"Told me what?" I ask, my hands still on his, our bodies so close I can feel the energy coming off him in waves.
"You're a witch. And a powerful one by the looks of it."
I glance at our cell doors, both wide open. "Did I really do that? Or am I still sleeping? Or hallucinating? I can't…" my voice breaks. "I can't tell what's real anymore," I confess, voicing my fear aloud for the first time.
He raises one of his hands and caresses my face, leaning in closer to me so that our lips are a breath apart. "Do you feel this?”
“Yes,” I answer, my voice hushed in relief. None of the ghostly voices have been corporeal. Maybe Declan is real after all.
“I'm real, witch-girl. And I owe you one for what you just did."
I swallow. "What happened to you?" I ask.
"They were trying to force me to shift against my will. Again. You helped me fight it."
I shudder as I imagine what that must feel like. To transform into the body of a beast.
“And Dean?” I ask, glancing at where the other twin still lies motionless behind us. “Is he—?”
“He’s just sleeping it off,” Declan assures me. “Lucky bastard. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.”
I exhale in relief.
His finger trails down my cheek, leaving a line of fire in its wake. "You're cold," he says when I shiver.
"Yes, Captain Obvious. I'm in a dungeon. It's freezing here."
His lips twitch in a smile and my belly does a flip. "Close your eyes."
"Why?"
"It's a surprise," he says.
"I don't like surprises." It's a lie. Well, it used to be. I loved surprises before all this madness started. Now? Not so much.
"You'll like this one. I promise."
Unable to argue further with his mesmerizing gaze, I close my eyes.
His finger trails down my neck to the space over my heart, where he presses his palm.
My pulse increases at the intimate contact, but I don't pull away. And then I feel it. A wave of warmth flowing from his hand into my heart and spreading through my body with each pump. My skin tingles, and for the first time since coming here, I'm warm. Truly warm. A cozy kind of warmth that one might experience curled in front of a fire on a cold day, with a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. It's more than just physical, though that alone would have been pleasure enough. It's a deeper warmth, an emotional warmth that I haven't felt since Estelle died.
“H-how did you do that?” My voice breaks from the sheer relief of it.
“It’s a wolf thing,” he says as if it’s nothing.
“So all wolves can do it?” I ask.
He shrugs. “No, not exactly. Only alphas are sometimes born with special gifts.”
I close my eyes and let the heat take me.
Before I can stop it, a sob escapes, ripping free from the depths of my soul. With tears streaming down my face, grief and gratitude merge into a storm of emotion I haven't let myself feel in so long.
“Come here,” Declan says.
There are no words, and I can't stop what's swelling up inside of me, so when Declan pulls me into his arms, wrapping his muscular arms around me, I let him.
“It’s all right,” he whispers.
My head nuzzled into his neck, our chests pressed together, my legs awkwardly intertwined with his on the dirty dungeon floor, I release all the pain I've been hoarding in my soul for the last six months. Or really, for longer than that. Since my parents died, leaving Estelle and me orphaned.
He holds me tight, and I feel safe for the first time in so long, which is the ultimate irony given where we are. And all that he’s warned me about.
My tears sizzle on his heated skin, but he doesn't seem to mind.
As my sobs subside, I pull back enough to look at him.
His smile is sad, but sincere. “What would your life look like right now?”
I tilt my head and think about what I left, and of course the act of focusing on his question has calmed me, just as he planned. “I’d be studying art, buying baked goods from bakeries less wonderful than yours,” I say with a nudge.
Just as he's about to respond, we hear the door at the end of the hall rattle. There’s a click as the first of the locks slide free, and he stiffens, his eyes widening in alarm.