Chapter 85

Alyson

I dream of the moon goddess, the keeper of wolves, and the one deity who saved my life. I see her long, silky hair, her bright cloudy eyes, and her charming, yet saddened smirk. She stands on nothingness, floating through the navy sky, her dress flowing in white silk that leaks into the cloud of which she hovers above.

Bowing my head, I dare to weep in her powerful presence.

"Have I died?" I ask, too scared to hear the reply.

Her hand hovers over my cheek, not touching me physically but instead grazing my surface with a gentle mist. I meet her gaze, her eyes squinted in a fashion that makes me sure of my question. Of course I've died.

"No, not quite yet," she hums, her voice like church bells behind a gentle stream in the woods. She smirks, folding her hands over her lap. "I didn't want to pull you back in, Alyson, I just felt I should interject and seeing as you've deteriorated in the presence of wolfsbane in your blood, I felt it was an easy access to pull you aside."

"Pull me aside for what, majesty?"

"I know the predicament you're in, Alyson. I have seen what you've experienced. I just think you should know something; something vital to help you."

"Please—tell me. What should I do?"

I watch the most powerful, the most sure being in the universe hesitate. "I can't tell you that, Alyson. I cannot decide for you the path you're meant to take. I can only tell you that the wolf you're with now, the Alpha against you, is wounded."

"I've noticed," I sigh. "He stormed off when I asked why he has this vendetta."

"Olivera James, a rogue most of his life," she hums, singing her words. "His mate was killed by Jacob Alexander. Beth Inca-James. She is with me now, in this existence, but I need to warn you, dear. Olivera is a ruthless wolf. I've seen his work. The closer you are to him, the easier it is for him to strike. He is a caged wolf. Understand?"

I nod, armed with this information now.

I jolt awake, shaking all over in the bed where I laid for the night, my palms sweating as I grip the sheets into my balled fists. Olivera stands at the foot of the bed, eyes baring down on my surface, hot and poisonous. Looking aside, I wonder if it was an intricate dream I had or if I truly saw the moon goddess again.

"I heard you talking in your sleep, sweetheart," Olivera hums. "Talking to her."

I swallow hard, needing to play it off but unable to lie very well. "What about it?"

"You're cursed," he says with a lazy shrug. "I want to use that to my advantage."

"Use it for what?"

He rolls his eyes. "You ask too many questions for a captive."

"You expect too much out of me for just being your ransom."

"You're a conundrum, and I hate problems without solutions," he mutters, his hands sliding into the pockets of his dark denim pants, "I'm just curious what else you can do."

My heart stammers. "Like what?"

"Something to help me take down the board," he says.

"You said you'd trade me for their word, Olivera. That should be enough."

"The word of my enemy is little promise, sweetheart, you should realize that. You're my captive, of course, and I may be toiling with your mate's emotions to make a deal come to pass between the elders and I but if that's all you think I'm going to need to make sure this deal is legitimate then you're naïve."

"What are you going to do?" I ask, swallowing hard, my throat raked in gravel.

He gives me a sharp, skeptical look. "I'm not telling you that."

I consider asking about Beth Inca-James, but I don't want to piss him off right now. He seems stressed already, eyeing the chains on the headboard and then looking to me, as though weighing his options. I try to look small, unthreatening, and innocent as I give a small pout. He cracks a half-grin, amused, and stalks out of the bedroom.

A warrior I don't recognize returns to the bedroom, a tray in his grasp with a modest breakfast. I spot the orange juice, light in color and tainted more clear than normal. It has to be laced with wolfsbane, I know it is, and I hesitate to reach for it.

I try my hand at the mind link, feeling my wolf desperately trying to break free of my mind. It's hard to pull her forward, get her attention, and I find myself shaking in exhaustion as I battle the toxins in my bloodstream already. Maybe, just maybe, if I withstand the wolfsbane long enough today I can shift and try a better attempt at escape where I'm not delirious.

"Eat," the warrior growls, staring through me with disapproving eyes. He is built large like Olivera but covered in scars, battle wounds, including a mark that carries over his left eye, down to his defined jawline. "Now."

I finally reach over for the toast, minding his small twitch when I pass the juice up, ignoring the glass all together while I graze for the food around it. He mutters under his breath, pacing to the far window from what I can tell is just a drop of a cliff, a daring fall below to the tops of towering pines.

I suppose my escape won't be in that direction.

When I can see his frustration grow, I slip my hand past the glass, brushing it just hard enough to watch it tip over and spill into the tray. The warrior snarls a growl, snatching the tray away, watching me closely as he stalks out of the room.

He returns moments later, this time with a small cup of water, shoving it in my face. I can smell the toxins in this water, not masked by berry wine or sour juice. I reach for the cup, tossing it aside off the edge of the bed, watching the glass and the liquid spread over the wood floors.

"Why you little—" he barks, reaching into his pocket for a glass bottle, ripping the top off of it and throwing the glass dropper aside. He covered the bottle with his thumb, pouncing into the bed where I lay, his knee pressed into my ribs so rough and heavy that I feel my bones shift in response.

I release a daring scream, his pressuring body over mine forcing creaks of my bones to shatter and splinter inside of my torso. I plead through heavy sobs for him to move, to get off of me, but he holds the bottle to my lips, spilling some slightly, the sensation like fire licking my chin and throat where it trickles in excess.

I go limp under his domination, only catching a glimpse as the wolf atop of me is thrown clear across the room, his back connecting with the glass window and his body disappearing in the daunting fall.

Lifting up my head, I fail to steady my glare, falling into the grip of the wolfsbane scarring over my face and neck. Blinking back spots, I pray I don't see the moon goddess this time. It very well could be the last time.