Page 68 of A Warrior's Fate

He smiled. “Because you’re desperate enough to lie to be here.”

He certainly still had his wits about him. Even if he had mastered the art of fumbling over his own words, he was never a stupid man. Maybe there was hope he was still there, simply with those quirky parts of his personality stripped away in the absence of the memories that made him who he was.

Riddles and secrets and games.

She could use those old interests to her advantage.

“An even trade then,” she proposed. “A question and answer for one in return.”

That seemed to spark something as he flashed her the most genuine grin she’d seen since he’d smiled at her before the bak he’d killed in the Wilds.

“I’ll go first,” he said. “Who are you?”

No names.

“A friend,” she told him.

He narrowed his eyes. “Be more specific.”

“Ask in the next question.” Her smile had his lips twitching up again. Was that progress? “What do you remember from behind the Wall?”

He rolled his eyes. “How original,” he deadpanned. “I remember woods and a wolf.” His answer was simple and to the point, as hers had been. But that small gleam of joy in his face made it okay. She was surprised when his next question wasn’t for her name. “Where am I?”

Isla bit down on her bottom lip. They’d started easy, but now, she could try digging into whatever was lost. And if he held true to form, the more specific she got, the more detailed, he may mirror and clue her further into what happened.

Still, she chose her words carefully.

“An infirmary in Callisto. It’s one of the ten territories on this continent—or I suppose, one of eleven,” she paused, gauging his reaction before she continued. “Tethys is one of the southernmost—I’ve heard it gets pretty cold there. It’s one of the smallest regions, I think. A little bigger than Rhea.”

“Are you going to ask your question?” he asked, and it seemed the information barely fazed him.

Isla sighed. “Do you remember anything from before the woods and wolf?”

“Dark,” he said. “I remember darkness. Everything being dark, and I don’t know anything but the darkness before the darkness.” He began drumming his fingers over the leather binding of the book he’d been reading. “How could he do that?”

From the grit of disdain in his tone, Isla knew what he meant.

She wrung her hands together and crossed her arms over her chest as she paced a bit. “It’s called shifting,” she eased, bracing herself and him in pause before she continued, “not everyone can do it completely. Some just claws and fangs, some unfortunate people only the hair, and others not at all. The Goddess gave us our abilities, our power, to protect the land we stand on, to protect each other as she’d been protected when she walked the world before us.”

At her paraphrased citings from the Great Book, Lukas’s nostrils flared. “You’re one of them?”

Now or never.

Isla wasn’t sure how much time she had left, but she could feel an end looming. An ethereal sensation that whatever she did and said next was crucial.

“You are,” she said, tone firm. “Your name is Lukas. You’re from the Pack of Tethys. Your parents live there too, and your sister who just had a baby. A boy. You’re an uncle.” Lukas’s face was stone. Isla gritted her teeth and carried forward, heart thudding in her ears. “You’ve spent the past six years training to become a warrior. I met you a little over a week ago at a dinner. We talked about a painting that you were looking at, and then I saw you again when we were both behind the Wall.” She reached into her pocket and slowly pulled out the marker, letting it rest in her palm before him as she stepped closer. “You found this on the ground, and you told me about it. What it was. What it meant for me—and someone else in my life.”

Isla waited with bated breath as his eyes honed in on the marker, tracked across its ridges and carvings as she had countless times. There was a flash in his eyes, and a nag of hope blossomed in her chest.

“Isla.” Her name tumbled from his lips.

With it, her own mouth had opened to beam, to say yes…but then she noticed the severed straps of his restraints, tucked beneath his pillows so one could barely see the detachment.

And she had no time to move out of the way as he rocketed to his feet and slammed her to the wall, pinning her beneath his body.

Any immediate thought to jerk and fight him away needed to be re-evaluated as something pointed and sharp pressed to her side. Not small like the scalpel she couldn’t reach in her waistband—but a dagger. She caught the glint of it out of the corner of her eye. There was no time to ponder where he’d gotten it, how.

“Don’t scream,” he demanded, eyes so dark with rage that they were nearly black. “This is your fault. You’re why I’m like this. Why I’m stuck here.”

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