Chapter 4

　　Cain's POV

　　I watched as Jax and Stanley shoved her into the back room—not quite a cell, but close enough to be one. It had concrete floor, bare walls, a mattress that had seen better days thrown in the corner. One window with bars that cut the moonlight into strips.

　　The door clicked shut, and I positioned myself outside it like a stationed guard.

　　This was tactical, strategic. I needed her alive and compliant for the plan to work. That's why I was standing guard. No other reason.

　　Definitely not because some part of me, the part that remembered a laughing ten-year-old girl who used to beg me to throw her higher—wanted to make sure she was safe.

　　"You really think this is a good idea?" Mika's voice cut through my thoughts.

　　I didn't turn around. I kept my eyes on that closed door like it might suddenly open. "What choice do I have? He killed Elena. He killed everyone."

　　"She's not him."

　　My jaw clenched. "She's his blood. That's enough."

　　Mika moved closer. I could feel her studying the side of my face, reading me the way she always did. It was annoying as hell.

　　"Your hands are shaking," she said quietly.

　　I looked down. Fuck. She was right. I shoved them in my pockets. "They're not."

　　"Cain." Her voice went soft, which was somehow worse than when she yelled. "Seeing her again stirred up everything, didn't it?"

　　I didn't answer. I couldn't.

　　Because she was right, and I hated it.

　　The moment I'd pulled off that helmet and seen Aria's face—older now, haunted, but still her—it was like someone had ripped open a wound I thought had finally closed

　　Elena laughing as little Aria climbed onto her shoulders. "Higher, 'Lena! I want to touch the clouds!" The sun was setting, painting everything gold, and I was watching my mate and her little sister and thinking this—this right here—was what happiness felt like.

　　"She looks like her, you know," Mika said, pulling me back to the present. "Elena."

　　"Don't." I snapped, barely holding back the roar at the tip of my throat.

　　"I'm just saying—be careful. Revenge is one thing. Whatever you're feeling right now? That's something else."

　　I finally turned to face her, letting her see the ice in my eyes. "I'm not feeling anything except the need to make Theron pay for what he did."

　　Mika held my gaze for a long moment. Then she shook her head, something like pity crossing her face. "Keep telling yourself that, Prez."

　　She walked away, boots echoing down the hallway, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the closed door between me and Aria.

　　My hands began to shake again. I pressed them flat against the wall, focusing on the feel of concrete against my palms.

　　She wasn't that little girl anymore. She was Theron's daughter. His heir. His—

　　The scream cut suddenly through my thoughts. High-pitched, agonized, terrified.

　　I had the door open and my gun drawn before my brain caught up with my body, every instinct screaming threat, danger, protect—

　　But there was no threat.

　　Just Aria, convulsing on the mattress like someone had plugged her into a live wire. Her back arched at an impossible angle, fingers clawing at the concrete floor hard enough to draw blood.

　　"Fuck. BONES!" I roared, dropping to my knees beside her. "Get in here NOW!"

　　There were thundering footsteps. Bones burst through the door with his medical bag, Mika and Jax right behind him.

　　Bones took one look and let out a string of curses that would make a sailor blush. "Help me hold her down. She's going to hurt herself."

　　I grabbed her shoulders—trying to be gentle despite the panic clawing at my throat—while Bones worked. Her skin was burning up, fever so high I could feel it radiating through my palms.

　　"What's wrong with her?" Jax demanded.

　　"Wolfsbane poisoning," Bones muttered, pulling out vials and syringes. "Long-term exposure from the looks of it. Her body's facing withdrawal symptoms of several years of poison and it's tearing her apart."

　　Ten years. She'd been telling the truth about everything.

　　"Can you help her?" The question came out rougher than I intended.

　　Bones met my eyes, and I saw the grim truth there before he spoke. "I can ease the symptoms. Give her fluids, something for the fever and pain. But the detox itself? She needs to ride it out. It could take hours or days."

　　I watched Bones work—IV line, fever reducers, something for the pain—and felt completely useless.

　　When was the last time I'd felt useless? When Elena died. When I couldn't save her.

　　I shoved that thought down deep.

　　Finally, Aria's convulsions eased. Her breathing evened out, though it was still too fast, too shallow.

　　Bones sat back on his heels, wiping sweat from his forehead. "That'll hold her for a few hours. But someone needs to watch her. If the fever spikes again—"

　　"I'll do it," I said before anyone else could volunteer.

　　The crew exchanged looks. Mika's expression clearly said I told you so.

　　I ignored them all. "Everyone out. I've got this."

　　They filed out slowly, shooting me glances that ranged from concerned to knowing. I didn't care what they thought they knew.

　　This was tactical. She was valuable. I needed her alive.

　　That's all this was.

　　I pulled the chair closer to the mattress and sat down, elbows on my knees, watching her sleep fitfully.

　　She looked so small lying there and quite fragile in a way that made something in my chest ache. The fever had flushed her cheeks, and her hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat.

　　Not the enemy I wanted her to be.

　　She's Theron's daughter, I told myself firmly. She's your ticket to revenge. Nothing more.

　　But another voice whispered: She's Elena's sister. She watched Elena die too. She's been tortured for ten years because of your failure.

　　I rubbed my hands over my face, suddenly exhausted.

　　"Cain?" Her voice was barely a whisper, thick with both fever and confusion.

　　My head snapped up. Her eyes were barely open.

　　"I'm here," I said, keeping my voice low.

　　She blinked slowly, like she was trying to figure out if I was real or just another fever dream. "Am I going to die?"

　　The question hit me square in the chest, stealing my breath.

　　I should have said yes. I should have let her believe the worst, kept that distance between us, and maintained the enemy lines.

　　Instead, I heard myself say: "No. I won't let you."

　　Something shifted in her expression. Probably relief. She reached out blindly, her hand fumbling in the space between us.

　　I should have pulled back but I didn't.

　　Instead, my hand moved on its own, catching hers.

　　The moment our skin touched, everything stopped

　　I felt heat flooded through me—not the heat of her fever, but something familiar and ancient that lived in my bones. My wolf, who'd been silent and cold and dead since Elena's murder, suddenly roared to life with a force that nearly knocked me out of the chair.

　　MATE.

　　No.

　　Not possible.

　　NOT HER.

　　I stared at our joined hands like they were a bomb about to explode.

　　This felt like a curse.

　　Because the woman now destined to be mine—the other half of my soul was my dead mate's little sister.

　　And I'd just kidnapped her.