“They really should hire you to write their PR,” I say, falling back on sarcasm. “You’ve got quite the sales pitch.”
Dean chuckles and Declan raises an eyebrow, then his gaze flicks to the bandage on my wrist.
His expression softens, and for a moment I can see the mask lift to reveal the vulnerability underneath. The pain there cuts deeper than any razor ever could, and I inhale sharply, blinking away instant tears at the brokenness I see in him.
Then, he blinks, and just like that, it’s gone.
“You tried to hurt yourself,” Dean says quietly.
I look at him, because it’s much easier than looking at Declan. And even if he is doing a terrible job of changing the subject, it’s better than the horror his twin described.
“Yes.” The word isn’t much more than a whisper as I remember the desperation I felt. Instantly, I’m aware of the silence ringing in my ears and hope blooms inside me. Maybe the voices are gone now. Maybe I bled them away. Like a poison to be let.
“What about you?” I ask. “Did you—”
I look away, unable to bring myself to ask such an intimate question. But Dean shakes his head.
“No.”
“Then how did they—I mean, why did they bring you here?” I ask.
Dean doesn’t answer, but Declan makes a sound, and I look over to see his lips curl into a hardened sneer. His eyes glitter with something that makes me want to take a step back.
He opens his mouth and utters a growl that rises from deep inside, a guttural sound that makes me wince. The air around him seems to crackle with a sudden energy that lifts the hairs on the back of my neck.
“Dec,” Dean warns, but he sounds more annoyed than afraid.
Declan snarls at him and drops to all fours.
I back away. Despite the bars separating us, fear laces its way up my spine. Declan’s expression contorts, pain and rage radiating in an energy that suggests he’s more than what he seems.
Everything slows as I watch a transformation that should be impossible. There’s a pop and crack of bone that makes me wince as Declan cries out—a human sound that turns fast to something much more animal.
My eyes close and when I open them again, Declan is gone.
A wolf with thick brown fur stands in his place.
“Is that—? Did he—?” I can’t make the words come.
“Yes,” is Dean’s quiet reply.
Declan turns to me, and I’m caught in the sharpness of his glowing-eyed gaze, still that deep green, still keenly intelligent and entirely disconcerting on the face of a wolf. For a long moment, I stare into their depths, positive if I look closely enough, I’ll discover the secrets he hides there.
But then he blinks and pulls back his lips, revealing sharp canines. He lets out a low growl that has Dean rolling his eyes.
“Brother, enough,” Dean says, and Declan snorts then turns away from me as he shifts back to a human form.
It all happens so fast, I wonder if I imagined it. But when he stands on two legs again, his clothes are gone. His powerful muscles flex as he shifts, catching the light to showcase just how impressive his physique is. As my gaze wanders down, my eyes widen and suddenly I feel like Little Red Riding Hood. My, what large…
I snap my head up, embarrassed at the direction of my thoughts, and see Declan looking at me knowingly, a cocky smirk curving his delicious lips.
“See something you like, love?” he asks.
My cheeks heat, and I look away.
“How did you do that?” I ask.
“Same way you do yours, I imagine.”
Confused, I steal a glance at him. “Same way I do my what?”
He shrugs as he saunters closer to the bars, cocky and confident. I have to force myself to keep my eyes trained on his face. “Magic.”
I blink, momentarily forgetting about the sexy, naked man-wolf standing three feet away. I look from Declan to Dean, who is watching me curiously.
“I don’t have magic,” I say, but even as I speak the words, something shifts in me, and a thousand years’ worth of family insanity washes over me in raised echoes.
She’s here.
This won’t end well.
You shouldn’t have come.
She’s more powerful than she knows.
Voices overlap, growing louder in my head until I press my hands to my ears in desperation. Even at the worst moments, I’d never heard so many of them before. Until now, I’d never heard anyone else but her.
“No,” I say to myself. To them. “I don’t want this.”
The voices cut off abruptly, leaving me alone in the silent prison of my own mind.
I open my eyes to find both of the guys watching me. Dean looks slightly worried, but Declan’s expression is too stoic to read.
“If you’re here, you have magic,” Declan says finally. “It’s that simple.” He sniffs the air and frowns. “You’re not a werewolf. And though you’re certainly pale enough to be a vampire, I can hear your heartbeat. Which makes you… a witch.”
My heart stammers in my chest, and I feel my sanity slipping a little. Am I hallucinating? Is any of this real? Am I in the middle of a really vivid nightmare?
“I thought this was a mental hospital?” I ask, trying to sort through a tsunami of conflicting emotions.
Declan snorts. “There you go again with that word. Have you heard of a hospital that keeps its patients locked in a dungeon? Or one that tortures them?” When I don’t answer, he shakes his head. “You’re not entirely off base, though. This might not be a hospital… but the mental part is true enough.”
Something about his words grates on me, and I lift my chin, straightening. “I’m not crazy. And I don’t think you two are either.” It’s the first time since that night that I’ve defended my own sanity, and the truth of my words weigh heavily on me for reasons I can’t unpack right now.
If I’m not crazy, whose voices am I hearing in my mind?
“Of course not,” Dean says, but Declan cuts him off with a look that gives me chills, stepping close to the bars until his face is nearly pressed against them.
His eyes reflect a darkness I’ve never seen in anyone but myself.
“Didn’t you know?” he says. “We’re all a little mad here, and some of us are also dangerous.”
2
The screeching sound of metal grinding against stone alerts me to someone coming, and the twins shrink into the shadows as Declan holds a finger over his lips to silence me.
What did he mean by dangerous? Did he mean him? Dean? Are there others here?
Footsteps trail the long hall, clipped and impatient, and a woman appears at my cell door. She's middle aged, with a tight bun high on her head, a web of lines dusting the edges of her hard, steel gray eyes, and a frown that looks permanently etched across her too-thin and overly pale face. "Good, you're awake," she says in a Germanic accent. "Come. The doctor does not like to be kept waiting."
Pulling a key out of her pocket, she unlocks my prison door and pulls it open. I step out tentatively, too nervous to say or do much else. When I don't move in the direction she wants fast enough, she puts a hand in the middle of my back and nudges me forward. "You do remember how to walk, ja?"