Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
KIER
She’s not at all how I imagined.
In my mind, I’d crafted a thousand different versions of her—tall and commanding, petite and fierce, redhead, brunette, scarred, tattooed. But the reality of her surpasses any image I could have conjured.
Her white-blonde hair falls past her shoulders in waves, tangled now from our ordeal but still framing her face beautifully. She has strong features—high cheekbones, a determined jaw, full lips. But it’s her eyes that captivate me most—a blue so pale they appear silver.
Her body is a canvas of bloody history. An old scar runs down her face from her right temple to her cheek, mingling with the fresh bruises and cuts. It’s a good thing I killed Bob, ’cause I’d have turned around and done it again after seeing her.
Battle-scarred and fierce, Lithia has the kind of presence that commands attention without demanding it. Others might look at her and see her current weaknesses.
They’d be fools.
What I see is the most magnificent creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Every scar tells a story of survival. Every line of tension in her body speaks of strength earned through adversity.
The way she carries herself—head high, shoulders back—reveals an intelligence sharp enough to cut and a will that refuses to bend.
Beautiful doesn’t begin to cover it. She’s devastating.
I want her to be mine.
We move through the service tunnels, side by side. Even weakened by silver and injury, there’s a natural grace to her movements. I’ve seen her fight now—precise, efficient, lethal. There’s no wasted energy, no panicked flailing. She knows how to use every ounce of strength her body can give.
And gods help me, I can’t stop watching her.
“East corridor?” she asks, her voice rough from the fight, eyes flicking to mine as I drop the last of the silver cuffs.
I nod once. “The woman said there’s a service tunnel which leads to mining shafts. She said there’s an exit that way.”
We move fast. I take point, my senses sharp. The facility is unnervingly quiet, most cells empty. Whatever shitstorm Thaddeus’s death kicked up, it’s cleared out half the prisoners and nearly all of the guards.
Good for us. Bad for whoever’s left.
At a junction, I pause, scenting the air. “Two guards ahead. Armed.”
She holds the stun baton, extending it with an expert flick. “I’ll go high, you go low.”
I nod. We don’t need more words. We move like we’ve done this a hundred times—she swings wide, I slide low. The guards barely register us before it’s over—a gunshot, a flash of steel, a body hitting the wall, the thud of meat on stone.
I glance at her as she kneels by the fallen guards, rifling their belts. “Impressive.”
She shoots me a look, tossing me the guard’s gun. “I wasn’t made Beta for my charming personality.”
I huff out something like a laugh, and we keep moving.
The east corridor stretches ahead, old stone and rusted pipes, the smell of damp and moss thick in the air. At the end sits the door we need, the “SERVICE ACCESS” stamp barely legible under years of grime.
I pull out my key, praying the woman didn’t steer us wrong, and slide it into the lock.
Click.
The door creaks open, revealing a narrow tunnel lined with old rock and darkness thick as tar.
“After you,” I murmur, glancing back down the corridor.
Lithia slips past me, a pale streak in the dark, and I pull the door shut behind us. For a breath, the blackness is total. Then I thumb on a flashlight stolen from the guards. The light throws wild shadows on the tunnel walls.
“How far does this go?” she asks, voice low.
“Not sure,” I admit. “But it should lead to the surface.”
We move deeper, boots scuffing on damp stone, the drip of water echoing somewhere ahead. The tunnel forks and twists, but we follow it, unwilling to return.
“Do you know where you’re going?” she asks after a sharp turn.
I glance back, the flashlight’s glow flickering over her bloodied face. “No clue.” I thumb my nose. “But the air we’re following is the sweetest I’ve smelled in three years.”
“Three years is a long time to wait for escape.”
I give a faint, grim smile. “It was worth it.”
She nods then glances away, scanning the walls.
“Not far now,” I murmur. “Can you smell it?”
She inhales. “Trees.”
The rot and damp of the tunnels is thinning, replaced by the sharp clean scent of pine.
Freedom.
An alarm sounds—a distant, muffled wail, vibrating through the stone.
“They’ve discovered we’re gone,” she mutters, picking up speed.
“Or the bodies,” I add, matching her pace. “Either way, we need to move.”
We break into a jog, the flashlight bobbing wildly in my hand. The tunnel widens into an old mining chamber, wooden beams sagging, rusted equipment collapsed in the corners. I pause, nostrils flaring.
“This way,” I whisper, pointing right. “I can smell water.”
The shaft narrows, forces us low. In places we crawl, scraping knees and elbows raw. Her breath hitches behind me—pain—but she doesn’t slow.
Then I see it.
Light. Thin, pale, but real.
We scramble forward, clawing through a tangle of collapsed stone and vines until I can push through. My shoulders barely make it. I hear her squirm, squeezing after me, gasping into open air.
The world is overwhelming and for a brief moment I’m struck with fear. Everything feels so vast—the sky, the forest, the breeze. There’s light here, and wind, and the sharp green bite of pine.
We made it.
I look over to find Lithia staring at me. Her white-blonde hair is tangled around her face, her skin is smeared with dirt and blood, her eyes like molten silver. My chest gives a sharp, painful pull.
“We made it,” I rasp.
“For now.” Her gaze flicks to the trees, calculating. “They’ll be looking for us.”
I nod. “We need distance. Which way’s Shadowmist territory?”
“South, I think.” She points in the direction. “But it’s gotta be at least five hundred miles, maybe more.”
“Then we’d better start walking.” I offer her my hand, a flicker of challenge sparking in my veins. “Unless you’re too tired?”
Her eyebrow lifts, sharp and perfect. “I could run circles around you, Nomad.”
A laugh I didn’t know I still had bursts free. “Prove it, Shadowmist.”
We run. We stumble. We push.
Through forest, over rock, down slopes sharp enough to shred muscle. We don’t talk, don’t stop. Just move. Every step is survival. Every breath is defiance.
We pause only when we stumble across streams. But we’re up and going soon after, the danger no doubt coming.
And unlike those who might pursue us, the silver cuffs around our ankles, throats, and wrists mean we can’t shift.
We’re still pushing, the moon bright enough to light our way when I decide we’ve both had enough.
“We should find water,” I murmur, throat raw.
Lithia nods, too tired for words.
I lead us southeast, my nose tracking moisture, until we stumble across a trickling creek. We drop to our knees, shoving faces into freezing water.
“Fifteen miles, maybe,” I say, wiping my mouth. “Not enough.”
“We need to keep moving,” she rasps, but her body’s shaking, her eyes glassy.
I shoulder her weight when she stumbles. Pretend not to notice when she leans heavily against me. Pretend not to care when every part of me warms at her touch.
Mine, my wolf howls.
We push on, and it’s as dawn breaks that her body gives out on a rocky slope. I catch her, easing her down into a hollow beneath an overhang.
She’s shivering and pale, clutching at her side.
“Let me see,” I murmur, my fingers gentle. She lifts her shirt, and my jaw tightens. Her side is one deep mottled bruise. Her skin is split at the bottom of her rib cage, and there’s a smell of blood that’s both sharp and wrong.
I gently run my fingers over her side, feeling the ridges. “Looks like some broken ribs.”
“Probably,” she mutters. “But we need to keep moving.”
“Not like this,” I say, voice low, firm. “You’re exhausted. If you keep pressing, you’ll only slow us down when you fully collapse.”
She leans against the stone with a grudging nod. I settle beside her, shoulder to shoulder, feeling the faint tremble in her body.
I watch over her until her breathing evens out, then slip away to scavenge the surrounding area. There’s enough berries and herbs around to make her a poultice—and feed us a little.
Dark clouds are gathering on the horizon, and I can smell rain in the air. Good. A storm will help wash away our scent trail.
I return, finding her sound asleep. While she rests, I crush herbs and gently smooth them over her wounds. She gasps, jolting upright with a cry.
“Easy,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.” I smooth the paste over her broken skin.
“Where did you learn this?”
I shrug. “You pick things up when you’re on your own.” I pull my shirt off, tearing it into shreds.
“Kier!”
Ignoring her protest, I wrap the shred around her middle, binding her ribs as best I can.
“Sorry,” I wince in sympathy when she gasps. “But it has to be done.”
After she’s eaten some berries and we drink from the creek, we begin to move again.
The first fat raindrops splatter against us as we crest the ridge, cold needles prickling through the thin fabric of our clothing.
By the time we’re backtracking through the valley, it’s coming down in earnest. We spend the day crossing rivers then backtracking, smothering ourselves in mud and sap to hide our scent.
Our progress is painfully slow but necessary.
In wolf form, a were could hunt us down easily.
Years of being a lone wolf has taught me a few tricks, and now we have weather on our side.
The icy rain continues to batter us, coming down hard, plastering hair to skin. I curse under my breath, pulling Lithia closer as we push through the undergrowth.
When I scent the cabin—ash, dust, and wood rot—I’m half-carrying her. It’s small, decrepit, barely standing, but it’s four walls and a roof.
The lock is rusted but no match for my shoulder.
We stumble inside, the storm muffled instantly, the scent of damp wood and lavender oil wrapping around us.
The space surprises me—it’s rough, sure, but someone once cared for it.
A sheet covers a basic mattress, mason jars line a makeshift kitchen shelf, and a cracked record player sits on a trunk stacked with dog-eared paperbacks.
Rain patters against the windows, the sound oddly comforting after our harrowing escape.
Lithia sways, eyes heavy-lidded, lips tinged bluish. “Sit,” I order roughly, guiding her down onto the mattress. Her lack of protest makes my gut twist.
Her skin’s icy under my hands. “You’re half-frozen,” I murmur, my thumb sweeping absently over her skin.
The cabin has running water, and a quick search uncovers some cups. I bring her water, holding the mug while she sips.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“We’re not out yet.”
“But we’re free.” She closes her eyes. “And soon we’ll be home.”
As much as I appreciate her optimism, I can’t say the same.
I find a few moth-eaten blankets in an old chest and some threadbare rugs rolled up in a corner. They smell musty but they’re dry. I shake them out and layer them over Lithia, tucking the edges around her shivering form.
She’s still shivering, but until I can find wood to feed a fire, that will have to do.
I move to the window, watching as the storm settles over the forest. Rain streams down the glass, and I can barely make out the trees through the downpour. In the distance, a wolf howls—but the sound is muffled, distorted by the weather.
We’re free… for now.