MY CAVE PAINTER WAS absent, but at least I floated for a few moments in quiet darkness. Unfortunately, that relief was short-lived.
The pain was overwhelming. No wonder the real world slipped in and out of focus like my own youthful struggles with control.
“We can’t help both of them,” growled a male voice that was subtly familiar. Right—Harry. Did I trust him? He’d carried a gun in my classroom.... “We have a duty to our alpha,” he continued, unconcerned about my analysis of his motives. “The gut wound is nasty. She’ll die anyway. It’s kinder to kill her now.”
And that hint of danger was all I needed to slide sideways into memories. “You might as well kill me now,” I’d screamed at my father as he vetoed yet another teenage party in the months after my first date. “I’ll be a pariah if I
