Page 73 of The Witch's Heart
Maybe I’ve used it all up.
Maybe I’ve lost my one chance at saving us all.
Another door opens. I strain to listen for some sign that I’m not alone.
The door shuts.
The lights come on. Or the illusion ends. Either way, I can see again.
A quick blink is all it takes to realize I am no longer alone.
The guys are both gone.
In their place, unchained and absolutely feral, is a wolf.
I recognize it instantly. It’s the same wolf that tried to attack me by throwing itself at its cell bars, unconcerned with the pain of the metal against its frail bones. All it cared about then was sinking its teeth into me. And one look at the unfocused eyes and bared canines and I know nothing has changed.
This wolf is unreachable and it’s hell bent on killing me.
There’s no silver magic left in my veins. Either that or it’s decided not to assist me against the wolf I now face. Not a single spirit appears to offer help in my eleventh hour. I’m on my own. Weaponless. At the mercy of a beast.
I take a slow step back. “Easy now.”
And I’m rewarded with a low snarl.
The wolf takes a step forward.
My shoulder blades hit the wall behind me.
I’m trapped.
“Is this because Declan wouldn’t kill me?” I call to whoever’s listening.
The wolf doesn’t answer, but I am certain there are others watching this unfold. Schmidt. The man with the scars. Cutter.
“I can’t summon my magic,” I say when the wolf takes another step.
It’s not in a hurry. It knows I’m cornered prey.
I bite my lip as a single tear slips down my cheek. I refuse to beg for their mercy. When the wolf leaps at me, I am ready. I know I’ve done all I can. And I would die again if it means saving the ones I love. I just hope Declan and Dean get out. And that they’ll help Estelle get out too.
With eyes closed, I grit my teeth and brace myself for the attack that I know is coming.
But instead of claws and teeth raking down my body, I am swept up into the firm grip of cold arms. Fingers tighten against my hip and underneath my legs as wind whips across my cheeks. The speed at which I’m moving is impossible. Even with my eyes open, the walls blur by me too fast to make out.
My stomach rolls with nausea.
By the time we stop, my feeling of safety is overshadowed by the shock of what he’s just done.
“How did you—”
“Are you all right?” Dr. Livingstone’s voice is urgent, and his closeness makes it hard to think past our bodies pressed so tightly together in such a cramped space. It’s a closet. I think. Hard to tell in the near-darkness, but the smell of bleach is strong.
“I’m fine,” I say, voice wavering as I think back to the feral wolf. And before that, to Declan. “How did you know where to find me?”
“I’ve been keeping tabs on you all week,” he admits quietly and my stomach jumps for other reasons. “I’ve been worried about you.”
“After you fed, I didn’t see you and I thought...”
