A figure appears in one of the ground-floor windows—tall, muscular. My heart leaps. It’s Axel. He sees me, his eyes widening. His mouth forms my name, though I can’t hear it through the glass. He turns, shouting something to someone behind him.
I’m almost at the side door. My hand reaches for the knob.
The world explodes.
One second, I’m reaching for the door; the next, I’m airborne, heat and force slamming into me. The sound is beyond description—a roar that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere, so loud it’s almost silent, a pressure crushing my eardrums.
I fly backward, my body weightless for a terrifying moment before gravity reclaims me. The impact of hitting the ground knocks the air from my lungs. My head cracks against something hard, and stars burst across my vision.
For several seconds—or maybe minutes, I can’t tell—I just lie there, unable to move, unable to process. My ears ring, a high-pitched whine that drowns out all other sound. Warmth trickles down the side of my face. When I touch it, my fingers come away red.
I roll onto my side, trying to push myself up. The world tilts and spins. Through blurred vision, I look toward where the lake house stood.
It’s gone.
33
Luna
Notebook: Fuck.
Consciousness returns with throbbing pain and fuzzy confusion.
I try to reach for my aching head, but my wrists don’t move. “What the—?”
My eyes fly open.
I jerk my arms again, panic surging when they remain firmly secured. I’m tied to a bed in a room I’ve never seen before. The events crash back into my memory—the lake house, the explosion, Axel’s face in the window.
A sound rips from my throat, somewhere between a scream and a sob. My chest constricts so tightly I can barely breathe.
“You’re awake.”
That voice.
I know that voice.
I strain against my restraints, twisting my neck to find the source. He steps into view.
“Conrad?”
He looks the same as he did that night at the Institute—tall, brown hair, unfairly handsome in that polished, privileged way. The son of the political party leader who wants all lesser shifters dead.
The man whose scent had driven me wild.
Except… I don’t feel anything now.
No pull, no attraction.
Just rage.
“Untie me,” I demand, jerking against my restraints hard enough that the bed frame creaks.
“I will. Once I’m sure you won’t try to claw my eyes out.”
“Oh, I’m definitely going to claw your fucking eyes out,” I snarl. “They’re dead because of you. They’re all dead.”
Something flickers across his face—regret? Guilt? It’s gone too quickly to tell, smoothed over by that politician’s mask he wears so well.
