“Serena wanted an adventure, and Jason . . .” Kyle pulled in a deep breath. “Jason’s in love with you.” He reached up and brushed the hair back from my face. “Neither of them had entirely selfless motives. You can keep blaming yourself, but it’s a waste of time and energy.”
I shook my head. “You sound like my father.”
Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Gee, thanks.”
“I just meant you sound practical,” I elaborated. “Hank has a lot of flaws but he’s always been very good at practical. He used to say guilt was a useless emotion.” I slipped a finger under my wrist cuff and ran it along the charm. I hoped Eve had acquired that same practical edge. I hoped she had gone for the truck even if she realized we were trapped in the sanatorium. It was what Hank would have done.
Silence filled the room like the tide coming in.
“What do you think is going to happen to us?” I asked, when I couldn’t take the quiet any longer.
“I’m trying not to think about it, actually.” Kyle leaned forward. He didn’t tell me that everything would be all right or that things weren’t that bad. He didn’t lie.
I brushed my lips against his.
It was a soft kiss. Gentle and comforting.
After a moment, Kyle pulled back. “Promise you’ll tell them that you’re a reg.”
“Do you really think it matters now?” It couldn’t—not after I’d been caught sneaking into the sanatorium.
He frowned and ran his hands lightly over my legs, letting his palms come to rest on my knees. “Maybe not.”
I pressed my forehead to his. “Kyle?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m really scared.” Saying the words made the fear seem more real, but it also eased some of the pressure in my chest.
In response, he kissed me again. Like before, the kiss started off gentle and comforting, but this time, it quickly plunged into something distracting and desperate.
I tried to bury everything in the kiss—all of my guilt and anger and fear—as Kyle’s hands slid up my back and knotted in my hair. I clung to him with every inch of every limb and kissed him like it was the last time I’d ever get the chance.
After a while, Kyle’s hands slid to my shoulders and he eased me away. “Mac, there’s something I have to tell you . . . about what happened in Denver. . . .” His voice held a jagged edge that had nothing to do with his being infected and everything to do with the fact that I had just spent the last several minutes trying to devour him.
He pulled in a calming breath as he searched for words.
“Is this something that’s going to upset me?”
“Maybe,” he admitted.
“We’re stuck in a dilapidated cell in an evil rehabilitation camp awaiting possible death, torture, or insanity. Maybe you could hold on to whatever you have to say until after we figure out if we’re going to survive?”
Despite the situation, a small smiled tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Okay.” He leaned in for another kiss, but suddenly stopped. His brow creased as he tilted his head to the side.
“What is it?”
“Guards, I think.”
Kyle tugged me off the dresser and then carried it over to the door as though it weighed nothing. He placed it underneath the window and then hopped up effortlessly. “It’s Dex,” he said as he peered out into the hall.
“What about Eve?” A knot formed in my chest as I scrambled up after him.
Kyle shook his head. The dresser wobbled under our combined weight and he reached for my arm to steady me. “Just Dex.”
I pressed my face to the dusty glass.
Dex stood between two guards, his back to us. He was shirtless and his skin was covered with dark patches. He hugged his chest—hugged it so tightly that his fingers dug into his sides and his shoulders shook. Bile rose in my throat as I realized the patches on his skin were dried blood.
“Dex?” Kyle’s voice was too low for the guards to hear, but loud enough for a werewolf.
Dex swayed slightly on his feet, but showed no sign of hearing.
One guard unlocked the cell across from us. As soon as the door swung open, the other pushed Dex inside. Dex stumbled forward and crashed to his knees.
Without a word, the guards pulled the door shut and left.
“Dex?” Kyle called, louder this time. There was no answer.
“What if he’s passed out?” I thought of internal injures and those stories you heard about people choking to death on their own vomit.
“He’ll be okay,” said Kyle, the words automatic and without strength behind them.
“What if Eve . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the question. If Eve wasn’t with Dex, did that mean she had gotten away? Or did it mean something really bad had happened?
“Eve is probably laying low.” Kyle stepped off the dresser and landed lightly on the balls of his feet. “And Dex . . . Dex will be fine.” But he didn’t sound convinced and he avoided meeting my eyes.
I lowered myself to a crouch and then eased down to the floor. As I did, my fingers grazed a thin, brittle piece of paper glued to the side of the dresser. An inventory label. I peered at it, curious. It was yellow with age and it took me a moment to decipher the faded lettering.
My breath caught in my throat and my heart raced.
“What is it?” asked Kyle.
I shook my head, unable to string syllables together. The label read: Property of Willowgrove.
It was here.
Willowgrove wasn’t a secret camp or some trick to balance the books as they killed off wolves. It was the name of the old sanatorium. The name of the place where they were testing Sinclair’s cure.
Time was hard to gauge when you were locked in a dilapidated cell with no hope of escape. We ended up sitting with our backs against the wall. Sometimes we talked or held hands. Other times we stayed silent, each lost in dark thoughts.
Eventually, exhaustion caught up with me, and I found myself slipping in and out of that space between waking and dreams. In those moments, it was like Amy was in the cell with us, whispering things that Kyle couldn’t hear.
“You’re going to get him killed, you know,” she said, crouching next to me and leaning in close.
I jerked awake with enough force that I slammed the back of my head against the wall.
I blinked, for a moment disorientated.
Kyle was no longer beside me. He was standing near the door.
“What is it?” I climbed wearily to my feet and rubbed my aching skull.
Instead of answering, he backed up, placing himself between me and the entrance a handful of heartbeats before the door swung open.
Two guards shoved the dresser aside. They stormed into the cell and three more followed in their wake. Four of the men held Tasers, the other gripped a gun.
All five trained their weapons on Kyle.
I expected them to yell or give us an order, but they just stood there. Waiting.
The sound of high heels echoed down the hall. My pulse pounded behind my ears and my legs felt suddenly shaky. I could think of only one person who would wear heels in a place like this.
Warden Sinclair stepped through the doorway. She slipped her hands into the pockets of her slacks as she surveyed everything and everyone in the room. Her suit looked freshly pressed and her hair and makeup were both immaculate. She was a surreal contrast to the decay and grime surrounding us.
A small smile—one without an ounce of kindness or sincerity—curved her mouth. No sooner had it appeared than Kyle fell to his knees.
I reached for him, but one of the guards trained his Taser on me. I wasn’t a wolf: if they tased me, I might not get back up.
“So it is true.” Sinclair slipped her hands from her pockets. An HFD was nestled in her palm. “You really are just a human.”