Page 59 of His Mate

Finally, Sorin stood up, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You’re either a great liar, or you’re a fool.”

I smirked, though it took effort. “Why not both?”

She didn’t laugh. Instead, she signaled to the guard outside, who stepped into the room with a tray of medical supplies. My stomach twisted at the sight of the syringe, another dose of the drug that was keeping me in check.

“I’ll be keeping an eye on your mate,” Sorin said, her voice icy as the guard prepped the syringe. “And if I find out she’s in any danger because of you, I’ll make sure you both pay for it. But first… let’s make sure you stay nice and calm, shall we?”

The guard knelt beside me, jabbing the needle into my arm. I felt the cold rush of the drug spread through my veins, dulling my senses even further, trapping the wolf deeper inside me.

My vision blurred slightly, and I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to lash out. But I couldn’t. Not yet. Not like this.

Sorin turned on her heel and walked out, leaving me in the cold, empty room with nothing but the weight of the drug coursing through me and the sound of the chains clinking softly as I lay there, powerless.

But even as the drug pulled me deeper into its haze, one thought stayed at the forefront of my mind.

Kendra.

She was going to need me with what was coming.

I had to find a way out of this. For her.

No matter what.

CHAPTER 19

Kendra

The air in the town was heavy, thick with an underlying tension that made my skin prickle as I walked through the narrow, cracked streets. I hadn’t been here long, but I already felt like I didn’t belong, the stares from the people as I passed making it clear that I was an outsider.

The rundown suburban town was eerily quiet, with only the occasional sound of children’s laughter echoing through the broken windows of the old houses. But even their laughter seemed forced, hollow, like it didn’t belong here.

The Resistance had let me out of the small house they’d locked me in, but it wasn’t freedom.

At least, not really.

Every step I took, I felt someone’s eyes on me. I turned my head every now and then, scanning the shadowy corners, but I never saw anyone. The feeling was unsettling, like there was a pair of eyes always just out of sight, watching every move I made.

I tried to shake the feeling as I passed a building that seemed more active than the others. A few people came and went, their arms filled with baskets of supplies—food, by the look of it.

I lingered for a moment, glancing around to make sure no one was paying too much attention, and slipped through the door behind a woman carrying a sack of potatoes. Inside was a small pantry, shelves lined with canned goods, grains, and whatever the Resistance could scavenge from the nearby forests and abandoned towns.

My gaze flicked to the far shelf, where a row of glass bottles caught my eye. Whiskey. I didn’t hesitate. I moved quickly, grabbing one of the bottles and tucking it under my jacket.

I slipped back out of the pantry unnoticed, my heart racing a little as I walked back out into the open air. The sun was lower now, and my eyes scanned the buildings, eventually locking in on the warehouse.

The old building wasn’t far—just a few streets over, near the edge of the town. I could see the hulking shape of it in the distance, its rusted metal exterior a stark contrast to the faded houses surrounding it. I kept my pace steady, pretending like I belonged, like I wasn’t about to do something stupid.

As I approached the warehouse, I expected someone to stop me, to question why I was headed toward a place they clearly didn’t want me near. But no one said a word. No guards stepped forward. No eyes followed me here. The streets were strangely quiet, almost abandoned now that the sun was starting to set.

It wasn’t until I was right in front of the warehouse that I saw him—a single guard standing by the entrance, leaning against the wall with a bored expression. He was younger than Iexpected, maybe mid-twenties, with dark hair and an unfocused look in his eyes, like he was daydreaming about being anywhere but here.

I hesitated for a moment, clutching the bottle of whiskey under my jacket. My pulse quickened as I took another step forward, then another, my feet carrying me closer to the warehouse and the man guarding it. He hadn’t noticed me yet, and by the time I was close enough to speak, I’d already made a plan.

If I could distract him long enough, maybe get him to let something slip about the town—or better yet, about Rowan—then I’d have a shot at getting inside the warehouse. The bottle of whiskey weighed heavily under my jacket, and I pulled it out, a slow smile spreading across my face as I held it up.

“Thirsty?” I asked, breaking the silence between us.

The guard blinked, his eyes unfocused as he turned toward me. He was even younger than I’d realized up close, with shaggy dark hair that hung over his eyes and a patchy, half-grown beard that made him look more like a kid than a soldier. He straightened up, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing at the bottle in my hand.

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