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My fingers come within inches of wrapping around the bars between us before my inner wolf snaps a warning and I realize that, if I grab them, the pure silver will singe the skin right from my fingertips.
I gasp, yanking my hands back, and bring my fingers to my lips instead.
I hate it, but I guess I understand. If Walker really has convinced himself that he’s preparing for the next Claws and Fangs war, then of course he’s going to want to keep Aleks contained. With Trish, he could play it off like he was doing what was best for her, the way he kept her protected behind bars.
Not Aleks. The silver in the bars makes that obvious.
A pit of anger mixed with shame forms low in my gut. The silver bullets were one thing; after the way Aleks defeated his challenger, nothing less would’ve kept him from rampaging through the rest of the pack if a vampire’s bloodlust got the better of him. But there’s only reason why Walker would toss him in a cell with silver bars: he wants his supe prisoner to hurt.
“Oh, Aleks...”
His head shoots up. His pale skin is flushed, probably from the meal he just ate, and his eyes had reverted from the raging red back to a soft, light green. Still no glasses, but at least he looks like the Aleks I know and love.
Except for the blood staining his shirt and the bullet holes riddling clothes, that is.
“Gem. What are you—” With some effort, he starts to climb to his feet. “Are you—”
“Don’t get up for me,” I plead, cutting him off. In my mind’s eye, I can still see the bullets tearing through his pale skin. The ruined clothes aren’t helping. This close, the wrinkled, blood-stained fabric reminds me of Swiss cheese.
I can’t keep the look of horror from twisting my features. Holy shit. How many times has Walker ordered him shot?
His face softens. Despite my pleading, he keeps going until he’s on his feet again. “I’m all right. And I’d rather stand in your presence.”
Why does he have to be such a freaking white knight? “Aleks,” I say pointedly, trying not to sound hysterical, “you were shot. You need to rest.”
“I’m fine.” When I start to argue, he waves at the floor of his cell, pointing out the silver bullets he must’ve already expelled from his body. “Really, Gem. The bars are no picnic, but I can at least stand.”
That’s another reason for the bars. Regular bars would be no match for his vamp strength. Silver bars? It would sap his energy and burn his skin at the same time.
This really was a jail for vamps.
“Gem.” It’s his turn for his softly accented voice to turn pleading. “Tell me you’re okay.”
That’s Aleks for you. A plaything for the Wicked Wolf and barely recovered from being shot—again—and all he’s worried about is me.
I know him. Unless I assure him that I’m as safe as I can be, I won’t get a word out of him. In his own way, he’s as stubborn as a shifter.
Tell him? Sure. I can do that.
Speaking as quickly as I can, hoping that if I spit it out I can overlook how guilty I feel and how upsetting it is to see Aleks behind bars, I tell him all about what I’ve experienced since I arrived in the Wolf District with Jace and Duke. I tell him about how Trish is in her own version of a cage, how Duke is with her, and how I sent Jace back so that there was one less person Walker could use against me.
I specifically don’t mention that, now that I know Aleks is here, that number has increased by one again.
He listens to everything I say, interjecting every few sentences to either ask a question or to make a comment. The more I talk, the harder the edge of Aleks’s jaw becomes. He’s furious on my behalf which just makes me feel worse.
By the time I get to the part where Walker told me that Aleks’s fight to the death was considered “training” for another Claws and Fangs war, his eyes are starting to bleed back to red again.
“Glupcy,” he spits out angrily.
The whole time I was talking, I was wondering when he’d slip into Polish. “What’s that mean?”
“Idiots,” he translates for me. “Fools.”
Fitting.
I choke out a laugh that, honestly, sounds more like a sob. “How do you say ‘asshole’ in Polish?”
“Dupek.”
