Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
I’ve barely slept, too keyed up from Kier’s ridiculous decision to stay rather than escape.
Every time I close my eyes, I hear him slipping back into his cell, closing the door behind him, choosing captivity over freedom.
Choosing me.
I would never have done that, I tell myself. Especially not with a wolf I barely know.
When my door didn’t open, heartbreak hit, a sharp and vicious blade between my ribs. He had freedom while I was still trapped, still chained, still helpless. For one devastating moment, I thought I’d never see daylight again.
Then came the relief, so powerful I don’t know how to process it. He didn’t leave. This stranger, this broken nomad who owes me nothing, chose to stay in hell rather than abandon me to it.
I shuffle, guilt riding me hard. What right do I have to feel relieved? Kier should have run. He should have saved himself. I want him to save himself.
Don’t I?
I don’t know how to process all these emotions—or the others brimming under the surface. The last time someone put me first, my parents died. They loved me, wanted me, knew me. This irrational, selfless choice to suffer beside someone he barely knows rather than escape makes no sense.
I don’t feel worthy of a sacrifice this profound.
And I don’t know what to do with the way it makes me feel. It’s as if I’m coming apart and being remade all at once. Like something fundamental has shifted in my understanding of what I’m worth to another person.
The worst part? We barely know each other. We’re bonded by trauma and desperation, by shared walls and whispered conversations in the dark. That’s all.
But apparently that’s more than enough.
“You awake?” Kier asks.
“No, I’m sleepwalking,” I mutter, shifting closer to the opening. “Of course I’m awake.”
He chuckles. “Still mad at me, I see.” I hear him move, stone scraping as he settles into position. “Listen, I’ve been thinking about our options.”
“We don’t have options. You had one, and you threw it away,” I point out.
“No, I postponed it.” He sounds calm and confident—a terrifying mix. “When the guards come, that’s when we move.”
“Even if we overpower them, we’re still wearing silver. We’re weakened. And they’ll have backup.”
“Not necessarily. The bucket woman said the place is running on a skeleton crew. Most of Thaddeus’s people scattered after his death.”
“Zella’s still here,” I point out. “And her special guards.”
“True. But they can’t be everywhere.” I hear the scrape of rock—he’s still working on the wall between us. “We just need to create enough chaos to slip away.”
I lean my head against the cool stone. “What’s your plan?”
“If they come to my cell first, I’ll play dead.”
“What?”
“When they come, I’ll be on the floor, not moving. When they check me, I’ll attack.”
“And if they come to me first?”
“Be ready to move. The moment your door opens, I’ll create a distraction. You wait for your opportunity.”
I nod, though he can’t see me. “Okay. But Kier—” I hesitate, not sure how to say this. “If something goes wrong, if we get separated…”
“We won’t,” he says firmly.
“But if we do,” I insist, “I need you to find my pack. Find Ryker. Tell him what’s happening here.”
There’s a long pause. “I will,” he finally says. “But it won’t come to that.”
The confidence in his voice almost makes me believe him.
Hours pass, tension building with each minute. We talk in low murmurs, planning contingencies, discussing the escape route. It helps keep the fear at bay.
When the door at the end of the corridor finally slams open, it’s almost a blessing. Heavy footsteps approach—multiple guards, moving with purpose.
Kier’s voice comes through the hole, barely a whisper. “Remember. Wait for your moment.”
I move away from the wall, positioning myself near the back of my cell, palming the metal shard in my hand.
The keys rattle at my door first.
My door.
The lock turns. The hinges creak.
I hold my breath as two guards enter, flashlights cutting through the dark.
“There you are,” one grunts. “You got an answer for Zella?”
“I’ll do what she wants,” I lie.
“Told ya,” one says to the other. “Grab her. Zella wants her prepped for travel within the hour.”
I force my body to remain still, head lowered, letting them think the silver’s done its work.
One kneels beside me, fingers on the cuffs, muttering curses when the silver burns his fingers. He pulls a key from his pocket, releasing the chains.
The other guard steps closer, stun baton hanging loose.
Then—
A thud.
A choked grunt from the hallway.
“Hey—” the standing guard turns—
Too late.
A blur slams into him from behind.
Kier.
My first look at him is the impression of wild eyes, bared teeth, and hands wrapped around a man’s throat as he drives him backward into the stone.
He’s magnificent.
The second guard lunges for Kier, but I’m already moving. I land a blow with the shard to his temple, drilling it through his skull. He goes down like a sack of bricks.
I don’t stop to check if he’s dead.
Kier’s guard is down, and the door to my cell is open.
I sprint out, skidding to a stop as I find Kier locked in a brutal tangle with Bob.
They tumble through the corridor, both of them snarling like the wolves they are despite the silver suppressing their shifts.
Another guard lies motionless on the floor nearby.
Bob has a knife—silver, from the way it glints—and he’s trying to drive it into Kier’s chest. Kier holds his wrist, muscles straining against the poison in his system.
I grab the fallen guard’s stun baton and lunge forward, driving it into Bob’s side. Electricity crackles, and he convulses, his grip on the knife faltering. Kier wrenches it away and plunges it into Bob’s throat without hesitation.
Blood sprays across the corridor as Bob drops, eyes wide with shock. Kier stands over him, breathing heavily, silver restraints still in place but eyes burning with wild triumph.
For the first time, I truly see him.
What remains of his shirt hangs in tatters, revealing an expanse of scarred chest and lean muscle beneath layers of grime and dried blood. He wears worn jeans, bloodstained and filthy, his feet bare.
Three years of captivity have left their mark—old silver burns snake across his ribs, knife wounds crisscross his shoulders, and newer bruises bloom purple against pale skin.
His face is all sharp angles and high cheekbones.
He has a strong jaw covered in dark stubble, and a strong nose that looks like it’s been broken at least a few times.
His hair falls past his shoulders in tangled waves, once black but now streaked with strands of premature silver that catch the dim light.
But it’s his eyes that hold me—amber gold, almost luminous, with a fierce intelligence behind them.
This is the man who’s been my lifeline for days, whose voice and touch kept me sane in the darkness. Seeing him now feels surreal, like a hallucination made flesh.
He studies me too, his intense gaze taking in every detail. Something shifts in his expression—surprise, recognition, something deeper I can’t name. For a heartbeat, we simply stare at each other, the chaos around us momentarily forgotten.
“You’re real,” he whispers, so quietly I almost miss it. His hand starts to rise toward my face, fingers trembling slightly, as if he needs that physical proof to believe what his eyes are telling him. But at the last moment, he hesitates, pulling back.
I catch his wrist before he can retreat completely, guiding his palm to my cheek. His skin is rough, calloused, warm against mine.
“I told you,” I murmur, leaning into his touch.
The contact sends a shock through me—not painful, but electric, like every nerve ending has suddenly come alive.
My breath catches in my throat, and something low in my belly tightens with unexpected heat.
His thumb traces the line of my cheekbone, and I have to fight the urge to close my eyes and sink into the sensation.
It’s been so long since anyone touched me with gentleness instead of violence.
His breath catches, and for a moment the world narrows to just this—his hand on my face, the wonder in his amber eyes, the electric current that seems to arc between us. My pulse begins to race and my skin flushes.
What is happening?
Kier’s gaze sparks with amusement, burning with wild triumph. He pulls back, wiping blood from his face with the back of his hand.
“Nice timing,” he says.
“Nice moves,” I reply, my voice slightly rougher than intended as I turn down the corridor. “Now, let’s get out of here.”