Page 13 of Faith and Fury

He hands the items to Micah, who in turn offers them to me. “I, uh—Caleb mentioned your condition. Since none of us know sign language just yet, I thought this might be the easiest way to communicate.”

Is this a test? If I accept the notepad, and my hands are full, will the Wilder alphas see their chance to pin me down?

“Here.” Micah uncaps the marker and writes something down. He flashes me the page: THIRSTY?

I shake my head, but when Micah hands me the notebook again, I gingerly accept.

“Keep that on you,” Caleb chimes in. “Anything you need, just write it down. We’re here to help.”

Help what, exactly? Rehabilitate me? Domesticate me?

Good fucking luck.

Wilder Den is nothing more than a pit stop. Somewhere for me to sleep, eat, and plan my next move. I don’t care what debt the Rogue Defense Force thinks I owe them—anyone who rescues me, and leaves my mate to rot, can go to hell.

“Dinner will be ready in an hour,” Micah tells me. “I’ve already run you a bath, if you like.”

Caleb hums approvingly. “Is her room set up?”

I stop. My room?

“Yup. Go ahead.”

I don’t know if he’s speaking to me or Caleb, but either way, I don’t move until they do, following them through to the adjoining room.

They’re being so kind, the more temperate part of me reasons.

And they smell good, my omega puts in.

I shove both voices down. It doesn’t matter how nice Pack Wilder is, or what they smell like.

Because I will succeed where they failed.

Even if it’s the last thing I do.

Chapter Nine

Faith

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

I huff, mirroring the three fingers Fang is waving in front of my face. He relaxes.

“Good girl. You feelin’ sick?”

I get why he’s concerned—head trauma is no joke—but I know my body. That last fight left nothing but cuts and bruises.

Fang growls. He tears off his tank-top and presses the fabric to my bleeding eyebrow. “I’m gonna end that bitch.”

I sigh. She didn’t have a choice, Fang.

“She was trying to kill you.”

Entirely possible. But still—Who could blame her?

Fang’s glare is hard. “Is this a joke to you?”

Of course not, I sign. It wasn’t a joke to her, either. She wanted to win.

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