Trying not to think about the way Kyle’s muscles had moved under his skin, I reached up and took his hand. Still Kyle, I reminded myself, he’ll always be Kyle.
I glanced skyward as I gained my feet. As I did, I noticed something I had missed when entering the cage: High on each corner were four cameras, all pointing inward.
Langley’s voice pulled my gaze away. “First group out, second group in.”
The other group had their turn in the cage. Not one of them was able to hold back from shifting. Afterward, the wolves grabbed fresh uniforms from a row of plastic bins. Once everyone was decent, we sat on the grass and listened for two hours as Langley told disturbing—and graphic—tales of wolves who had lost control and killed.
By the time the buzzer signaled lunch, every person in the class was emotionally battered and physically drained.
Every person except Langley, of course. There seemed to be a spring in the counselor’s step as she led us back through the camp. I could just imagine the meetings she must have had with her high school guidance counselor as she explored career options that would let her both torture and humiliate.
I watched Kyle out of the corner of my eye as he walked beside me. He had barely said a word since stepping out of the cage, and his eyes, his expression, even his posture, were all hard and closed down.
“Are you okay?” I whispered, skimming his hand with my fingers as the side of the dining hall came into sight.
“I should be asking you that.” His brow furrowed as we passed a small stand of trees. “C’mon.” He shot Langley a quick glance before twining his fingers around mine and stepping out of line.
“You have forty minutes and then a fifteen-minute warning bell will . . .” Langley’s voice faded as I followed Kyle to the circle of trees. He dropped my hand as soon as we were under the branches.
The spot wasn’t completely private—someone walking past would be able to see us if they were close enough and paying attention—but from what I knew of the camp’s layout, most people would probably be approaching the dining hall from the other side of the building.
An ornately carved stone bench—a holdover from the days when this place had been a hospital—stood in the middle of the trees. I sat on the edge and traced an epitaph with my fingertip. In Memory of Miriam.
I expected Kyle to sit next to me, but he leaned against a tree and crossed his arms.
The six feet between us felt like six thousand.
“What’s wrong?” I realized the absurdity of the statement and shook my head. “I mean, other than the fact that we’re in a rehabilitation camp and Serena is missing and my hair looks like it was cut by a blind man using a rusty hacksaw blade.”
The scowl on Kyle’s face was so deep it was in danger of becoming permanent. “That last bit was a joke,” I said, somewhat unnecessarily.
A muscle in his jaw twitched. I had the distinct feeling he was holding himself back from saying a dozen things—none of which I would want to hear. Finally, voice tight, he said, “Do you have any idea what could have happened in that cage? Did you listen to the stories Langley told us? Forget getting scratched—one of them could have torn your throat out or crushed your skull. They don’t know you can’t heal.”
“I know.” I pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “But I’m okay. Nothing happened.”
“If Langley had waited any longer to set off that HFD, it would have.”
“Maybe,” I admitted, because I could neither deny nor admit how scared I had been. I didn’t want Kyle to know that a small part of me had been afraid of him, too, that it still frightened me when I saw muscles twist and tear beneath his skin.
I slipped a finger under my wrist cuff and touched the edge of Amy’s bracelet. “What happened?” I didn’t want to ask, but somehow, I couldn’t stop myself. “Why did they turn on each other?”
“Blood plus exhaustion plus a confined space? Even regs would have had a hard time not taking swipes at one another.” He uncrossed his arms and ran a hand over his jaw. His eyes darkened, and I knew he was thinking about how close he had come to losing control with the others.
“Why didn’t you shift?” I asked softly.
He swallowed and gazed out at the camp. For a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to answer. “You,” he admitted finally. “I was scared of what would happen if you were the only one who didn’t shift. And I didn’t want you to see me like that.”
“Kyle . . .” I stood and closed the space between us, then slipped my hand into his. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t return my grip and he didn’t meet my eyes. For a moment, it was like he was somewhere else, locked someplace inside his head where I couldn’t follow. “I’ve seen you shift before.”
“Five times,” he said. “I didn’t want to make it six.” He finally looked at me. With his free hand, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair back from my face, letting his fingers linger on my cheek for a moment. “I wish I could be human for you.”
I shook as a slow ache spread through my chest. “Kyle, you are human.”
“No. I’m really not.” His gaze became resolute. “You need to tell them what you are. You need to tell them you’re a reg.”
“You know I can’t.” I stared at him, willing him to understand. “There’s no way I can leave without knowing Serena’s okay—especially after that stuff Dex said at breakfast.”
Kyle stared right back, but didn’t speak. It was like a contest: whichever one of us blinked first lost.
“I’ll be careful. I’ll be safe. We don’t have self-control for another week, and that’s the only place wolves are allowed to shift outside the zone.” I laced my fingers with his. I didn’t need his permission to stay—it wasn’t a contest or vote—but I couldn’t afford to spend every free moment arguing. “I need to know that Serena’s okay and I need you to help me.” I squeezed his hand so tightly that my arm shook. “Please, Kyle.”
“You’re insane, you know that, right? You’re like a member of PETA with a death wish.” The words were mocking, but the look in his eyes was lost and a little sad. Voice rough, he said, “Regs aren’t supposed to care this much about werewolves.”
“All werewolves start off as regs,” I countered.
In response, he kissed me.
It started off gently—just the brush of his lips against mine—but I reached up and clasped my hands behind his neck, drawing him closer. My lips parted under his and the kiss deepened to something that was a almost fierce in its intensity.
Everything inside of me twisted and shattered.
Without breaking the kiss, Kyle switched our positions so that my back was against the tree. His hands stroked my hair and my shoulders and grazed my sides when my shirt rucked up a few inches. His fingers left trails of fire on my skin, the sensation only occasionally dampened by the touch of the metal cuff around his wrist.
No wrist cuffs, I thought, no Thornhill. Just us.
Moments later, when I was in danger of completely forgetting where we were, Kyle made a low, frustrated noise deep in his throat and gently pulled away.
He turned his head and scanned the area beyond the trees. Following his gaze, I saw a female guard headed our way. Squinting, I could just make out a pack of cigarettes in her hand as she shook out a smoke.
“There’s probably still time to get some lunch,” I said as Kyle and I stepped out from the trees.
He shot me a small, slightly rueful smile. “Sure. If you’re going to insist on throwing yourself into dangerous situations, we should probably make sure you keep your strength up.”
“Speaking of which . . .” The roof of the sanatorium was just visible over the dining hall. “Dex seemed sure that was where Serena would be.”
“It makes sense. If she were in the main part of the camp, we’d have seen her at breakfast or orientation.”
“So all we have to do is figure out a way to get into the only place we’re not allowed to go. Well, one of,” I amended, thinking
of Dex’s cryptic statement about there being two. “Should be easy.” I meant the words to sound joking, but they hung heavy in the air, filled with doubt and trepidation.
“We’ll figure something out,” promised Kyle, and I knew part of the determination in his voice was the belief—or hope—that I’d leave once we knew Serena was safe.
But even if we found her, how could anyone ever be safe in a place with counselors like Langley and where—according to Dex—people disappeared?
I took one last glance at the sanatorium roof before it slipped from view.
No: finding Serena was just step one. There was no way I was leaving Thornhill until I figured out how to take both her and Kyle with me.
12
MY ARMS THROBBED AS I TRANSFERRED ANOTHER LOAD of wet sheets to a dryer that was big enough to sleep in. The humidity in the air plastered my shirt to my skin and made my lungs ache. Before this afternoon, I wouldn’t have said laundry was actual torture, but before this afternoon, I had never tried to do laundry for a few hundred people.
“You! Over here!” The counselor—a chubby woman with a nose ring and olive skin—raised her voice above the din of the machines.
Twelve pairs of eyes turned toward her as we each tried to figure out which one of us she was talking to. At the machine next to me, Eve dropped the armful of Thornhill shirts she was holding and pushed back her sweat-damp hair.
The counselor’s gaze locked on me. “Over here,” she repeated.
I followed her across the long, narrow room to where two-dozen wheeled bins awaited an ever-rotating supply of uniforms, sheets, and towels. She gestured at two smaller bins set off to the side. Unlike the others, they had lids but no wheels. One was labeled Gloves, the other Smocks.
“These need to go to the garden sheds by the produce fields. Can you manage?”
A sinking feeling filled my stomach as I tried to figure out how much each bin might weigh.
When I didn’t immediately answer, the counselor frowned. “Are you going to pick one up?”
Good question, I thought.
There was no choice but to try. Hoping gloves would be lighter than smocks, I lifted the nearest bin—
And almost dropped it. Not because it was too heavy—though I could feel the strain in my arms and shoulders—but because I could barely reach around it; no wonder the counselor had asked if I could manage.
“You’ll need help.” She turned to the room and asked for a volunteer.
I tried to keep the surprise from my face when Eve raised her hand.
The counselor waved her forward and gave us directions as Eve gracefully lifted the bin full of smocks. “They go in shed fifteen. Head past the auditorium and take a left at the next path. Don’t worry about making it back for the end of the detail. We only have ten minutes left and it’ll probably take you that long to get there.”
We made our way out of the building. For a few moments, I luxuriated in the sensation of the afternoon breeze cooling the sweat on my face and the chance to breathe air that wasn’t as heavy as a wet gym sock. But the mental break lasted only until the laundry building was out of sight.
“What do you want, Eve?”
“Who said I wanted anything?”
I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. Her expression was too guarded for someone who wasn’t working some sort of angle. “Come on. First you bailed me out in self-control—thanks for that, by the way—and then you volunteered to lug this stuff across the camp.”
“Beats staying in the laundry room,” she said with a shrug.
Up ahead, a pair of men rounded a bend in the path. Both wore jogging shorts and blue T-shirts—outfits that were completely at odds with the holsters bouncing on their hips. Even at rest, the guards were armed.
We stepped off the path to make room. Once they were out of sight, Eve set down her bin, readjusted her hold, and then picked it back up. I was tempted to do the same, but given the way my arms were starting to shake, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to lift it a second time.
“We need to get out of Thornhill,” she said. “We can’t just sit around, doing nothing.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What happened to all that stuff you said about Hank getting us out?”
She considered her answer as we passed the auditorium and took the left the counselor had told us about. Here, close-crowded trees bordered the path, and I realized we were on the other side of the woods we had passed on our way to self-control earlier in the day.
“Curtis is going to try and get us out,” Eve said slowly, ignoring the short, skeptical noise I made, “but if he can’t, then we have to figure out something on our own. This whole place was built to control wolves like me, not regs like you. You can go places I can’t. We can use that.”
She blew a strand of hair off her face. “I am not spending the rest of my life in here.”
We neared the edge of the produce fields and Eve fell silent: enough wolves were working that private conversation was impossible.
The fields were located on the farthest outskirts of the camp and were nothing more than glorified vegetable patches—straggly ones at that. An old water tower rose near the edge of one. Covered with rust and balancing shakily on four spindly legs, it looked like it had been here long before the camp—maybe even before the sanatorium.
Shed fifteen was just past it. Beyond that was the fence.
Large signs warned wolves not to get within eight feet of the wires, and someone had enhanced one of these by adding a stick figure with lightning bolts shooting out of his fingertips and the top of his head.
“Funny,” muttered Eve as she headed for the shed.
She pulled open the door and stepped inside, but I stopped when I was still several feet away. On the other side of the fence was some sort of steel grid. I stared at it, puzzled, but then my stomach lurched as I realized I was looking at the early stages of a reinforced concrete wall.
All of the camps had them. They kept regs from getting near the electrified fences and wolves from talking to anyone on the outside. Some regs left memorials along the walls or spray-painted tributes to infected loved ones inside the camps. There were websites where you could see photos of the graffiti.
This wall was barely under construction—there couldn’t have been more than sixty yards of steel set up and only a few feet of solid concrete in place—but once completed, it would rise forty feet and completely encircle the camp. You wouldn’t be able to see out unless you looked up.
I was suddenly hit by a wave of loneliness that left me feeling like one of those paper snowflakes kids made: all stretched out and full of holes. If I couldn’t find a way to get Kyle and Serena out of here, they would spend the rest of their lives cut off from everyone and everything—including me if I ended up on the outside of the wall.
And if I didn’t end up on the outside—if I stayed in here with them—I would never see Tess or Jason again.
The thought of never hearing another one of Tess’s sugar-fueled rants about men, or never seeing Jason’s green eyes or that look he got on his face when I was driving him crazy, made my chest ache.
I pushed the feeling away. I couldn’t afford to think like that. I couldn’t afford to get bogged down in what-ifs and maybes.
I headed into the shed and deposited my bin. The muscles in my arms spasmed, and my spine twinged as I was able to stand up straight for the first time since leaving the laundry building.
Eve watched me stretch, a strange look on her face that made me uncomfortable in a way I couldn’t quite define. It looked a little like longing, but more . . . wistful.
When she realized I had caught her in the act of staring, she blushed. “Sorry,” she said with a shrug that seemed uncharacteristically self-conscious. “I was just trying to remember what it was like.”
“It?”
“Those small aches and pains you get when you’re a reg.” Before I could say anything else, she pushed past me and walked out of the shed.
<
br /> The buzzer signaling the end of the work details sounded as I stepped outside after her. She glanced at me and her face was as blank as an unlined page in a notebook. Whatever had prompted the brief moment of sharing was clearly over.
The wolves from the fields were already heading back toward the main part of camp. We trailed after them slowly, by unspoken agreement giving them enough time to get out of earshot.
“So . . .” I kicked at a stone on the path. “You want my help coming up with a plan in case Hank doesn’t come through.” No need to tell her the odds of that were about 150 percent.
“I think you can find information that might help me come up with a plan in case he can’t help us, yes.” She stopped walking and tilted her head to the side as she gave me a long, considering look. I had the feeling Eve didn’t ask people for help very often.
“You can get past the HFDs and you can watch what happens after one goes off. The pain in my head when they use those things is so bad that a marching band playing death metal could walk past and I’d be oblivious.”
I considered it.
Kyle would hate the idea. He would more than hate it. Just a few hours ago, I had promised him that I would be careful and be safe; agreeing to help Eve spy and plan a breakout was pretty much the opposite of that.
But if it led to a way to get him and Serena out . . .
“Okay,” I said slowly. “But I have a condition.”
Eve raised an eyebrow.
“You want to find a way out. I want to find out what’s happening to Serena.”
Eve nodded. “Fair enough. You help me, then I’ll help you.”
“Serena first. You need me more than I need you.” I held my breath. Until moments ago, it wouldn’t have occurred to me to ask Eve for her help, but I suddenly wanted it. Badly.
She hesitated, then nodded grudgingly. “Fine.”
I exhaled. She was the only other wolf in Thornhill who knew I was a reg, and unlike Kyle, she wouldn’t try to protect me at the expense of getting out of here. And as much as I disliked the loyalty she had for my father, anyone who had been living with Hank—anyone who’d been raised by him for a year and a half—had probably picked up the kind of skills that would come in handy when breaking out of a government facility.
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