Goddamn stupid name. Of all the names I could have picked. I nod, anyway.
Cassia’s lips curve. “And will your pirate lover, Captain Jackson, be making an appearance?”
I gape at her. “You read that book too?”
“Well, it was a number-one bestseller a few years back,” she says with a shrug.
“That garbage was a bestseller?”
She laughs. “I think it had more to do with Captain Jackson’s physical prowess than the plot, but yes. Indeed, a bestseller,” she adds quickly. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.” She winks.
Great. Just fucking great.
Her expression warms. “I promise, Bluebelle. Or would you prefer I call you something else?”
“Mo,” I mutter.
Fuck. Why did I tell her that?
I don’t know. Maybe because she’s the one who cut the wires out of me. Maybe because she cracked a joke about a shitty pirate romance, and for one stupid second, I felt like a normal person having a normal conversation.
“Mo,” she nods. “Now. How about some water? You must be dehydrated.”
I eye the glass she offers. My throat feels like I’ve been chewing gravel, and every survival instinct I have screams for water. I take it. Gulp it down. Cold, clean, gone before I can taste it. My body wants more before the first glass is even empty.
Cassia refills it without being asked. Then she studies me for a moment. “Let’s get you outside. Shifting will help you heal. Your body needs it badly. Once you shift, the wolfsbane will be fully out of your system, but your skin will remain tender for a little while.”
My pulse kicks up. Outside means open air. Open air means forest. Forest means freedom.
I nod, keeping my face carefully blank.
We step outside, and the fresh air hits me. Earthy, alive. Pine needles and damp soil, and the faint sweetness of wildflowers somewhere nearby. My wolf claws at the surface, desperate, begging to be let out.
I let the shift take me. Bones crack and reshape, muscles stretch and rearrange, fur sprouts across my body. The relief is instant. I’ve lived with the wolfsbane coursing through me for so long that I forgot what I was supposed to feel like without it. The second I’m on four paws, I tense to sprint.
This is it. I’m out. I’m gone.
But then my wolf does something I absolutely do not authorize.
She howls. Not a run-for-your-life howl. A happy howl. A hey-everybody-look-at-me howl. And then she takes off running, but not toward the tree line.
Toward a group of massive wolves near the edge of the clearing.
What the actual fuck?
Stop!I scream inside my own head.Turn around, you idiot!
She ignores me. Not even a flicker of hesitation. She barrels toward the other wolves, yipping and prancing and wagging her tail so hard, our whole back end swings with it. I watch in absolute horror as she throws herself at them, rolling and play-fighting with wolves three times her size.
Their scents hit me all at once. Each one is different, each one making my tail wag harder, which should be impossible because it’s already going at full speed. Sensual amber, steeped in citrus and sandalwood, rich leather mixed with clove and cedar, and the sweet, comforting scent of the mossy forest after rain. I leap onto a grey wolf and nip at his ears, then tumble away and circle back, pouncing on a leaner brown one who lets out a surprised bark.
“Stop it!” I beg my wolf. “We don’t play with alphas! You’re making a fool of yourself!”
A huge black wolf stands apart from the others, watching. Even in wolf form, I recognize those icy blue eyes. Darius. His scent drifts faintly on the autumn breeze: pine, wood-smoke and a hint of black pepper. My stomach does a traitorous flip. My wolf’s stomach. Not mine. Let’s be clear.
“This isn’t happening,” I groan as my wolf flops onto her back, legs splayed, belly exposed.
I retreat deep into my own mind because I cannot watch this. My wolf, the fierce creature who kept me alive for three yearsin the wilderness, is rolling in the dirt with our kidnappers and having the time of her life.