My life on Brock's leash has been grimly elucidating.

Because of Sam, it's all a form of torture, but it's not quite what you'd think. Brock is actually better with animals than he is with people, so the pain is, for the most part, mental. Stuff I can't unsee. Opportunities that don't present themselves. Time that doesn't stop. And silence, like Brock and I live together in a vacuum. He is my master. I am his pet.

In chains, I'm dragged around from one tedious, gross, or gruesome task to the next, or I'm locked up when my presence is objectionable—anything involving Ishmael, or Ivy, or anyone who hates my guts, which seems like everyone these days. Probably even Sam. If my actions haven't turned her against me, their lies surely will...

And while she's undoubtedly being subjected to all kinds of abuse, I may as well be in another country.

Should I consider myself lucky? I'm still here. I suppose that's something. Although, every day, I wonder why Ishmael didn't kill me, and why this torture is so "slow."

Brock has his moments where the dog gets kicked or smacked or tugged to asphyxiation, but, other than that, I can trot along at his side on limbs that work. I haven't bled out or bitten the hand that feeds me. So, I'm surviving, like I'm a wolf and nothing more. This isn't a good life by any stretch of the imagination, but it's one an actual animal might learn to accept as long as food, shelter, and rest are still provided, "good dog" behavior keeps the thrashings at bay, and better memories fade.

I'm not anywhere near that point yet. After years of this low-level abuse and complete isolation, I'm sure it's possible to forget what it's like to be human. If it's a rule, I may be the exception, though. My last human experience was too intense. Too exhilarating. I can still taste her, smell her, feel her if I have a chance to concentrate.

I don't know if the memory of Sam is keeping me grounded or driving me insane, but it tends to surface, sometimes above the guilt and panic. And I'd follow it, wherever it takes me, even if it's away from the sleep I so desperately need.

For now, I'm trying to be smart about it. I have to be. I'm still sane enough to appreciate that. But, if I make any more mistakes or lose my grip on reality, I know where this journey will lead...

I grunt and roll over. To some other uncomfortable position in my cage. I choose my stomach, with my hips to the side, and place my head on my paws with a sigh that Brock won't hear.

Brock and I are being housed in a windowless room below the barn. He doesn't require much sleep, but when he goes down, it's deep and loud. His snoring sometimes loosens dirt from the floorboards above.

Brock is eighty-percent monster, but Prue couldn't completely eliminate his need to sleep. He takes a few short naps when it's slow and Ishmael can man the fort himself. He then goes on and off like a light. It's a gift I wish I had. I'm supposed to sleep when he sleeps. I need like twenty-four hours of safe and sound, uninterrupted rest right now, but I get about six hours broken into three blocks, which are far from solid.

Despite the noise and discomfort, it's the only thing I have to look forward to. It's my only escape. My only opportunity to do what I love. I'll eventually fall into uncharted depths—I can't help myself—but I do cling to the edges for as long as possible. I can't help that, either...

Sam goes to her knees on the shower floor and tilts her head into the light. Her hair, still a touch golden even in the running water, gets swept from her face. Her wide eyes capture my gaze.

She bites the corner of her lip around a slight, nervous smile, and then she inches closer to my waist. Her mouth drifts open.

My eyes drift there. I drift there.

It's an invitation I won't pass up. Or mess up. I hope.

Say nothing. Just be open, willing. Bold and brave. Deep breath. Brace yourself, but don't clench up. Not too much,anyway. Close your eyes. Try to relax. And...

What the fuck, Jay? An outside voice shrieks, and I spiral back to the foul, dank, demoralizing darkness of my new home. I don't need to see that.

At least I think it's an outside voice?

Odd choice of words, though.

When the grim reality starts oozing in, like crude oil when I'm thirsty and begging for water, I remember what state I'm in and accept that I may not be alone with my thoughts. I'm so tired, though, and an outside voice hasn't reached me in quite some time. I'm not entirely convinced it's real.

Shilo? I send out, hoping the transmission can cut through the walls, floor, or ground between us. I haven't ever had any luck in this location. My shifter companions have been too far away, the barriers have been too great, or they've had nothing to say to me. I'd be a scourge to their safety and freedom, and understandably, the chatter has gone dark.

I can barely hear you, she replies. If it wasn't for your wet dream, I would have never found you.

Sorry. I answer her, not knowing what else to say. My thoughts must have been "loud" if she picked up on them in enough detail to be objectionable. It's all I have.

I get it. All right? You're in love with her.

I don't even try to deny it. Please don't tell anyone.

I think they already know. But they also think you'll get over it.

They're going to kill her! How would I ever get over that?

I know, Shilo replies after a long, thoughtful pause. No one ever told me in so many words, but...

It's obvious now.

Yeah, she admits. And it's why I ventured over here. Sam got her period last night. Things are going to start moving. I meant to warn her a little better, but I couldn't find the words and didn't have the time. I thought it might do more harm than good anyway. She's holding it together and I decided not to mess with that.

You saw her? And had a chance to talk to her? Is she really okay?

Briefly. And yes, as much as she can be. She's angry and confused and hurt, and really scared, and Prue is a piece of work, but Sam's... Shilo stops, apparently at a loss for words. You're lucky. Your job won't be easy, but she's playing it smart, and doing what she can to make it easier.

My tail wags. Once. Twice. Can you get her out of there? I'm either tied up or caged. Brock is never more than a few feet away.

Going there was a one-time thing. They got what they want now. There are at least two locks in my way, plus the cameras. Even if I did get her out of the house, what then? How are we going to get you out of your prison? And how do you intend to outrun everyone? Faolan is trying to stay out of all this, so he won't help. Rollin's with Ivy now. Did you somehow miss that? They're fucking everywhere. Literally.

I did miss that, I scoff, but I can't say I'm surprised.

Ivy's a seven out of ten on her best day, and Rollin probably thinks he won the lottery. Half of that is to prove he's the bigger and better wolf. Try as he may, Ivy will be underwhelmed. She's just trying to get back at me. I know he gets on her very sensitive nerves, and she can't, in general, stand his company.

You know what? I go on. They deserve each other. And I couldn't care less.

That's great, but Rollin alone could probably track Sam down in minutes. Ivy wouldn't even have to ask, and if he had Faolan's help...

Rollin's the loyal soldier. Faolan has the best sense of smell. And those are just the wolves. Ishmael's impossibly fast, and any blade he carries would find its mark in seconds, with few exceptions. Although the wolves have the edge for every other scent, Ishmael's like a shark when it comes to blood, and he can probably smell it for miles. During Sam's period, it wouldn't be possible to get away from him for long. The witches have their potions and magic, and who knows what dark, powerful forces they could conjure and throw into the mix? It's true for Prue and Ivy, anyway. Rosemary tries, but she's not as much of a threat, and Goddamnit, I'm an idiot. What about Blaise? I ask. Where is she in all this?

She left, Shilo's wolf-voice quivers. She needed some space.

Is she far? How long will she be gone?

I can hear Shilo's sigh through the floorboards. She's somewhere in the barn above me. I don't know, she eventually answers. It's been over a week. There was a falling out over all this. With me as well. She refused to tell me anything and didn't say goodbye. Maybe it's out of some lingering loyalty. That, or she's trying to protect me? Whatever it is, I'm not sure Sam is the hill she's going to die on. I'm not sure, either, Jay. Even with Blaise's full support, we'd be outmanned and outgunned. And she has her inheritance and the property to think about, so I doubt we'll get it. She wants it as badly as the rest of them do. It's why she stays. And I wouldn't want to screw that up for her or make her choose.

I understand, I respond glumly.

I should go. Ishmael's banging Rosemary again, and he's in a mood. He won't last long.

All right. Thanks for stopping by.

Hey, listen. I'm on your side, she tells me. It's just . . . it can't be a suicide mission. We need an actual plan that could work. And we need it soon. I'll keep you posted.

Okay.

Please hang in there. Sam asked about you, by the way. I'll leave it at that. Enjoy your fantasy. A little prone to embellishment, aren't you?

What? Oh. That. It's been so long since anyone "saw" something they shouldn't have and bothered to make fun of me for it.

My wit is far from sharp these days, but I do—eventually—come up with something. I need to. It's more for me than for her, and I'm sure Shilo realizes that.

Says who? I banter back. You? I seem to remember offering... This predates Ivy, and I was half kidding. Shilo seemed to like me more than the rest of our lot, and our fraternizing could have been mistaken for flirtation, but I still knew she wasn't into me. I didn't yet realize that she had no interest in males of any sort, or the appendages we universally hold in such high regard. None whatsoever. It's why she ran from her pack. She's strong and attractive in either state, and by now, she'd be a wolf-pup factory for some power-hungry alpha-male she would inevitably loathe.

Our wolf-pack stories are all similar, but that's what makes hers unique.

And I think your response was, I continue. No way in hell. Go fuck yourself.

Sounds like something I would say. You and I weren't going to happen, but I can't deny, you have good taste. Well, sans Ivy, that is. Never got that one.

Me neither. It's part of the reason my eye wandered.

Just your eye? Shilo chides.

My . . . whatever. You know what I mean. Sam didn't even have to try. You've met her now. It wasn't right, but what I did, was it really so wrong?

Shilo doesn't immediately answer. Sorry, Jay. Gotta go. Please get some rest. You're gonna need it.

Daylight is streaking through the floorboards, so it's probably a lost cause.

I'll try, I respond at a moment Brock is snorting and sputtering and scratching his giant balls. He won't stay down for much longer. Be careful, I add.

After the slight shuffle of her claws on the wood, I can just make out her, you too.

Then, the silence descends like a theater curtain. The only act in this post-abduction spectacle that didn't completely suck is now over.