Thor

iliar sensation of

ar shapes, but no meaning. Now, it was as if the river had cleared. The soun

olding a set of clothes. "Good morning, miss," she said. "Alp

g. English. I understood her. I could feel the shape of the language on my own tongue

and my own voice

d out the clothes: soft wool trousers, a cashmere sweater the color of

special trip with him. I let Bronte help me dress, my broken arm st

aelen. M

ght in the room. His face was a mask, his grey eyes unreadable. There

he said. It wa

eart thumping.

pillow, the kind you use for traveling in a car. But it was

ones I loved, the hard ones with the soft centers. He remembered. The gesture was

a window overlooking a garden frosted with morning dew. A feast was laid out: panc

" I asked around a m

. "A place in the mountains. It's very beautiful. T

ctuary. It sounded like a fairy tal

, just for a second. "All the

t practice?" I remembered asking him that,

sion so intense it was hard to breathe. "Yes,

ng me. He was taking me somewhere safe, somewhere beautiful. He was my Alpha Prin

ood and gently took my han

nd was

of glass doors at the back. We stepped out onto a vast, m

he center of th

mp-whump* that vibrated through the soles of my new boots. Two men in dark uniforms stood

down. This was an adventure. Kaelen squeezed my hand,

e was staring at the helicopte

expanse of pine trees below, but the beauty of it was lost in the roar of the engine. Kaelen sat beside me, sil

on a wide, grey concrete pad next to a building that looked like a hospital, or a prison. It w

s arm as we ducked under the slowing rotors. A man in a neat, practical suit wa

haking Kaelen's hand. "Jared Holt. Ev

man, his back mostly to me. I couldn't hear the words, only the low, final tone of t

th, the conflict, the torment I had glimpsed before-it was gone.

e said, his voice d

and walked back tow

away. He was leaving me here. "Wait!" I called out, my voice

dn't

"You'll come for me tomorrow, right?" I sh

king, his back straight and unyielding,

a luggage trolley that was being wheeled from the helicopt

e trolley

my room at the packhouse. Filled with all my thin

rip. A special trip. A sanctuary. All lies. He wasn't coming back tomorrow. He wa

that grew and grew until it tore from my throat

a physical assault. It was lifting off. Leaving. T

N

g, my only thought to get to him, t

hand on my shoulder, his grip firm, condescending. "Easy now, miss," he said,

was the fi

rotors and the frantic, wild beating of my own heart. A snarl, guttural and vicious

impossible power flooded my limbs. With an in

rd several feet, his eyes wide with utter shock,

he helicopter, my new boots pounding against the pad. I w

t of reach. The downdraft slammed into me,

e. The helicopter climbed higher, shrinking into a

as stolen by the wind. All I could hear was the fading *thum