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Misha was silent so long, I nearly reached for him in an attempt to force the answer out, but finally he took a breath and spoke. “Strength. Power. All of the abilities the Wolves have without having to face the animal that comes with it. I think that’s what he was doing in the lab,” Misha finished on a sigh. “Stealing from you in order to turn humans into a weapon.”
Ice ran through my veins. I sat here with the son of the monster who had done this to me. The son of the monster who had been ripping me apart, bit by bit. And not just me—others like me.
“And what about you?” I forced myself to ask.
Misha’s laugh was bitter. “I don’t know. I certainly don’t feel like a weapon, and I don’t think he would have used that on me anyway. He always saw me as weak.”
I was startled by that. Perhaps Misha was small, but his will was stronger than half the soldiers under my command. He’d suffered—he’d endured. He’d survived. I closed my eyes and realized I could feel him—a gentle pulse not unlike a pack bond. It was there if I wanted to reach for it, but I wasn’t foolish enough to try.
“He and I didn’t spend a lot of time together,” Misha said after a beat, his voice rich and bitter. “But he wouldn’t have told me even if we’d been closer. I don’t think his children mean anything to him other than how we can advance his work. But I think he was especially glad he didn’t have to use my brothers.”
Something settled in my gut that was unexpected. Sympathy, maybe, or just a vague sense of understanding. After all, he wasn’t the only one betrayed by the people he’d trusted. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” I heard a sound, a quiet, slick noise, and it occurred to me he was licking his lips. My nostrils flared, unable to help it. His omega scent would have affected me more had he not been human—had I not been injured and weak. “I was the throw-away kid. I was the fourth, and my brothers are all soldiers and politicians. I was this weak, pathetic nerd with my nose constantly in books. I was willfully ignorant of everything going on around me, and I think deep down, I knew it.”
I reached up, rubbing at my eyes, and the sparks returned. My breath caught in my throat, but the blackness settled once more, and though I turned my head from side to side like I’d been able to do before, there was still nothing.
“Kor,” he said, and I startled, unsure if he’d said my name before now. “What’s wrong?”
I grimaced and dropped my hands to my thighs as pain pulsed through my temples. “Nothing. I… Just a headache.”
Misha was quiet a long moment, then, “How long does it usually take you to heal?”
I tried not to sigh at the question. I was tired of feeling like a lab experiment, but I knew he didn’t mean it that way. “It depends. I’ve never been this injured before. Whatever they did probably would have killed me weeks ago, but…” I trailed off with a shrug and didn’t offer him more. I focused on the new, strange, pulsing bond that sat out in front of me, and I still refused to reach for it. I couldn’t trust him—not yet. Not until we were somewhere safe.
Instead of thinking about the warmth I felt with him near me, I let my fingers explore the space around me. The dirt clods on the floor that crumbled beneath my touch, the warm tendrils coming from the fire, the fresh air from a crack in the window.
From the scent on the breeze, I could tell we were far from any sort of civilization. This had likely been a safehouse for my kind during the war, but from the state of it, I had to assume it had been abandoned long before the treaty was signed.
“You will though, right?” he asked with some trepidation, like maybe I would snap his neck for asking the wrong question. Normally, I wanted humans to be afraid—I craved that power over them. But for some reason, it sat wrong under my skin as I heard the tremor in Misha’s voice. “You’ll heal? I mean, none of this is serious, right?”
“As far as I can tell,” I said with a grunt. “I don’t think any of my damage is irreparable. We can’t grow back limbs, we can’t repair a severed spine, we can’t come back from the dead—but that hasn’t happened to me so far.”
He let out another breathy laugh. “Clearly.” There was silence, and then I heard an extra thump in his heart before he spoke again. “For what it’s worth, you look better. I mean, you could seriously use a shower, because you stink, but I’m not gonna hold that against you.”
That brought a smile to my lips, unbidden and wide enough Misha’s breath caught for a second. I hadn’t expected to feel anything but fatigue, fear, and anger, but this burst of joy gave me a rush of strength I hadn’t felt since before I was captured.
I wanted to hate him—this human. I wanted to despise him in spite of his circumstances because of who his father was. By proxy, Misha was the enemy. Now in more ways than one, but he was also my salvation, even if it came with a price.
And I found it was impossible to hang on to that bitterness knowing what he’d been through. There was not a single trace of a lie in his voice when he spoke about his father or about his capture. He was in pain now, just like he had been for months, and in that, a bond between us had formed.
“Is your mother alive?” I asked.
I heard him jolt at the question. “Uh. I think so? Why?”
“She didn’t protest what happened to you?” I thought about my own mother—how she would have sacrificed life and limb to protect me—and I struggled to think of any parent subjecting their child to what either of us had been through.
He sniffed, and for a second, I thought he might start crying. Before I could offer up a prayer to the gods that he could keep control of himself, he let out a long breath. “I don’t fucking know. She was always wrapped up in her own shit, you know? I’d be surprised if she knew I was even gone.”
“That,” I started, but I didn’t have words, and I felt something like relief in the space between us.
“Can I ask you something?” he chanced a few moments later.
I shifted to get a little more comfortable, then gave him a nod.
“How did they get you?” He cleared his throat nervously. “Even after months of torture, you’re strong. I’m having a hard time imagining anyone over-powering you.”
I bit my lip and closed my eyes, leaning my head back into a patch of sun. I luxuriated in the warmth on my cheeks, in the air that was humid and fresh—not dumping from a recycled vent. I felt the dust beneath my hands like it was sand from the earth, and I allowed myself just a second of peace.
