Page 28 of The Witch's Heart
My stomach flutters at our nearness.
“How are you?” he whispers.
“Better,” I tell him, smiling. “Thank you. And you?”
“Glad you’re safe.”
“I was worried about you,” I admit. “When you wouldn’t wake up before… and then after—when I woke in the clinic alone. What they’re doing to us here, it isn’t right.”
He doesn’t respond right away, and his forehead creases.
Finally, he says, “You don’t know anything about what you are, do you?”
“I don’t even know if I believe I am what you say,” I admit. “Or if any of this is real. Maybe I’m imagining you.”
He brushes his fingers across my cheek, lips curving. “I’m real, Celeste. I promise.”
The reassurance of his touch bolsters me and for the first time, I’m not terrified by the thought that he might be right. Dean and Declan make all of these impossibilities more bearable.
“Did you know what you were before coming here?” I ask.
“I was raised with a pack. We both were. Taught how to control our wolf and use it to our benefit. All of that came naturally to Declan and me. Even among our own pack, we were considered gifted. Some said it was our twin bond, but Dec and I can do stuff other wolves can’t.”
“Like the heat Declan used on me,” I say.
“That’s part of it. We also control our shift better than most. Channel our wolf strength into our human forms, that sort of thing. Over time, word spread amongst our rellies. They said we were a new kind of wolf, more powerful than past generations. Unfortunately, we underestimated how many other mongrels heard about it too.”
“What happened when they found out?” I ask, completely caught up in the story. It’s easy to imagine Dean and Declan in the woods, running with a pack underneath a full moon.
“We fear what we don’t understand. Feel threatened by power greater than our own.”
“Did they try to hurt you?”
“Not directly.” He is silent and I can tell he’s remembering. “But they are the reason Declan and I ended up here.” He shakes his head as if shaking it off. “All those years, I should have listened to Dec. Should have left with him to open that damned bakery.”
“He wanted to leave your pack?”
“We both knew we weren’t meant for that life,” Dean says quietly. “Dec was just the one willing to do something about it.”
His words remind me of Estelle. She always believed there was more to our family’s legacy than just mental instability.
Magic.
She’d tried to tell me once. I’d blown her off. And now, here we were.
“The people who brought us here—what do they want?” I ask.
He snorts. “Depends on who you ask. When we first arrived, they said they wanted to cure us. Then they said they wanted to help us make peace with ourselves.”
I swallow hard, remembering how the doctor said those very words to me.
“Canthey cure you? I mean, is that possible?”
“No.”
Declan’s voice in my ear is rough with sleep.
I sit up and turn to face them both.
