Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
KIER
The voices had started sometime in the second year, when the isolation finally eroded my sanity.
At first, it had been my own voice echoing back at me, fragments of conversations with people who were long gone.
My mind’s desperate attempt to fill the crushing silence that had become my entire world.
Then other voices joined in. The bear seer I’d failed to save, whispering accusations that grew louder each time she came to me.
My long-dead pack members, reminding me why I’d chosen the nomad life in the first place.
Conversations with wolves I’d known decades ago, arguments I’d had, words I wished I’d said.
And now there was a new one. Female, sharp-tongued, with a voice like broken glass that somehow still managed to sound beautiful. She’s fast become my favorite.
“A redhead,” I decide. “With big breasts and shapely hips.”
“Are you talking to yourself again? Cause it’s starting to get old.”
I laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls of the cell. “Hush. I’m just trying to imagine what you look like, imaginary friend.”
“Imaginary friend?”
The voice sounds confused now, which is new. Usually my hallucinations are more predictable. They say what I expect them to say, accuse me of the things I already know I’ve fucked up. Rarely do they ask questions and prompt laughter.
It’s clear to see why she’s the favorite.
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. You’re just my brain trying to keep me from losing what’s left of my mind.” I shift on the stone floor, my body protesting. Another day, another beating
“I’m not a voice in your head,” she growls.
“Sure you’re not,” I grin into the darkness. “You’re my next fantasy. Fancy coming into this cell so I can imagine us—”
“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence.”
I chuckle. “So you’re not a redhead and well endowed?”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
I close my eyes, leaning against the stone. “Let’s see. Are you a brunette, slim and sensual? Or perhaps you’re a blonde with a wealth of curly hair. Or maybe—”
“I liked it better when I didn’t have a sex fiend for a neighbor.” She sighs heavily. “How can I shut you up?”
I tilt my head to one side. “What do you mean?”
“How can I prove I’m real?” The irritation in her voice is palpable. “What would convince you?”
“I don’t know. Do something a voice in my head wouldn’t do.”
“Like what?”
“Surprise me.”
There’s a long silence. Then, “Go to hell.”
The venom in her voice is… unexpected.
“Well,” I say slowly. “That was definitely unsurprising. I’ve heard that from more visions than I can remember.”
“I’m not a goddamned vision!”
I chuckle. “You’re adorable.”
I hear her mutter a curse then there’s a weird scraping sound. “Alright, you dick. Get on the floor. There’s a hole in the wall the size of a fist, can you see it?”
“I know. I made it the last time I was in this cell.” I press my eye to the opening, but it’s too dark to see anything.
“The last time?”
“I get moved around every few weeks. It’s the guards’ way of ensuring I don’t escape.”
For a beat I think she’s left me, then finally she speaks. “Can you see me?”
“No. “
She curses in response, and there’s another scrape, scrape, scrape sound.
I sit back, still not entirely convinced she’s real. The voices have tricked me before.
“Tell me something about yourself,” I say. “Anything.”
There’s a brief hesitation. “I’m from the Shadowmist Pack. Our Alpha is Ryker.”
The name sounds familiar.
“I’ve heard of him,” I admit.
“Most have.” There’s pride in her voice. “He’ll come for me.”
I don’t voice my doubts.
“How’d they get you?” I ask instead.
“Ambush at what was supposed to be a peace summit.” Her voice hardens. “Someone we trusted betrayed us.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. When I get out of here, I’ll tear her apart myself.”
The matter-of-fact certainty in her voice makes me smile despite the grim subject. “You sound pretty confident about getting out.”
“My pack will come for me. Ryker doesn’t abandon his people.”
Her loyalty is fascinating. In my experience, pack bonds are rarely so strong.
“What about you?” she asks.
I hesitate. Names have power, especially in a place like this. I’ve kept mine close for years, offering the guards only silence or sarcasm.
“Not important,” I say finally.
“Really? We’re doing this? I tell you who I am, and you give me nothing?”
“Consider it a trust-building exercise.” I lean against the wall, feeling more alert than I have in months. “I’ve been here long enough to know that caution keeps you alive.”
“Fine,” she huffs. “Keep your secrets, mystery man. But if we’re going to be neighbors, I need to call you something.”
“Call me whatever you want.”
“How about ‘Paranoid Asshole’?”
I laugh, genuinely amused. “Catchy, but a bit of a mouthful, don’t you think?”
“I could shorten it to ‘Ass.’”
“Now you’re just being lazy.”
I hear what might be a reluctant chuckle from her side of the wall, quickly stifled. “Fine. ‘Nomad’ it is, then.”
“How’d you know I’m a nomad?”
“Call it a hunch.’”
I want to ask her name, but naming my hallucinations feels like crossing a line I’m not quite ready for.
We fall into silence, only the scraping sound filling the void. It’s not uncomfortable. I’m still not entirely convinced she’s real, but talking to her is better than sitting here in silence.
“So, Nomad,” she says after a while, “since you’ve been here so long, what can you tell me about this place? Guards? Routines? Weaknesses?”
“Four guards on rotation in this section. Two per shift, eight-hour shifts. The morning pair is the worst—the younger one likes to get creative. The night shift is older, more by-the-book.”
“And the facility itself?”
“Old mining complex. Repurposed by Thaddeus. Three levels that I know of, possibly more. We’re on the lowest.”
“Exits?”
I smile at her hope—foolish she-wolf. “Planning your escape already?”
“Always,” she says without a hint of humor.
Maybe this voice is my hope personified. Maybe it’s the part of me that doesn’t want to give up, the part that will always be looking for an exit.
Or maybe I’m full of shit.
“Main entrance is heavily guarded. Service tunnels might be viable, but I’ve never seen them. There’s an old mining shaft somewhere on this level, sealed off decades ago.”
She falls quiet. I hear her shifting, then another scraping sound.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Working on your delusion problem,” she says, her voice strained with effort.
“What do you mean?”
“The hole. It’s too small. I need you to help me make it bigger.”
I hear her fingers scratching at the stone, trying to widen the opening between our cells.
“You won’t make much progress without tools,” I tell her. “It took me months to get it this size, and I had a metal fragment from a broken tray.” Which was taken from me the last time they rotated me out of this cell.
“Then help me,” she demands.
I hesitate, then move closer to the hole. “Let me see what I can do.”
I work at the edges of the opening, my fingers already raw from years of similar attempts. The stone is old, crumbling in places, but still stubborn.
We work in silence for what feels like hours, taking turns chipping away at the edges of the hole. Every few minutes, I pause to brush away debris and check our progress.
“We need to be careful,” I warn. “If the guards notice, they’ll move us.”
“Then we’d better not let them notice.”
After what must be several hours of work, the hole is noticeably wider—still not large enough to see through clearly, but bigger than before.
“I think that’s as far as we’ll get today,” I say, my fingers bloody and aching.
“One moment,” she says, her voice is closer to the hole now. “I want to try something.”
I hear her shifting.
“Can you see me now?” she asks.
I peer through the hole again then chuckle. “No. It’s still too dark.” I don’t tell her it’s really because she’s not there. She may be imagined, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings.
Can I get any more fucked up?
My wolf raises his head but doesn’t answer.
Yeah. I know.
She makes a frustrated sound. “I have another idea. Stay there.”
I hear more movement, then her voice again, directly at the hole. “Put your hand in.”
“What?”
“Your hand. Put it in the opening.”
Confused but curious, I slide my arm into the hole. It’s still too small for my hand to fit far, but I can feel the cool air from the neighboring cell.
Then I feel something. Heat. At first it’s a glancing brush, not even a proper touch. She makes a noise, there’s a scraping then I feel it.
A fingertip pressing against mine.
The contact is electric. Real. Undeniable.
I jerk back instinctively, then immediately press forward again, desperate to confirm what I felt.
Her finger is still there, waiting. I touch it cautiously, my own trembling.
Warm. Solid. Real.
Fuck. She’s real.
My wolf bolts to a stand, his fur rising as he begins to circle, pacing up and down, his tail slowly wagging from one side to the other.
“You’re real,” I whisper, grazing my finger over the pad of hers. “You’re actually real.”
“I told you.”
I can’t stop tracing her fingertip with my own, the simple human contact nearly overwhelming after years of isolation. I can feel calluses, and a small scar—she has the hand of a fighter.
“What’s your name?” I demand. “Tell me.”
Her finger retreats, and I make a sound—something between desperation and despair. Just as quickly she’s back, the heat of her touch reassuring and welcome.
“Lithia.”
“Lithia,” I repeat, her name tasting sweet now I know she’s truly real. “Lithia.”
My wolf tips back his head, letting out a howl.
We’ve found another like us. We’re no longer alone.
“I’m Kier,” I murmur, desperately memorizing her feel.
I feel her finger twitch against mine, then press more firmly, as if sealing an introduction.
“Well, Kier,” she says, and I can hear a smile in her voice for the first time, “looks like we’re neighbors.”
I laugh softly, the sound rusty but genuine. “Looks like it.”