Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
Ireturn to the cabin, shaken but resolved. There’s no mates for me. No one I want enough to hold tight.
Once this adventure is over, I’ll let Kier go. I have to.
“We’ll leave the day after tomorrow,” I announce, watching Kier’s back as he stokes the fire.
He turns, studying me with that unnerving intensity I’ve come to know over our days in the cabin. “You sure? Your side—”
“Is healing,” I say firmly, cutting him off. I lift my shirt to show him the wound. The angry red gash has faded to a thin pink line, the bruising around it more yellow than purple now. “I’m not saying it’s perfect, but it’s good enough.”
Kier rises from his crouch by the hearth, wiping his hands on his makeshift pants.
He’d found some of the outfits left by the cabin’s owner and refashioned them into something cleaner than the filthy prison clothes we escaped in.
The result is ridiculous—a patchwork of faded floral fabric that somehow still manages to look good on him.
Turns out our cabin’s owner is less hunter and more hippy.
“It’s not just about the wound,” he says, approaching to examine my side. “The silver—”
“Is still a problem, yes.” I gesture at the cuffs we still haven’t managed to remove. “But it’s a problem whether we’re here or on the move.”
The silver has been our constant companion, the cuffs impossible to break.
Despite searching the cabin thoroughly and even venturing into the surrounding forest, Kier hasn’t found anything strong enough to break them.
They continue to burn against our skin, a constant reminder of our captivity, slowing our healing and keeping our wolves subdued.
“I’m as healed as I can get out here,” I continue, pulling my shirt back down. “Zella will have search parties combing every inch of these mountains. We’ve been lucky so far, but luck always runs out.”
Kier nods reluctantly. “What are you thinking?”
I move to the old map we’ve pinned to the cabin wall, dragging my finger southward.
“Shadowmist territory is still at least another three hundred miles from here in a straight line.” I tap the mountains marked on the map.
“It’s also rough terrain and we can’t shift.
Which means even if we push hard, that’s at least a three to four weeks’ journey on foot. ”
“And that’s if we’re fully healed and don’t run into bad weather or trouble,” he adds grimly.
“Exactly.” I run a hand through my hair, now clean thanks to the cabin’s rusty but functional pump. “We need to get moving. Find a town, maybe. Steal a vehicle if we have to.”
Kier raises an eyebrow, amusement quirking his lips. “You’re suggesting grand theft auto, Beta? What would your Alpha think?”
I snort. “Ryker would probably ask why we didn’t steal something faster.”
He laughs, a sound I’ve come to treasure for its rarity.
In the days since our escape, Kier has slowly emerged from the shell that three years of imprisonment created.
The hallucinations have faded, the moments of confusion grown less frequent.
But there’s still a guardedness to him, a careful distance he maintains even in our close quarters.
Except at night. At night, when the temperature drops and we huddle together on the narrow bed for warmth, that distance collapses.
He curls around me protectively, his arm draped over my waist, his breath warm against my neck.
I tell myself it’s practical—survival, nothing more—but my wolf knows better.
Ours, she insists each time, and I push the thought away.
I can’t afford attachments. Especially not now, when my failure still burns fresh.
Kitara.
I push down the grief that threatens to envelop me. If Kitara’s gone, then Ryker won’t be far behind. True mates are bound together. Where one goes, the other must follow, and if our Alpha Female is dead, then our Alpha will turn feral searching for her.
A feral that will see him stuck in wolf form for the rest of his days, his mind as fractured as his heart.
Just get home. Then you can deal with all the what ifs.
Kier moves to our small pile of supplies, interrupting my thoughts. “We’ll need food, water containers, clothing, and better bedding than this.” He holds up the threadbare blanket we’ve been sharing. “Not to mention weapons.”
“I’ve been thinking about that.” I join him, rifling through the supplies. “We should check the shed out back again. There must be something we missed.”
“I’ve been through it three times, Lithia. Just some old fishing gear and rotted wood.”
“Then we’ll make do.” I pick up the knife, testing its weight. “Do you want the gun or the knife?”
He gives me a look that’s equal parts amusement and offense. “I’ll make do with the knife. You take the gun.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, macho man.”
He studies me, rubbing his chin. “You’re really determined to do this.”
“I need to get back to my pack.” I meet his gaze. “And we can’t stay here forever.”
He sighs. “All right. Day after tomorrow. But if you’re not ready—”
“I’ll be ready,” I say firmly. “We’ve waited long enough.”
The truth is, the cabin has become a dangerous comfort. Away from the prison’s horrors, it would be easy to forget the urgency of our situation. But every day we linger is a day Zella moves forward with her plans—plans that will destroy everything I’ve sworn to protect.
“I’ll start preparations,” Kier says, already moving toward the door. “See what I can hunt that we could take with us. You should rest.”
“I’ve rested enough.” I stand straighter, ignoring the twinge in my side. “I’ll check the perimeter.”
He hesitates, clearly wanting to argue, but nods instead. “Just don’t push too hard. We need you at full strength.”
After he leaves, I circle the cabin slowly, checking the crude alarms he’s set up. The forest is quiet, birds calling to one another in the afternoon light. No sign of pursuit. No hint of danger.
But I know better than to trust the peace. Zella is ruthless and methodical. She wouldn’t have given up just because we escaped. She’ll be hunting us—if not for recapture, then for elimination. We represent a threat to whatever sick vision she’s building.
Evolution, she had called it. As if slavery and torture could be justified by some twisted ideal of progress.
What kind of “greater good” requires the suffering of innocents? What kind of “evolution” builds its foundation on fear and pain?
I complete my circuit of the cabin, ending at the small stream that runs nearby.
Kneeling on the bank, I stare at my reflection in the clear water.
My face is thinner than it was before my capture, my pale blue eyes shadowed with exhaustion and haunted by memories.
The scar that runs from my temple down my cheek seems more pronounced.
But it’s the silver collar around my throat that holds my attention. A symbol of captivity that I still can’t shed.
With a growl of frustration, I splash the water, destroying the image. My wolf stirs restlessly inside me, weakened by the silver but growing stronger each day. She wants freedom as desperately as I do.
Soon, I promise her. We’ll be home soon.
By the time Kier returns, the sun is setting. He carries two rabbits, already skinned and cleaned, and a handful of wild onions.
“Dinner,” he announces, holding up his catch. “And breakfast for tomorrow.”
“Nice work.” I help him prepare the meal, working in comfortable silence as twilight deepens outside.
We’ve fallen into routines during our stay here—Kier handles most of the hunting and scavenging, having more experience with living off the land, while I take charge of cooking and security. It’s an easy division of labor that plays to our strengths.
Sometimes I wonder if it would be this simple if he were to join my pack, if we could find this quiet rhythm with others around.
Silly. He’s nomad. Why would he want to stay? Why do you want him to stay? You’ve said it yourself, you have no use for attachments.
My wolf whines, stating her objection to my decision.
Hush, I tell her.
“What’s the plan once we reach Shadowmist?” he asks as we eat.
I consider the question carefully. “Warn the Alpha and the pack about Zella’s operation. Mount a rescue for the other prisoners if possible.”
“And after that?”
I pause, fork halfway to my mouth. “After?”
“After you’ve delivered your warning. After the rescue, if it happens. What then?”
The question catches me off guard. I’ve been so focused on getting back, on completing my duty, that I haven’t thought beyond it.
“I go back to being Beta,” I say finally. “My job is to protect the pack. I need to make sure nothing like this happens again.”
And atone for my failure.
Kier nods, returning his attention to his food.
“And you?” I ask.
He shrugs, a casual gesture that doesn’t quite hide the tension in his frame. “Continue my nomad ways, I suppose. There’s always someone looking for a tracker.”
The thought of him simply walking away after everything we’ve been through sends an unexpected pang through my chest. My wolf whines, pressing against my consciousness.
Stay, she urges.
I push the feeling aside. “You’d be welcome in Shadowmist,” I hear myself say. “After helping me escape, Ryker will grant you a place in the pack.”
Kier’s eyes flick up to meet mine, his usual smirk tugging at his mouth—but it’s thinner this time, like a thread pulled too tight. Behind the sarcasm, I catch it, a flicker of something raw, aching, so quickly masked I almost doubt I saw it at all.
“You sure? Packs aren’t usually keen on taking in strays.”
He’s bracing himself, pretending he doesn’t care, pretending he’s used to the door closing. But his eyes—gods, his eyes—betray him.
“You’re not a stray,” I say more sharply than intended. “You’re a…” I struggle for the right word. Friend seems inadequate. Partner too intimate. “An ally,” I finish lamely.
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “An ally. Is that what we are, Lithia?”
There’s a challenge in his tone that makes my pulse quicken. “What would you call us, then?”
He studies me for a long moment, something unreadable in his gaze. “I’m not sure there’s a name for what we are.”
The air between us feels suddenly charged, heavy with things unsaid. I break eye contact first, returning to my food with forced casualness.
“Well, whatever we are,” I say, “you’ll always have a place with Shadowmist. Come, go, stay, leave, doesn’t matter to us. We’ll always welcome you.”
He doesn’t answer immediately, and when I glance up, he’s watching me with an intensity that makes my skin warm.
“Thank you,” he says finally.
We finish the meal in silence, the unspoken tension gradually easing into our usual comfortable companionship. As night deepens, the temperature drops, reminding us that winter’s chill is approaching.
Kier adds wood to the fire, the flames casting his face in warm light and dancing shadows. The firelight catches in his dark copper hair, highlighting strands of premature silver threaded through the waves.
At thirty-eight, he’s only a few years older than myself. But we’ve a world of experience between us. I’ve seen battle, I’ve lost loved ones—and so has he. But the last three years sit on his shoulders and burrow under his skin, marking him in ways I’ll never understand.
I watch him, a now-familiar warmth spreading through my chest. It’s a feeling I’ve been fighting since our escape. A pull that goes beyond gratitude or camaraderie.
My wolf has no doubts about what it means. She recognized him immediately, knew him for what he was to us even through the prison walls. But I’ve spent too many years guarding my heart to surrender to instinct so easily.
“We should sleep,” Kier says, breaking into my thoughts. “Tomorrow will be busy.”
I nod, moving to the bed we’ve shared these past days. The mattress is lumpy and smells faintly of mildew despite our best efforts to clean it, but it’s still better than the stone floor of a prison cell.
Kier takes his time banking the fire, checking the doors and windows one last time before joining me. The bed creaks as he settles beside me, his warmth seeping through the thin barrier of our clothes.
“Lithia,” he says softly, “if you’re not ready—”
“I am,” I interrupt. “I need to get back to my pack.”
He sighs, a quiet sound in the darkness. “I know. I just… I don’t want you pushing yourself too hard.”
“You don’t think I can do this?” The question slips out before I can stop it, blunter than I intended.
There’s a long silence, long enough that I wonder if he’ll answer at all. When he does, his voice is so quiet I have to strain to hear it.
“No. I know you can. But I don’t want to break the only good thing I’ve found after three years of hell.”
His simple honesty steals my breath. I don’t know how to respond, don’t have words equal to the weight of his confession.
Instead, I find his hand in the darkness, threading my fingers through his. It’s a small gesture, inadequate to express what I feel, but it’s all I can offer right now.
See? my she-wolf asks. He’s ours.
Kier squeezes my hand gently, accepting what I can give without demanding more. We lie there in silence, hands clasped between us, until sleep finally claims us both.