Page 51 of The Alpha's Surrogate

She’s the reason I keep on fighting. I want to be here with her. I would give in to this horrible sleep if there was a chance that she would be in that cold darkness with me. But she won’t, and I don’t want to be anywhere she’s not.

She promised not to run away again, or did she? I’m not certain. There’s no way for me to know what is or what isn’t anymore. I’m angry at her, though. I’m aware of that much at least.

I blame her for what’s happening. What we had was beautiful. Why couldn’t she see that? Why does she feel the need to ruin everything that’s good for her? I’ve come to terms with the fact that I will never understand her. It’s a difficult truth to accept.

None of that matters now. None of it ever did. I would give anything to pull through the first world and be with her, but the harder I fight, the tighter the vines that wrap me grow, strangling the life out of me.

I can feel my grip on the second world growing tenuous. I’m hanging from a ledge with one hand and my arm burns. I look down into the abyss and wonder what would happen if I let go.

Soon it won’t be an option anymore. I can’t hang on like this forever. I lack the strength and the will to make it back up to the ledge on my own. I hear her begging me to hang on, to stay with her. If she wanted me to stay with her, why did she run away in the first place?

I can hear the optimism in her voice, and I wonder what she could possibly do to save me. It’s a little too late for her to care as much as she does now, but better late than never, I guess.

I want to share her hope and her belief, but it’s a dangerous thing to do. I heed her though, and I ignore the burning in my arms from holding on as long as I have, ignore the way the bands around my chest squeeze the air out of my lungs.

My wolf is deathly quiet. My oldest friend. Strong, majestic beast. It’s quiet now. If it’s speaking, I’m too far under to hear what it’s saying to me. A sad shame—I could use its strength now.

I slip. It took longer than I expected, but it was inevitable. There’s only one world now, and in that world, there’s nothing. There’s no light, there’s no sound, there’s nothing but the persistent lull of sleep.

I want to hear her voice one more time before I go, but I don’t think I’ll be that lucky. A shame. The emptiness is absolute, consuming. It’s in everything and it’s maddening. How did I go from a world of color to this grim, empty place?

The emptiness tires me. There’s nothing left to do but sleep. The ropes pulling me down will never let me go, and I have nothing with which to cut them apart. How much further can they pull me downward? Do I really want to find out?

I shut my eyes and give in, and the darkness welcomes me. At least, that’s what it tries to do, except something changes. The change is slow and I almost don’t notice, but when I do, my eyes fly open.

The darkness around me is still absolute, but something has changed. The pressure around my chest has reduced, and I can breathe again. The bonds around my wrists slacken and fall off too.

Afraid, I do a quick assessment, to be sure it’s not delusion playing a trick on me. No, something has ripped through the vines that held me, and I can feel them retreating. In their retreat, I sense their anger and disappointment.

And then her voice floats down through the darkness and finds me. I’m suspended in the middle of nothing, listening to the faint sound of her voice.

I can barely make any sense of what she’s saying, but in a world of emptiness, it’s like a splash of color. I focus on the voice, like a rope ladder thrown over the side of a ship in a storm.

Slowly, I climb, her soft voice guiding me upward. She’s the map in this absolute darkness, and I cling to her for dear life. It seems like an eternity before I’m close enough to hear her sweet voice, heavy with pain and emotion.

“...Just come back to me, please,” she insists. The words find my ears, and for the first time in forever, I feel a solitary beat in my heart. Encouraged, I float higher, eager to hear more.

“I know now, Callahan,” she says. “I know now that we can be the family you always wanted. My whole life, I was afraid of dreaming of something so good. Something so beautiful and complete. It was never in the cards for me, you know? But you just wouldn’t let me go.”

She laughs now, and her laughter sounds pained. I want to reach through dimensions and comfort her, wipe her tears and tell her everything will be fine. I can’t stand to see her suffer.

She clears her throat, the sound loud as a trumpet in my ears. I must be close to the surface of this sea of blackness, but I wonder how much further I must go to see light again.

“There’s something you should know.” Her voice is a mix of pain and humor, the perfect irony. “I have been alone my whole life. It became an identity. I turned it into armor. I never felt loved or cherished by anyone. Well, anyone but you.”

I get closer still, straining to hear her. If I am to leave this world, I would love to do so knowing that I heard her say words I’d spent my whole life waiting for her to say to me.

She continues. “The scars left from my childhood were too deep for me to realize that we could make a good life together. I was too blind to see how hard you wanted to help heal those scars.

“Well, I know now, and I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it. I love you, Callahan, and I can only hope that’s enough of an incentive for you to fight and come back to me. Please.”

It’s more than enough. I swim wildly, chasing the last echoes of her voice like a swimmer surging for the surface of the water. If I lose her now, I will be lost forever. I can’t get lost here, not after all this knowing.

I swim and fight and thrash until…

***

Callahan blinked.

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