Page 58 of Lost Touch

Ian eyed me thoughtfully, one red eyebrow raised, lips pursed. “Warlock prison, huh?” he said at last. “And somehow the two of you managed to get out? You have magic?”

“God, no,” I said, with a shaky laugh that sounded insane even to me. “But Drew’s kind of a badass. We had help, too. Some other prisoners. I don’t know what happened to them, they took off on their own.”

“Huh,” Ian said. Oddly, a half-smile teased at the corner of his lips. He didn’t hold a candle to Drew, of course, but when his expression softened like that, I could see the appeal. No wonder Nate put up with all the grunting and stomping around.

Heavy footsteps, far too heavy to belong to Nate, thumped and creaked on the stairs above us, followed by yet another set.

Two new voices, including one much lower than Nate’s, raspy and rumbling…I’d heard that voice before. I knew it. It belonged to…

The footsteps drew closer, coming down the hall.

And then the biggest, most intimidating person I’d ever seen—with one memorable exception—filled the doorway to the hall and stood there staring at me.

White-blond hair down to his massive shoulders, and a hard-featured, square-jawed face. No fangs, and no claws out at the moment, and not drenched in blood, but…his eyes glowed silver.

And I knew him. Iknewhim. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been helping us escape. Killing the men who’d imprisoned and hurt and tortured us.

I slumped back against the wall, the fear draining out of me and leaving me heavy and helpless.

“Oh, thank God,” I whispered. “It’s you!”

Nate’s head appeared, craning around Calder, and Ian let out a huff of amused surprise.

“No offense, Calder, but that isnota normal reaction to you,” Nate said.

“Let me through!” Another voice coming from behind the traffic jam in the doorway.

Nate disappeared with an annoyedeep, and someone else pushed past Calder, nudging him with an elbow in a way that seemed mildly suicidal. Calder only grunted, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close the second he got next to him. Tallish—compared to me, anyway, not Calder—and muscular, with nondescript brown hair and a nice-looking but average face.

But something about him was familiar…

And then it twigged. “You were there too, weren’t you? He was carrying you.”

The guy’s blue eyes went a little distant. “Yeah. That was me.” He tried to move, but Calder pinned him to his side. “Let go, will you? Jesus.” He tugged himself away, Calder reluctantly allowing it. “I’m Jared,” he said. “And you’re safe here. Completely. I was going to call you soon, I’d gotten distracted. We had some trouble, and then we went to freaking Canada—anyway. Long story.”

He’d come close enough to touch. Jared. Who’d been in the same place as me, had been broken enough, like me, to be useless in the escape—but stood here in front of me, looking mostly recovered, at home, safe and sound.

No one else in the world but him could understand how I felt right then.

I lurched forward and wrapped my arms around him, pressing my face into his shoulder. Someone growled, probably Calder, but Jared said something—it didn’t even matter what—and wrapped his arms around me, holding me close.

He leaned his head down, murmuring in my ear, “No worries, all right? No worries.”

I closed my eyes and leaned into him, finally feeling like I might be able to follow his advice.

***

That didn’t last long, unfortunately.

We ended up in the basement after all, but with Jared walking down the stairs right in front of me, it didn’t seem so daunting at first.

Calder carried Drew down the stairs, setting him on the carpet near the wall—a lot more carefully than Ian would’ve, I thought. Drew had been the only one who’d done any damage during our escape other than Calder. I hoped that meant Calder saw him as an ally rather than a threat. I kept shooting glances at him, at his closed eyes and limp limbs. I had to keep telling myself that he was safer unconscious, and that I couldn’t just snuggle up to him and hold him. Not if I wanted to help us both longer-term.

Two more people trooped down the stairs, too, appearing from nowhere in this clown car of a house: a heavily tattooed guy with long blond hair who turned out to be Arik, the mysterious shaman, and a serious, dark-haired alpha named Matthew whom everyone deferred to, it seemed like.

And then they stuck me on an ancient, ratty plaid couch, pulled a bunch of rusty folding chairs out of a closet so they could sit around me, and told me to tell the whole story.

The words stuck in my throat—and then Jared got off his chair, squeezed Calder’s shoulder, and came to sit next to me.

---