âA flaw? By whose standard, dear child? Hybrid blood is spectacular and a masterpiece of engineering science, my dear.
âI donât know whoâs kept you in the dark all these years with such nonsense, but being white is not a flaw. Not in a breed where you own physical perfection and can self-heal the worst of wounds and illnesses.
âDo you think your DNA would allow such atrocity by defect? No, of course it wouldnât. It couldnât. Your gifts work out the kinks in your makeup from the second youâre born.
âItâs the bonding perfection between two species and happens only when the biochemistry of a particular set of genes lines up magically.
âTwo species, two blood types, merging beautifully in one captivating dance that produces a new third, equally magnificent species. You, my dear, are what I have been dying to test for the last decade!
âItâs a near-impossible combination to make work without awful deformities or even loss, and your kind is few and far between.
âWhoever first engineered your astounding DNA must have been incredibly talented. Tell me, are you a first-generation, or are you a natural-born?â
That grand speech and whooshing of excitable words floors me.
I try to absorb half of what that word junkie threw at me, and Iâm still sitting, blinking at him as my brain catches up with the translation from freak talk to plain English.
âYouâre lying. I donât know what youâre talking about or half of what you said, but I know hybrids arenât a thing.â
Terror overtakes me as his words filter in, and my mind refuses to digest what heâs saying because itâs simply wrong.
The wolves pride their bloodlines and purity; itâs a major part of our being and hierarchy.
Mixed breeds donât exist because, if they did, the purebloods would destroy them. They donât want dilution and mongrels among our blood.
Theyâre bad enough when weak DNA, like my familyâs, infects a pack, and those people become calm land workers with no urge to fight and dominate.
Itâs why the Whyte pack never had any kind of claim to the mountain as a ruling pack, and the Santos own it. Our kind thrives on dominance. We need alphas and purity to survive.
The doctor clutches a flat hand to his chest, aghast, with eyes wide, an expression that displays offense.
âLying? I never lie when it comes to science, my dear. Iâm a biochemist of the highest order with a special interest in your kind. Iâve dedicated my life to it, and itâs all I research.
âHybrids are my specialty! I would so love to get your samples under my microscope and see if the stories are true and show you the absolute wonder of your genetics.
âWarring species in one body, yet they seem to have completely bloomed! I mean, look at you⦠utter perfection.â
My blood runs cold, my eyes raking him and trying to understand what heâs saying, so many questions forming and gathering on my tongue.
My head is scrambling with the uncertainty that he might be telling the truth. But that would make my mother⦠I canât.
Deacon reappears unexpectedly, interrupting with the beep of the door before he enters, and throws us both a strange look that suggests he doesnât like whatever feeling we just gave him.
The atmosphere is tense, and the doctor seems to lose his enthusiastic energy and slinks back out of the way, probably afraid to admit he told me way too much.
Despite cohabiting in this place, I can tell thereâs no genuine bond between them, and he is as wary of my prison guard as I am.
âAlpha Juan will be here in two days. This one⦠her name is Alora and, interestingly, from our own mountain, so take from that what you will. She isnât going anywhere,â Deacon says.
He turns to me, a look of disgust rippling across his face as he scowls, and everything inside me seems to disperse in a wave of numbness.
The fear claws through me that Juan knew precisely who I was with just one call and is coming here personally to decide my fate. Thatâs not a good sign.
âThe mountainâ¦â The doctor whispers it so lightly under his breath I doubt Deacon hears him, but I do.
I catch the slight hint of recognition flitter across his brow before he pushes it away, replacing it with a blank expression.
Damn me for being a white wolf! That had to be the defining detail that gave it away. Maybe also the fact he knows Iâm missing now, and one lone femme this close to home was probably a no-brainer.
I raise my brows at Deacon with false bravado, indicating, âSo what?â
His eyes narrow at mine, and the scowl gets more prominent. âSo⦠Youâre a runaway from our pack? Juan said heâs been looking for you, traitor. How coincidental you end up here.
âClearly looking for something you shouldnât be! Youâre going down to isolation until he gets here, and then you can be someone elseâs problem.
âHopefully his, and Iâm sure heâll find the perfect punishment for a flawed failure who betrayed her kind.â
I donât doubt Juan has conducted a whole new story about why Iâm public enemy number one, and arguing it will be futile.
Deacon is a believer, loyal to Juanâs sub-pack, and itâs boringly obvious. He was put here, probably because he is one of the brainwashed who does exactly as they are told and questions nothing.
Deacon ruthlessly grabs me by the upper arm and hauls me off the bed.
My body is still dead weight, and I almost fall on the floor with the sudden demand to use my limbs, grabbing out to catch myself and instantly overwhelmed with dizziness at being bolted upright.
âCareful, careful. Sheâs an exceptional specimen and still a young lady. Kindness does not cost extra, Mr. Deacon. Compassion. A little human dignity.
âIf we have her for two days yet, then I need to harvest samples for my studies and could use the time to learn more about her unique blood.
âI canât let this opportunity go to waste, and I certainly canât stand and watch you damage her.â
The doctor is torn between genuine human concern for a person and that of a scientist with his eye on a prize lab rat. I canât even be mad about it, as it opens a window of opportunity.
âDoc, sheâs our prisoner, not a study volunteer. Sheâs a betrayer of my blood, and Iâll handle her as such.
âThe only place this chick is going is down beside that mindless corpse they keep in bay two and out of bounds for you and your quack colleagues in the lab.
âIf weâre lucky, sheâll stay as quiet as her new roommate and be gone before she messes up any more of my week.â Deacon is an asshole, for sure.
He pulls me with him, not waiting for my legs to catch up, and, despite my inner desire not to touch this idiot, I have to grab onto him or be dragged along behind him.
âSierra is not mindless. Sheâs sedated and detained by you thugs and your lack of vision. Sheâs a work of art, a person with feelings and thoughts, and if Juan would only allow me to awaken her andâ¦â
âEnough! Shut your mouth! Thatâs a dead name. Just like you will be if you talk about her again,â Deacon barks at him hatefully with a harsh tone and pins him with a fierce glare.
The doctor recoils, scolded and red-faced, but I can feel his simmering anger at the mention of Sierra, the spark of absolute rage in him before he was shut down.
He paces off to bubble under the surface, grabbing a nearby rag and twisting it between his hands as we pass him. I can tell heâs trying so hard to hold his tongue.
Iâm speechless, though, my mind racing at the confirmation sheâs here, and my mouth runs dry. I donât fight Deacon as he bodily hauls me out the door at top speed.
He has no consideration that his grip is leaving marks on my skin or that Iâm tripping over every step as I try to regain control of my legs.
His fingers bite into my arm as my legs, like jelly under me, try to keep up with his long, fast stride.
I end up clinging to his side like a needy child, aware my gown is sliding off, and I catch sight of the doctor one last time as he follows us out into the hallway, and I strain back to see.
He looks sad, defeated, and as he watches me get dragged away, I lock my eyes on him one last time as I piece together a plan of sorts in my head that might give me a tiny hope of getting out of this.
I throw him a desperate backward glance in an attempt to communicate.
âI volunteer. Iâll take your tests. I want to know why Iâm white, and Iâm not going to be doing anything else for two days,â I lie impulsively, loud enough for my voice to echo throughout this hall.
The doctor is a soft touch and knows something about Sierra. Maybe I can convince him to let me go or see her and determine why she brought me here.
Itâs clutching at straws, and my brain is trying to figure out how this will help, but itâs all I have now.
Deacon falters, stopping us with an exaggerated exhale of annoyance. He turns us back around.
The doctorâs face lights up with a glow that tells me he might be my key to getting out of here before Juan shows up in two days.
Or, at the least, he may be a valuable ally if I can keep him latched onto my unique so-called âhybrid blood.â
I might be able to manipulate him into revealing more or getting lax with keeping me locked up. Deacon, I can tell, is a lost cause, but the doc might just be the weak link.
I donât believe anything he said about being a hybrid, though. I think heâs a crackpot scientist who has sampled too many of his test tubes from being in underground isolation.
But if it gets me an angle to lever a possible way out, then Iâm going to play on it. Iâll play along, nod my head, and let him stick me with as many needles and swabs as it takes to win him over.
âSee, see? She has no objections, and itâs only some blood and smears and such. I will barely touch her, and it wonât interfere with her time here. Juan will never know.â
His enthusiasm and surge of newfound joy are energizing and solidifying my plan.
Deacon scowls at him for the longest, tensest moment as I hold my breath and pray. âShe stays in bay one. You donât take her anywhere else, and you are to be done before Juan gets anywhere near here.
âNot a word to him about it at all!â Deacon lays down the law, relenting, probably for a quiet life, and itâs not like heâll have to do anything.
The doc nods enthusiastically, like an excitable puppy, and I remain calm and neutral, shielding the sea of nerves rippling up inside me.
My heart is pounding, my insides trembling, but Iâm cool and calm on the outside. I have a chance of breaking out, and itâs keeping my wits about me.
I allow Deacon to turn me manually and haul me off through the door ahead of us to a second hallway, pushing through the swinging door with haste.
I blink at the drastic change to lighting, opening my eyes onto a white sterile passageway with glossy surfaces that shine bright, blinding with the force of the daylight LED lights.
It creates an optical illusion of a vast white, wall-less space that blinds my corneas half to death with the intensity of the snow-white environment.
Itâs like being in my dream, creepily so, the one in which I saw Sierra, and Iâm dazed a little by its surrealness.
My heart rate escalates, my eyes raking around us as it pieces together and brings back memories and details of that light space where I met her.
Iâm being pulled along mindlessly as my thoughts repeatedly drift to her standing ahead of me, with no real sense of boundaries around us. Itâs too striking a resemblance to ignore.
The Fates brought me here for a reason; they pushed me to run from Colton and hauled me east, so I canât ignore it.
Meadow always said the Fates were never wrong, and all of this is way too coincidental to be an accident or to keep me as a nonbeliever.
Iâm here for a reason, and the dreams Iâve been having about her suddenly make so much sense.
~Save us.~
She meant it⦠she meant us⦠her and me. And Colton. Heâs wavering without his mom.
Weâre both here, and I seem to be the only one that can do anything about getting us out.