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Chapter Fifteen
Maxim
“No, little wolf, don’t cry. We talked about this.” I try to reach for her pretty face, but my hand is still bound at my side, which is confusing.
Usually, in my dreams, I’m free to move around.
But this is all right.
I can still enjoy her company—once I remind her that we shouldn’t waste what little time we have together with grief. “Let’s talk about other things, the way we usually do,” I say, my heart lurching as she lifts her tortured gaze to mine. “Tell me about your day. Tell me what part of the world you explored and what you had for dinner. You know I’m always hungry.”
I try to laugh, but it emerges as a strained grunt.
I’m in too much pain to laugh, which is also unusual for a dream, but hardly surprising considering the way things have been going lately.
Pushing away memories of the torture before they can take hold, I add in as light a voice as I can manage, “Or breakfast. I have no idea what time it is. It’s always gloom o’clock down here.”
She sniffs and swallows, clearly making an effort to pull herself together. “How long have you been down here, love?” she asks, her voice thick with emotion.
I wince, tears rising in my eyes now, too. “Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t call me that. It makes it harder to believe you’re real. Real Willow doesn’t love me. Real Willow…” I trail off, losing the strength to finish the sentence.
The pain from my ravaged foot is starting to cut through the general hot, damaged feeling below my knees, becoming more articulated with every passing moment.
Willow’s gaze sharpens on mine. “Real Willow has a lot of complicated feelings for you, Maxim, but right now all she wants is to get you out of here and kill the people who hurt you.” She strokes my brow again with her cool hand. “And to comfort you because this…” She presses her lips together, pulling in a breath through her nose. “This is unspeakable, sweetheart, and I’m so sorry.”
More tears slip down my cheeks and my heart swells like a balloon about to burst as that crushing, all-too-familiar hope rises inside of me again.
I shake my head, “No. Please. I can’t. Not again. I can’t dream that I’m out and wake up here again. I can’t.”
She cups my cheeks in both of her hands and orders sternly, “Then let’s stop wasting time and get busy. I am not a dream, Maxim. I am really here. I snuck down an air vent into this room and I have no idea how to get out or how much time we have before someone comes looking for me. So, if you have any idea where the keys to your shackles are, that will help speed things along.”
I blink and smack my dry lips, thoughts fogged by the rapidly intensifying pain coming from my foot. “I…I don’t know. The shelf, maybe.” I wince as I begin to shiver, the way I sometimes do after an especially awful session with Gray. “It feels like I’m dying,” I whisper, my pulse slamming faster in my throat. “The pain is too much. It’s going to kill me this time, Willow.”
“No, it’s not,” she insists, bending to press a kiss to my cheek before she whispers next to my ear, “You hold on, Mr. Thorn. This isn’t how it ends for you, or us, not by a long shot.”
And then she disappears. Choking on a breath, I close my eyes, trying to visualize a dam being built between my top half and my bottom, a barrier to ward off the pain, but it doesn’t work this time.
The damage is too fresh, too intense.
There’s only one way to escape it and I’m nearly there—slipping back into something deeper than sleep—when Willow shakes my shoulder and hisses in an excited voice, “Eyes open, Alpha. You’re about to be free.”
I drag my lids up to see her holding a large metal key in front of my face.
“Can you shift?” she asks, moving the key down to my left wrist.
“I…I can’t,” I murmur, fighting to keep my eyes open. “I told you, I can’t do this again.”
“Not again, for the first time,” she says, popping the manacle off my arm and hurrying around the end of the table to my other side. “This is the first time you’ve really been free, Maxim. This isn’t a dream, and if you can shift, your wolf will start to heal the worst of the damage. And I’m pretty sure I can carry you out when you’re furry.” She pops the lock on my other hand and then my neck before leaning over to bring her face closer to mine. “But if you stay in your big manly man body it’s not going to happen, hotshot, so it’s time to pull yourself together and get this last job done. Okay? After that, I’ll take point, I promise. You can pass out furry if you need to.”
I reach for her face, my muscles protesting movement after so long strapped down. I see my hand—my fingernail-free hand, that’s covered in dried blood and smells like death—and my stomach flips.
It’s the smell that does it, I think, that finally convinces me this isn’t a dream.
“Willow,” I croak. “You’re really here?”
She nods, her eyes shining with empathy. “Yes, big bad. I really am. Now shift for me and let’s get you out of here.”
“You forgive me?” I ask, more tears hot on my cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Willow. I’m so sorry.”
