Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Kain
I am in so much pain.
By the time Anne’s apartment building comes into view, I’m barely holding it together. Sweat drips down my temple despite the cool, evening air. Every breath feels like fire in my chest, and there’s a grinding ache in my bones that makes me want to scream.
But I can’t let her see. Anne parks my car and immediately reaches over to touch my forehead. Her hand is icy against my burning skin, and the concern in her eyes makes guilt twist in my gut alongside the pain.
“You’re burning up,” she says, her voice tight with worry.
I force a smile, even though it takes everything I have. “It’s just an upset stomach. Probably something I ate. I need to get home, take something for it.”
“Kain—”
“I’m fine, really.” I catch her hand and bring it to my lips for a quick kiss despite the tremor running through my fingers. “Go get some rest. I’ll call you later.”
She studies my face, clearly not convinced, but then, I see the moment she decides to trust me. She leans in, pressing her lips to mine in a soft, worried kiss.
“Call me if you need anything,” she says. “I mean it.”
“I will.”
We both get out of the car. I wait until she’s safely inside the building before I climb into the driver’s seat, my hands shaking so badly, I can barely grip the steering wheel.
As soon as I’m sure she can’t see me, my carefully maintained composure shatters. A wave of pain crashes over me so intensely that I double over, gasping. It feels like someone’s jabbing knives into every nerve ending, like my blood has turned to acid in my veins.
I force myself to sit upright and start the engine. Just need to get home. Just need to make it to my place.
The drive is a blur of agony. Every bump in the road sends fresh shocks through my body. Sweat soaks through my shirt and drips into my eyes. I can barely see straight, but I keep driving because stopping means giving in, and I can’t afford to do that.
Not yet.
My building finally appears. I park haphazardly, not caring if I’m taking up two spaces. Getting out of the car takes more effort than it should. My legs barely support my weight as I stumble toward the entrance.
The stairs are torture. Each step sends jolts of agony radiating through my legs, my back, my entire body. I grip the railing hard and manage to drag myself up to the next landing.
Finally, my door. My hands are shaking badly enough that it takes three tries to get the key in the lock.
Inside, I go straight to my desk and yank open the bottom drawer, where I’ve hidden the industrial-strength painkillers. The kind that would knock out a human but barely takes the edge off for shifters.
I dump a handful into my palm—four, five, six pills—and swallow them dry. My throat protests, the pills scraping on the way down, so I weave my way toward the kitchen.
Water. I need water.
I wrench the fridge open and grab the first bottle I see. I drain it in seconds, the cold liquid doing nothing to calm the fire in my chest. I grab a second bottle and drink that one, too, gasping for air between swallows.
The pain doesn’t stop, but after a few minutes, it dulls to an almost manageable level. I slide down to the floor, my back against the cool metal of the fridge, and close my eyes.
Has it really been three months already?
Three months since they sent me back here. Three months since the poison they put in my system started its slow, agonizing countdown.
Every operative gets poisoned before they leave on a mission. It’s how the organization ensure loyalty. How they make sure we can’t defect, can’t run, can’t choose anything except obedience.
The antidote must be administered every four months. Miss the window, and you die. Slowly. Painfully. A death so excruciating that most operatives would rather complete a suicide mission than risk it.
I learned all of this during final training. They poisoned us several months before our first assignments, then made us wait. Made us experience two full weeks of symptoms before they finally gave us the antidote.
Two weeks of suffering. It felt as if my body was being torn apart from the inside, as if my bones were splintering and my blood was boiling. I spent those two weeks praying for death, believing that any form of relief would be preferable to the excruciating pain.
And then came the relief when the antidote hit my system. The sudden, overwhelming absence of agony. The reminder that they controlled whether I lived or died, suffered or survived.
A living hell designed to burn into our minds just how trapped we were.
I’d blocked it out. Pushed it to the back of my mind because thinking about it meant acknowledging that every moment with Anne was borrowed time.
This past week and a half with her has been perfect. Every smile, every laugh, every stolen kiss felt like a gift I didn’t deserve. I’ve been living in a fantasy, pretending I could have this. Pretending I could make her happy long term.
But I can’t. The poison ensures that. Even if I somehow escaped the organization, even if I found a way to protect Anne from them, I’d still be dead in a month.
I decided I wanted to be with her while I could. Wanted to steal whatever happiness was available before the inevitable end.
The pain coursing through my system now is reality crashing back. I pull out my phone with shaking hands and type out a message to Rick.
Need to talk. Urgent.
The response comes almost immediately.
Tomorrow. 2 p.m.
I let my head fall back against the fridge and close my eyes. Tomorrow, I’ll beg for the antidote. Tonight, I just need to survive.
Sleep, when it finally comes, is fitful and full of nightmares. I wake every hour or so, drenched in sweat, my body screaming in protest. The painkillers help, but they can’t completely mask what’s happening.
By morning, I’ve taken enough pills to numb myself into a state resembling functionality.
I shower, the hot water doing little to ease the lingering ache in my muscles. I get dressed, and when I look at myself in the mirror, I barely recognize the man staring back—pale, hollow-eyed, jaw tight with pain I can hardly bear.
But I can fake it. I’ve gotten good at faking things.
I pop a few more painkillers before leaving, just to make sure I’ll be able to get through this Monday at work without collapsing.
The headquarters lobby is bustling when I arrive. I scan the crowd automatically—a habit from years of training—and my eyes land on Anne waiting for an elevator.
She sees me at the same moment, and her face lights up with a smile that makes my chest ache for entirely different reasons.
I join her as an empty elevator arrives, and when the doors close, trapping us in the small space alone together, she immediately reaches for me.
“How are you feeling?” Her hands cup my face, searching for signs of whatever she thinks was wrong yesterday.
I catch her hands and bring them to my lips for a kiss. “Perfectly fine. Like I told you, it was just an upset stomach. Didn’t last long.”
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I can’t tell her the truth. Can’t tell her that I’m dying. That every moment we spend together is one step closer to me leaving her again.
“Are you sure?” She’s still studying my face, worry evident in her eyes.
“Positive.” I lean in to kiss her properly. “See? All better.”
She relaxes slightly, sighing in relief. “Okay. But if you start feeling sick again, promise you’ll tell me?”
“Promise.” Another lie. They’re coming easier now.
The elevator dings, and we separate as the doors open. Anne gives me one last concerned look before heading to her desk, and I smile at her before the elevator doors shut again. At my floor, I force myself to walk calmly to my office.
The moment my door closes, I sag against it. I’m not going to make it very long without the antidote. The painkillers are barely keeping the edge off, and I can already feel their effect waning.
I need Rick to come through.
The morning drags by. Every minute feels like an hour.
Anne texts me about grabbing lunch together, but I tell her I’m swamped with work today.
I go through the motions of my job—reviewing security reports, responding to emails, attending a brief meeting about updated protocols—but I’m not really present. Just counting down until two o’clock.
Finally, my phone rings.
Private number. Rick.
“Hold on.” I get up immediately, rushing off to take the elevator down to the one place I’m sure will be empty this time of day.
The words stumble out of my lips the moment I step out into the parking lot. “I need the antidote.”
“Hello to you, too.” Rick’s voice is cold yet amused. “Straight to business, I see.”
“I don’t have time for games. The symptoms started yesterday. I need the antidote.”
“And why would we give it to you?” His tone sharpens. “You haven’t produced any results. The hybrid is still running around free, and you’re no closer to completing the mission than you were three months ago.”
Panic claws at my throat. “It’s not that simple. The hybrid is never alone. The Alpha watches her constantly. I’m working on it.”
“Are you? Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re too busy frolicking with that she-wolf to focus on your actual objective.”
The mention of my mate makes my blood run cold. “Anne? She doesn’t matter to me. I already told you, she’s just useful for getting close to the hybrid!”
“Really.” Rick laughs, and the sound makes my skin crawl. “Because surveillance suggests otherwise. You look awfully cozy with her for someone who’s just using her as a means to an end.”
“Of course I have to spend time with her, but it’s all fake!
The mission is what’s important, and I’m doing what I need to do to maintain my cover!
” The desperation is creeping into my voice now, and I hate it.
Hate that he can hear how nervous and frustrated I am.
“Give me the damn antidote, Rick. I’ll get you the hybrid. I just need more time.”
“Time is a luxury you don’t have.” Rick’s voice goes flat. “You want the antidote? Deliver the hybrid.”
“I can’t just—”
“Then suffer. Those are your options.” The line goes dead.
I stand there, phone pressed to my ear, staring at nothing.
He refused. They’re going to let me die unless I betray Anne and Violet.
And I have less than a month to decide which hell I’m willing to endure.