage.
Her anger pulses beneath my skin, wild and snarling. But there’s calculation there too. She’s hunting for options, not just blood.
No pack scent, I tell her, heart sinking. Wherever they’ve taken Lithia, it’s not here.
Her tone turns razor-sharp. They’ve cut us off. She lowers her head, ears flat, teeth bared. But we are not helpless.
I examine the wall, letting the chain pool at my feet. The stone is cool, smooth, and ancient. I search for cracks, loose mortar, anything that I might be able to use. Nothing gives.
The stone’s old but solid. No weak points. The chain’s silver-threaded and burns when I pull too hard. My wrists already bear the angry marks of failed attempts.
We wait. My wolf paces behind my ribs.
I close my eyes. We wait, I agree.
We endure. And when the moment comes, we bury our teeth in their throats.
The sound of approaching footsteps warns me a beat before the door to my cell swings open. I straighten my spine, determined to face them head-on.
The open door admits four figures—three guards in Thaddeus’s personal colors flanking a fourth wolf I recognize immediately despite never having met him officially. Xavier Drake, alpha of the Moonclaw Pack, regards me with clinical interest from the doorway.
He’s tall, lean, and immaculately dressed in a tailored slate-gray coat that gleams faintly under the torchlight. His silver-tipped hair is swept back from his angular face, not a strand out of place.
But it’s his eyes that pin me—pale, glacial blue. There’s nothing warm in them, just a predator’s stillness, with the kind of cruel intelligence that enjoys torture.
My wolf bares her teeth in warning.
“You’re awake,” he observes, his voice calm and precise, the syllables clipped like surgical incisions. “Good. I was hoping to speak with you before the next sedative.”
I remain silent, spine straight despite the chains. I won’t cower before him. I won’t give the bastard the satisfaction.
Xavier tilts his head slightly, studying me the way one might study a weapon on display—assessing for flaws, for weaknesses, for sharp edges worth respecting.
I meet his gaze steadily, refusing to respond to being discussed as if I were an interesting specimen rather than a person. The silence stretches until he finally dismisses me as a threat.
Good, let him underestimate me.
“Do you know where you are?” he asks, stepping fully into the chamber while the guards remain at the threshold.
“In a cell,” I reply evenly. “Presumably within Moonclaw territory, given your presence.”
A small smile touches his lips, neither kind nor cruel but merely acknowledging my reasoning. “Not quite, You’re in the holding chambers beneath the Grand Alpha’s central den. These rooms were designed specifically to contain seers and other wolves with gifts who might be useful to our cause.”
The information is offered freely, suggesting either confidence that I cannot use it or an attempt to establish rapport. I decide to test which.
“Why are you here rather than Thaddeus?”
Xavier clasps his hands behind his back. “The Grand Alpha is busy dealing with your mutt of a mate. My pack has been entrusted with your care until his return.”
“You’re my guard.”
His expression doesn’t change. “I prefer carer. Seers require particular care—their gifts can be unpredictable, they are a danger to themselves and others if not properly managed.”
I hold up my hands, shaking the chains. “I’m sorry a little sight has you so spooked.”
There’s a look in his eyes—not guilt, exactly, but perhaps recognition of the moral ambiguity in his position.
“Times are changing,” he says after a moment.
“We’ll take good care of you here, don’t worry.
The crude extraction techniques used by packs like Silvercrest to harness your gift will be replaced with more humane approaches. ”
“Humane.” I repeat the word with all the contempt it deserves. “Like keeping me in silver chains? Drugging me? Planning to breed me for more seers to exploit?”
“You misunderstand the Grand Alpha’s intentions,” Xavier replies. “You’ll be treated with the respect your gift deserves. The silver is merely a precaution during initial transition, and the sedation was necessary for safe transport.”
“And what of separating me from my mate?”
Xavier’s jaw ticks. “That is not my concern, nor should it be yours any longer. The claiming will be officially severed once the ceremony can be arranged.”
Cold fury washes through me at his casual dismissal of a bond that has become the center of my existence. “The claiming cannot be broken except by death,” I remind him. “Wolf law is clear on this matter.”
“Exceptions exist for claims made under duress or improper circumstances,” he counters smoothly. “The Grand Alpha will deal with it.”
The clinical way he discusses severing my bond with Ryker—as if it were as simple as filing paperwork rather than the tearing apart of two souls—makes my hands clench into fists.
“My claiming was willing and proper,” I state, each word precise and firm. “No ceremony can undo what has been done. I am Kitara, Alpha Female of the Shadowmist Pack, mate to Ryker, alpha of the Shadowmist. You cannot change that.”
“Your loyalty is honorable, if misplaced. The shadow wolf claimed you for your gift, nothing more. Once you understand that—”
“You know nothing of our bond,” I interrupt. “Nothing of what exists between us.”
“I know more than you might think.” His expression hardens. “I know the shadow wolf’s history. He’s a bastard pup plucked from obscurity to lead a rogue pack. His vendetta against the Grand Alpha is well known, as is his willingness to use any weapon to advance his pursuit—including you.”
The words are clearly meant to hurt, to plant seeds of doubt about Ryker’s motives.
Weeks ago, they might have succeeded. Now, having experienced the depth of our connection, having felt Ryker’s mind joined with mine, his respect and regard flowing unfiltered through our bond, they merely reveal Xavier’s ignorance.
But it’s his words that reveal a crucial piece of information—they don’t know Ryker is Thaddeus’s son.
“Is that all you see when you look at me?” I ask softly. “A weapon to be wielded? A tool to be used? A broken wolf whose only value lies in forced visions?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, his hesitation more revealing than any words could be. “What I see,” he finally says, “is a gift too valuable to waste.”
I lean forward slightly, chains rattling with the movement. “Tell me, Alpha Drake, do you truly believe Thaddeus acts for the good of wolf-kind? Or merely for his own good?”
“Your questions are irrelevant. What matters is stability, continuity, the preservation of our ways against forces that would tear apart centuries of tradition.”
“Even when those traditions cause unnecessary suffering?” I challenge. “Even when they waste potential and crush spirits under the guise of necessary order?”
Before he can respond, a commotion erupts outside the chamber—raised voices, hurried footsteps.
One of the guards leans in, speaking to Xavier in a tone too quiet for me to hear. Whatever message he delivers causes Xavier’s expression to shift.
“Secure the prisoner,” he orders sharply. “Double the silver, no exceptions. And send for a team immediately. We need to move her. Now.”
As the guards hurry to comply with his commands, I feel a surge of hope. Only one thing would cause such alarm, such urgent reinforcement of my captivity.
Ryker is coming.
Xavier turns back to me, all pretense of civility abandoned. “It seems your mate has arrived. It’s inconvenient timing, we had hoped for more time to complete preparations.”
“How unfortunate for you,” I reply, unable to suppress a smile despite the guards approaching with additional silver chains. “The Shadowmist alpha doesn’t surrender what belongs to him. Especially not his mate.”
“We’ll see.” Xavier steps back as the guards begin securing the additional restraints around my existing chains. “The Grand Alpha has prepared for this contingency.”
As they layer more silver against my skin, I reach desperately for our bond, fighting the increased suppression with everything I have. For a moment, nothing. Then, like a thunderclap in my mind, Ryker’s presence breaks through—distant still, but unmistakable in its fierce determination.
I’m coming, Kitara.
A pin prick to my shoulder has darkness rushing in.