by Mason Sabre
“Sorry,” Gemma whispered, and for a moment he thought she might have read his mind. But it was his father’s words to him that she was referring to.
“It’s okay,” he said softly. “He’s an ass. Nothing he says has the power to hurt me.” Even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were lies.
With unease, Cade sat down on the small, thin cushion each cage had, though it was pretty useless in giving any comfort. He made sure not to let any part of his skin touch the bars of the cage, but even so, it was so draining being surrounded by all this silver, like sitting in the heat of the sun. It didn’t hurt, but it brought about a heavy drowsiness that made it hard to keep his eyes open. He sat crossed-legged, his head resting in his hands and his father’s words floating around in his head.
The door at the top of the stairs closed and the lock was pushed into place—just in case they did get out. Not that it mattered. Even in the unlikely event they did manage to escape their cages and the underground room, they couldn’t shift. The collar would kill them.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“I’m sorry,” Cade muttered to Gemma after a while, head still in his hands.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Cade,” she replied softly.
He lifted his head to look at her, pain etched on his features. “You’d not be here if it wasn’t for me … If I hadn't got Phoenix and brought him here.”
She scowled at him. “If we weren’t here, Phoenix would be dead. The Humans would have got him, done who knows what to him. They would have slaughtered him, but not before making him suffer. It’s been three weeks since you found him?” At Cade’s heavy nod, she continued, “What would they have done to him in this time? If you hadn't picked him up that night? You saved him, Cade.” She gestured to the bars around her. “If this is the price that we have to pay for him … for a young boy not to be tortured, slaughtered and paraded around like a grand prize, then shit, I don’t care. When we start to put our lives before others, when we let someone die so that we don’t suffer, then you can say sorry to me. Because that would be something unforgivable. So don’t you dare say sorry for this, because sorry means you’d not do it again, and I don’t regret a single action we have taken since that moment. Not one. Do you hear me?”
He heard her. He knew what she meant. He didn’t regret anything, not his actions, at least. It was the actions of others that was the problem.
Gemma sat facing Cade, mimicking his cross-legged position, their eyes on one another. He could see she was struggling with the effects that the silver was having on her, her shoulders slumped and her eyes and head drooping. The silver practically zapped every small particle of energy from their bodies. Cade’s stomach churned from the food he had eaten that morning with Phoenix. He hadn't felt hungry, too anxious to eat, but he knew he had to if he were to survive this. The feeling of nausea that swept through him now had him regretting his choice, however. His throat raw as if he had been shouting, he said, “I’m so tired.”
“Me too.” Gemma’s voice was slow, lethargic. “I’m just going to try to lie down a bit,” she mumbled, shuffling around and curling up on the floor. The cage was big enough to lie down—just that the closer to the bars one got, the worse it felt. Cade followed suit and fell asleep watching Gemma. Her face was still, her breaths slow and laboured as if even those were too much effort to bother with. It was much later that the door clanged open at the top of the stairs and woke them both with a start. Cade’s head protested and began to throb instantly. He moistened his lips, his throat feeling like he had not drunk anything for a week.
Stephen appeared carrying a tray with two plates, two glasses and two jugs of water. Was it was lunchtime already? Cade couldn’t believe they had slept that long. He was sure it was just five minutes ago, ten at most, that he had closed his eyes. The food was Human food—Cade could smell the unappealing aroma without needing to actually see it. How disgusted that must have made Stephen, although today—just maybe—he was taking pleasure in it.
Stephen set the tray down on the table in the corner, before carrying one of the plates over to Gemma’s cage. He slid it in through a small, openable hatch that each cage had, and then did the same with a glass and one of the jugs. Cade dragged himself into a sitting position, his head swimming from the effort. He had to blink hard just to focus his vision. Maybe they could survive the cage by just sleeping through it all, he thought hopefully. Gemma lay there unmoving as she watched Stephen slide her stuff in. She made no attempt to raise her head or to look at her brother, however.
“It’s lunchtime,” Stephen said stonily, as if they hadn't gathered that. “I will bring you dinner later.”
Neither of them replied or acknowledged what he had said. Cade had no idea what he could say to him. He couldn’t fix things from inside this place—maybe he wouldn’t be able to fix them from anywhere. Stephen pushed Cade’s plate and water in through the hatch and then locked it back up. Instead of leaving, however, he stood there quietly, awkwardly, looking like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite get it out. Cade had never seen Stephen like this before—his friend wasn’t one for holding his words in. He spoke them and god help you if you were the target. So, seeing him standing there, unspeaking, was maybe worse than if he was screaming at them.
Gemma pushed her plate back towards the hatch and then rolled over to face the other way. A tick began to work along Stephen’s jaw, but still he said nothing. He threw Cade a look hostile enough that he knew not to speak to him, and then turned abruptly and headed back up the stairs.
“You have to eat,” Cade croaked when Stephen had gone.
“I’m not hungry,” Gemma whispered.
“You’ll need it later.”
She rubbed her arms, the same way Phoenix had done those days ago. “I can feel the burn already,” she said. “The moon isn’t even up yet and I can feel it. How can I make it through the whole day?”
Cade pushed himself up. “If you eat, you can get your strength up.”
“I don’t think I can move.”
“You can. Come on, Gem.” He sat up as if to demonstrate it to her. “Push yourself. One mouthful. That’s all.”
Gemma tried to rise slowly, her weak arms pushing her up shakily. Her head seemed to weigh a ton. She got herself into a sitting position, her head hanging and her hair falling loosely around her face. “I can't even stand it now. What is it going to be like later?”
Cade sat so that he could face her. “We’ll get through it—you and I. We can do anything.”
She let out a laugh at his words. “We can't.”
“Drink some water,” he ordered her softly.
She nodded and reached out to pour some of the contents of the jug into the glass, struggling to lift and tip the pitcher. Water sloshed over the sides, but she managed to get it half-filled. Licking her dry lips, she lifted the glass to her mouth, but it slipped from her trembling fingers and smashed onto the floor. She jerked away and managed to topple the jug over, too. Instinctively, she reached out to grab it, but her hand unwittingly came into contact with one of the bars. Snatching her hand away, she hugged the injured knuckles to her chest, swearing. “Shit.” A tear of frustration rolled down her cheek.
“It’s okay,” Cade soothed, infuriated that he could not go to her. He got his glass and pushed it through the bars, careful to keep his arms free on either side, like those games that people played at fairgrounds, where they had to get the hoop along the wire without touching it. He pushed the glass towards her. “Take mine.”
“It’s yours,” she said, shaking her head.
“You have it. I can drink from the jug.”
She hesitated, then reached an unsteady hand to take it from him. Her fingers brushed his and she jumped, an electric shock shooting through her. She withdrew her hand sharply, and disappointment filled him. He was so desperate to reach out to her, to just hold her hand and make her feel safe again. She filled his glass and lifted it carefully this
time. Initially, she sipped the cool water, but then it turned to great heaving gulps.
When she brought her glass down and looked at him, her face was bright, a flush in her cheeks.
“Eat now?”
Gemma nodded and pulled her plate in front of her. As Cade did the same, they started to slowly eat the unpalatable meal together, him encouraging her all the way. The pieces were like cardboard in his mouth, lacking both in flavour and in nourishment.
When Cade had forced himself to eat as much as was possible, he set his fork down on the side of his plate and dared to ask her what he had been dying to. “Where have you been this last week?”
Gemma stopped pushing her food around her plate and looked at him with sad eyes. Breaking their gaze, she rested her fork on her plate and pushed it to one side.
“Gem?”
A sob caught in her throat, and she pressed the back of her hand up to her mouth to stop it.
“Gem, what is it?” Those bars—the stupid fucking bars. Gemma sat there shaking in front of him, her upset evident, and he couldn’t god damn get to her. “Gem, talk to me.”
She let out a shaky breath. “Stephen ... he’s so mad.”
“I know. He’ll get through it.”
She took a heaving breath, and then raised her eyes slowly until they met Cade’s. The way she was looking at him told him that this was not going to be good. “He went to my dad,” she said. Cade went cold.
“About us?”
She shook her head. “No.” She wrapped her arms tightly around her knees, bringing them to her chest. “They found me a potential.”
Cade froze. The food that he had swallowed churned in his stomach. For a moment, all lethargy vanished and he felt dangerously crazed. He was precariously close to throwing himself onto the silver bars to try and break free and go find Stephen. Son of a bitch.
Potential was as the word indicated—potential. A prospective mate. If the alpha found you one, then there better be a damn good reason not to mate with them. It was all about breeding and pure bloods and what would pass down the lines. An Other was welcome to find their own mate, but in some packs the alphas chose, matching them genetically to produce stronger, better and more efficient pups and cubs to carry on the lines. “Who?” he asked quietly, hoping to god it wasn’t someone that he knew. Because he’d hate to want to murder someone he had considered a friend up to then.
She turned away from Cade. “His name is Ian,” she whispered, wiping her eyes. “It doesn’t matter who it is,” she said, and then glanced over her shoulder to peer at him. “He isn’t you. No one can ever be.”
“He’s just a potential,” Cade reassured her—and himself somewhat, pushing down the overwhelming rage at the mere thought of any other man laying a finger on her. “It doesn’t mean you have to go along with it.” He knew what this meant—Stephen’s way of keeping them apart.
“Have you ever tried to argue with my dad? Especially when he has Stephen for back up?”
Cade reached through the bars again. He didn’t care that the silver felt like his arm was too close to the fire. He’d walk through flames if he had to just to be with her. He reached for her, and Gemma lifted her hand to lace her fingers through his. “We’ll work this out,” he said roughly. “I don’t know how just yet, but we will.” They had to. The thought of anyone else touching Gemma killed him. He’d rip their hands off slowly just for trying. Shit, he’d burn their eyes out if they even so much as looked at her with that kind of intent.
She pressed her face into the palm of his hand and kissed his fingertips. “I think I need to sleep again,” she whispered, letting go of his hand so that he could pull back, careful not to brush against the bars. She curled herself up, pushing the cushion into a shape that would give some kind of false semblance of being comfortable.
Her head had barely touched the cushion when she lurched up, grabbed the bucket and retched. “Gem?” Cade sprung forward, cursing the barrier of the bars. She brought up all the food that hadn't had time to settle in her stomach. The retches kept coming, but she was dry heaving now, her stomach empty. “Gemma, get some water. Drink it.” He spoke in a calm tone, but the underlying alarm was there.
She wiped her mouth on the front of her shirt—she didn’t have anything else. Breathing hard, she did as Cade instructed and reached for her glass. She had to swallow several times to keep try the liquid down, but after a few sips of water, she was retching again. “Lie down, Gem,” urged Cade, standing right by the bars. The proximity was making him weak, but he refused to back away. If he could break through these god damn bars to get to Gemma, he would. But he couldn’t reach to her, he couldn’t get over there so that he could sit with her in his lap and hold her till the nausea passed.
“Sorry,” she panted between breaths, then slowly lay back down and closed her eyes.
Relieved to see her calmer, he stumbled back to his own pillow. The pull of the silver was too much, a pressure behind his eyes making them want to close. Sleep overtook them both, and it was a short respite to be able to blank out for a while. He awoke occasionally, but his eyes didn’t permit him to keep them open for any more than a fraction of a minute. It was just enough time for him to check on Gemma, and then he was gone again. She hadn't moved—each time he checked, she was lying in the same position.
Dinner time came, and Stephen appeared again—new tray, new food, and a fresh jug of water for them both. Worry flitted over his features as he took in Gemma’s pale face and motionless body.
Cade lifted his heavy head with difficulty. “She’s sick,” he mumbled to Stephen.
“I can smell that.” He got her a clean bucket from the corner of the room and pulled on his gloves before unlocking her cage so that he could change her bucket and get the uneaten lunch. Gemma rolled onto her back. Neither of them said a word to the other.
When he had closed her cage and cleaned out her bucket, he came to stand by Cade’s cage, staring down at him. There was no friendly expression there. The Stephen he knew was gone, replaced by the one that the outside world got to see. Cade pushed his plate toward the hatch, and after a moment, Stephen bent down to open it and remove the plate.
“Is Phoenix okay?” Cade croaked, barely able to force the words past his throat. He could ask that at least. “He isn’t suffering without me?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Stephen said nonchalantly. “He’s with your father.”
“What?” Cade struggled to his feet and staggered to the bars, wrapping his hands around them to get closer to Stephen. Pain tore through his hands and he yelled at the agony of it as the silver seared his flesh. He snatched his hands away, the pain blinding him momentarily. Heat burned through his flesh, and up along his arms, in fiery succession. He swayed, his vision blurring and everything starting to black out.
He heard his name as if from far away, then Stephen was in the cage with him, catching Cade before he fell into the bars behind him.
“Shit.” Stephen’s anger fell away and, for a moment, he saw a flicker of his friend there. But Cade was reeling from the pain in his hands, and the thought of Phoenix with his father was too much to think about it. He shoved at him with as much might as he could muster. “Get the fuck off me,” Cade growled. “I get it you're pissed at me. I bloody do. But fuck, don’t take it out on Phoenix.”
Stephens’s expression hardened once again, and he stepped back, letting Cade go abruptly. “He said he was going to take the little half-breed with him. Show him how to be a proper wolf.”
“Why?” Cade demanded. “Why would you do that?” Of all the things, all of the choices, he could have done something else. He knew what Trevor’s ‘teaching Phoenix to be a wolf’ meant. They’d fucking hunt him until he learnt to hunt right back. They’d fight him until he learnt to fight back. They’d snarl at him and snap and make him starve on the night of a full moon until he learnt that the only way he had a place was to take it. There was no submission in wolves, and to show it would mean many
things, none of them good.
Gemma had woken, and she struggled into a sitting position. “Stephen, please. Don’t do this.”
Stephen locked Cade’s cage again, his expression inscrutable. “He’s gone already. Nothing I can do now.”
“He’ll kill him,” said Cade. “You know that, right? You know what he is going to do.”
“Shift with him, please,” Gemma begged. “Don’t take what we did out on him. It was me. It wasn’t Cade.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Please.”
“You both had me for a fucking idiot.” The fury was back, scorching them with its ferocity.
“We didn’t, Stephen ... and you’re not. He’s just a kid,” she sobbed. “I'm taking a potential—it’s all over. Please.”
A tick worked along his jaw and turned to glare at Cade. “Why did you have to do this, Cade? Fucking why?”
“It wasn’t on purpose.”
“It was. It was a choice. You could have said no, but you didn’t. You could have walked away. You were like my brother. She’s my sister.”
Sweat rolled down Cade’s back, the silver, the burning in his hands and his worry for Phoenix too much for his body to deal with simultaneously. He pictured Phoenix right now and what must be going on. Cursing the fucking room he was in. Silent and soundproof, it also seemed to be bond-proof, too—that part of him that felt Phoenix was silent. The room seemed to be making their bond blind, and it was impossible for Cade to reach him, to soothe and help him. God knows what would happen. “You didn’t have to do this to Phoenix,” he growled angrily.
“You did this to Phoenix. You. Do you know what will happen if you're both caught? If anyone finds out what you have both done? I don’t just lose my friend, I lose my sister, too. Because of your fucking act, I lose out. I lose everything. You are what I have—both of you.”