Chapter 62 Fault Lines
Sable’s POV
For a long moment after Sam finished, the warehouse seemed to tilt. The silver cuffs ate into my wrists, but the sharper ache bloomed in my chest.
Kier
I still felt the hollow pain from the betrayal I felt after leaving the penthouse.
I squeezed my eyes shut. The chains rattled, humiliatingly loud in the quiet. “Kier” I screamed in my head.
I swallowed, and the room sharpened until I could count the dust motes in the string of bulbs overhead. I hated that an inch of me understood how I had taken us to ruin, how I had wanted and hated and wanted again.
Sam shifted on his crate. “You don’t have to think about him,” he said gently, like he could read the direction of my mind. “He’s not here. It’s just us.”
It’s just us.
The phrase slid over me like a cold hand. I turned my head, met his gaze, and saw nothing.
“Don’t say ‘us,’” I said, my voice low and shredded. “There is no us, Sam.”
His mouth softened. “Baby, don’t cry.”
I hadn’t realized I was crying until he said it, until the salt hit my lip and the heat hit my cheeks. The tears came harder, horrible and silent, wracking my body.
“Don’t—” I tried, and failed. A sound ripped free that didn’t belong to the warrior I once was.
Sam moved as if to come closer, hands out the way you approach a skittish animal. My wolf, drugged and muffled, still flared a warning so sharp it pricked my skin from the inside.
“Don’t touch me,” I snapped, snatching my shoulders away so fast the cuffs carved fire. The pain steadied me. It gave me something to grip.
He froze, hands hovering in air. He tried again, this time with words that sounded like a blanket pulled over a mouth. “You’re hurting because of him. But you’re free now. I’m just… helping you see that.”
“By chaining me?” My laugh came out bright and broken. “This is freedom to you?”
“This is safety,” he insisted. His voice sharpened on the last syllable. “For you.”
Anger struck clean through my grief like a blade through fabric. “Don’t make me into your good deed,” I said. “You’re not saving me. You’re try to replace who I am with the version you want.”
His jaw set. “I’m keeping you safe.”
“You drugged me in an alley,” I said. My voice went very calm. “You followed me. You put silver on my skin. You brought me to a place where nobody would hear me because you knew what you were doing was wrong, even if you won’t admit it.”
He opened his mouth, closed it. When he spoke, the words sounded like something memorized. “I'm saving you Sable because I love you. Can't you see that.”
“Then remove the chains,” I said. “And let me go.”
We stared at each other, the space between us taut and ugly. He didn’t move. Of course he didn’t. People who think they are the hero seldom do when the damsel refuses to be saved.
Heat built under my skin, a slow, wildfire heat. My wolf pressed against the drug’s thick blanket and then slid back, exhausted, but not gone. Not gone. She licked my wounds from the inside.
“Baby, please don’t cry,” Sam tried again, reaching—a hand, a thumb angled to swipe a tear he had not earned.
“Don’t call me that,” I snarled, twisting hard enough my shoulder screamed. I tried to knee him, but the position robbed me of leverage; the chain yanked, bit, punished. He rocked back on his heels, surprised, then set his jaw.
“You’re going to hurt yourself,” he scolded, as if I were a child. “Stop fighting me.”
“Get used to it,” I said. “It’s my favorite thing to do, fight.”
I lifted my head and found Sam’s eyes. “You obviously found out what I am. So what now you want to drug my wolf and chain me to make me fit in your life.” I bit off the he and tasted blood and stubbornness. I would not argue Kier’s case to my jailer. “No one gets to control me.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” he said, almost plaintive. “I’m giving you room.”
“You're holding me captive.”
“Sable—”
“Don’t,” I warned, every syllable edged. “Don’t say my name.”
Silence pulsed, thick and electric. He stood slowly, palms out. “Rest. Please. The wolfbane will fade. You’ll feel better. You’ll see.”
I set my back against the pillar, lifted my bloody wrists enough for the silver to bite, and let the bite sharpen me. “I'm letting you know right now Sam, I’m going to walk out of here. And if you put your hands on me again, I will break them.”
Something old and mean in my eyes must have convinced him. He took a step back.
When he turned to check the door—just for a heartbeat—grief surged up through me so suddenly I couldn’t brace. It tore loose as a quiet, desperate sound. I hated it. I couldn’t stop it.
He pivoted, soft again, hopeful like a dog hearing a key. “Baby—”
“Try it,” I hissed, teeth bared. The sound wasn’t human and I could see the fear in his eyes. Good.
He shut his mouth.
I closed my eyes, drew a breath, and fed the small, stubborn fire at my center with everything I had: anger, love, shame, want, pack, mother, father, Luna, Jaxon, Kier.