Silent Embrace Book 2

Autore

Hayley Cyrus

Letto da

71,5K

Capitoli

Autore

Hayley Cyrus

Letto da

71,5K

Capitoli

Lupi mannari e mutaforma Compagni predestinati Drammatico Vero compagno Protettore Fantasy e paranormale

Carrie’s Turn

SEASON 2

Produced by: Bethany Sharp Written by: Cecilia Gigliotti & Rita Halle Sound by: Meaghan Bardwell "

BLYTHE

“Up! Down!”

Oh God.

“Up! Down!”

Rep six. Only rep six.

“Up! Down!”

Spots had already begun to flash before Blythe’s eyes.

“Up!”

Dizzy…

“Down…”

…dizzier…

“Blythe.”

Thud. Thud.

The dumbbells thundered to the floor.

Thud.

“Hey, Blythe. Look at me. Eyes up here. Hey.”

Blythe lifted her head. She didn’t remember falling flat on her back, but here she was.

“Carrie?”

A hand hovered above her face. The haze was lifting from her vision bit by bit.

“I’m right here, Blythe. Keep looking at my hand.”

In. Out. In. Out.

Blythe’s breaths came suddenly but steadily. She kept breathing until the spots faded and Carrie’s hand was crystal clear.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yeah.” The word seemed to fall out of her like a gasp, like she couldn’t entirely control it. “Yeah.”

“Can you touch my hand?”

Blythe reached up and put her palm in Carrie’s. One of them was clammy—she couldn’t tell which.

“Now can you sit up?”

Blythe tried to lift her upper body from her shoulders. The ceiling rocked backward, and she slumped back down with a moan.

“Okay, okay. Easy.”

Thank goodness the gym was otherwise empty. “I’m sorry, Carrie.”

“Don’t apologize. You’re probably just overextended.”

Blythe had never known a voice to soothe and comfort like Carrie’s could. Carrie might have had only eight years on her, but she had become all but a maternal figure.

A person Blythe would trust with her life.

Which, apparently, was what she was doing now.

“I mean, I did just come off of a four-mile run. Did you see me on that treadmill?”

“Yes, yes, I was watching. You’ve been showing tremendous improvement, you know.”

Blythe turned her head so she could meet Carrie’s eyes. “Really?”

“I’m impressed with the resistance training especially. You used to not be able to push without throwing your whole body into it. Which surprised me, given all those oven doors.”

“I told you, I’m a baker’s daughter.” Now she was strong enough to prop herself up on her elbows. “I didn’t do all the heavy lifting. But you should see me knead dough now. I really show it who’s boss.”

Carrie let out one of her infectious laughs and helped sit Blythe upright.

“Guess I’m not doing too hot with the dumbbells, though, huh?” Blythe smiled wanly.

Carrie winked. “There’s always time.”

“Anyway, I doubt I’ll ever match you.”

Carrie patted her stomach—she wasn’t showing yet, but it was only a matter of time. “Given the extended break I’ll be taking, I’d bet any money you’ll pass me before you know it.”

Her eyes were sparkling. Something told Blythe the exercise regimen was a small sacrifice if it meant having a child.

“And, honestly,” Carrie chuckled, sitting cross-legged beside Blythe, “once this kid is born, I’ll get more than my share of exercise chasing him.”

“Chasing him?” Blythe asked. “Don’t they… I mean haven’t the producers always…you know?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.”

Blythe watched Carrie absentmindedly touch the dagger at her hip. The one Walker had given her.

Sometimes she forgot Carrie was still human—she and her mate were practically inseparable. The whole pack agreed it was a rare attachment between a human and a shifter.

Blythe wondered, more than she wanted to admit, if she and Killian had that.

Or had any hope of having that.

“I’m guessing you want to be turned?”

“Well, Walker’s got his doubts.”

“Really? I’d think he’d be chomping at the bit.”

Carrie raised her eyes without raising her head. “You know how turning works, right?”

“Yeah. You basically become immortal.”

“If you don’t die in the process.” Carrie’s eyes fell again. “And that’s what happens to one out of every four women.”

“Don’t talk in statistics. It’s depressing.”

“This applies to you, Blythe. That’s twenty-five percent of women. That’s, like, worse than any single human disease.”

“Wow.” Blythe let that sit for a moment. It didn’t do anything for her own ambivalence. “But it won’t happen to you. Right?”

“Blythe.” Carrie’s voice trembled.

Blythe scooted toward Carrie and took her hands. “I just know it won’t. We can’t lose you, Carrie. Walker can’t. I can’t.”

“Which is why he and I have to do a lot of talking.” She tucked a strand of hair behind Blythe’s ear. “If you want my advice, you and your guy might do the same.”

DEREK

The perimeter was finally secure. Well, probably.

A line of perfectly spaced guards stretched out on either side of Derek. They got antsy every so often, but they had their orders.

Dusk was descending. Derek scanned the horizon. Clear, as always.

No one would find Lazarus. No one knew about this place. No one even thought to check.

In any event, he was starting to breathe a little easier.

For six months the producers had been on about border security—and if anything went wrong, it would be Derek’s head.

Not that they’d said as much, necessarily. But he had recruited all the new guards and given them their stations.

And he was the only one in this place who knew what the hell was going on.

As far as one could know what the hell was going on, anyway.

Derek had also been the one to smuggle Blythe and Killian back into the compound after everything went south.

Any or all of them could have been killed for that.

He had always been on good terms with Killian. He had known very little about Blythe before the incident, and vice versa.

Now they were close, in the way that people are close who are bound by an illicit secret. They were captives, blackmailed by their own escapade.

If crime were a parent, they’d be its three children.

Neither Derek nor Blythe nor Killian had spoken of that night since.

Well, maybe Blythe and Killian spoke about it to each other. Derek wouldn’t have been privy to that.

Derek consulted his watch. Just a few more minutes and he’d be off duty.

The rotation of the night watch had happened under an hour ago, and it had gone smoothly. He always stuck around to oversee it—this odd little changing of the guard.

Except no one else would ever come to gawk at it. Because no one knew about Lazarus.

Of course, the pack had a long history of sharing spaces. But six months ago the producers had closed them in.

Built a barbed wire fence around their building. Confiscated all means of communication. Converted their home into a prison.

And the number of guards had tripled.

Derek had practically smelled the producers’ panic. They wanted the world of the show to be as far removed from the real world as possible.

Sometimes it did feel like a protracted daydream.

Well, nightmare.

Species were separated by floor. Bears, canines, felines, and birds, in ascending order, along with their mates.

Unmated human women—the former Breeders—were interspersed throughout, to keep them from getting too chummy.

And they had to get special permission to move between floors.

Derek was one of the fortunate few who could grant permission.

Fortunate. He snorted.

The timer on his watch went off.

He signaled to the closest guard on his left—he liked to rotate the second-in-command position so that no one got too cocky—and headed around the side of the building.

He needed to decompress.

It was a long walk to his car and then a long drive home. That was how it had to be.

His younger sister, Rowan—half-sister, really—had pestered him into telling her about what he was up to. What this new “side hustle” was.

All told, it wasn’t a side hustle. It was his main hustle. He did have a side hustle, but that was on the side of this, not the other way around.

That was the price of secrecy. Lazarus was so insular that any information getting out to anyone could jeopardize the entire operation.

And the producers were hell-bent on keeping this show running, even after the loss of an Alpha and the collapse of the original structure.

“The show must go on,” as they said.

If you asked Derek, this show was fucking twisted. But the viewers liked it. And the viewers ruled.

After he told Rowan, he knew that she judged him. Not that she had any right to judge, given how she was making a living these days.

He found his car and started the engine.

The fact that he was still allowed to drive was remarkable.

He figured it was only a matter of time until the producers took that away, too.

With every meeting, the newly-formed Council handed down another tyrannical rule from the producers. Derek found the term “Council” laughable.

It wasn’t as though the shifters had any power for themselves.

They were the producers’ puppets.

It was an elite group, featuring just one representative from every floor.

And then Milo. Oh, Milo. The leader to end all leaders. Derek had been floored when the producers selected Milo as the new Alpha.

He knew how those guys loved a good plot twist, but this had been the biggest shocker of the season.

If things had been going south before, they might as well be in Antarctica by now.

He switched on the radio. Time to stop thinking for a while.

BLYTHE

“I told you, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Blythe. You fainted.”

“Did not! I just fell.”

Blythe was seated on the edge of the bed, and Killian was kneeling behind her, massaging her shoulders.

“Carrie was spot on. You need to stop going so hard at it.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“What, so Carrie can tell you, but your mate can’t?”

“Carrie’s my trainer.” Blythe craned her neck to look him in the eye. “And it will only get easier if you turn me. I’ll get stronger.”

Killian took his hands off her shoulders and crossed his arms. They’d been through this a couple of times now.

It was dangerous, and Killian had told Blythe that he didn’t want to take the risk.

He couldn’t lose his mate. Not again…

“Walker hasn’t turned Carrie either, you know, and she’s been here for years.”

“Yes, I know,” she snapped. “But he will after she has the baby.”

“Well then…maybe we should try to have a baby first. Give us a chance to really think about it…” He drifted off for a moment.

“You know that women can’t conceive after they’re turned.”

“I know!” Blythe threw up her hands. “You don’t have to keep reminding me.”

Killian had brought up having children before, and Blythe was beginning to sound like a broken record.

“First off, I’m still only nineteen. I’m not ready to have a baby. And even if I were, it won’t happen in this prison. What if they still take the newborns?”

It was true that in the months since the residents of Lazarus had tried to revolt, there hadn’t been a birth, and no one knew if the practice of taking their newborn sons away would continue.

But they’d been given no indication to the contrary.

Killian had always been adamant that no one was taking his son, but with all that had changed, all the additional guards, the fact that they were now stuck in this prison and couldn’t leave the compound…

How could he stop them?

“Look, it’s tough. For all of us,” he said, growing frustrated. “But I’m not in the mood to hash this out tonight. Can we just chill? Read a book or play cards or something?”

His hands were on her shoulders again.

“Anyway, you need to rest. Here. Lie down. I’ll get some extra pillows.”

“I’m fine.” She stood up. “In fact, I’m going to go for a walk. I’ll be back in less than half an hour. Promise.”

“Blythe…”

She was already out the door. She never remembered the combination—the producers changed everyone’s locks periodically—but Killian would let her back in.

Slowly, she made her way back down to the gym. After seeing that Blythe was returned to her and Killian’s room, Carrie herself had stayed behind.

There were cameras all over, gym included, connected to the electrical wires. It gave Blythe a chill to think some perv guard was watching Carrie alone there.

No trust. That was Blythe’s motto these days.

When she reached the gym, she saw Carrie was indeed still inside. Up on a step ladder, fiddling with—one of the cameras—

What is she doing?

Blythe had hardly put her hand on the door when she saw a blinding flash of light and Carrie toppled to the floor.

“Carrie!” Blythe couldn’t keep herself from yelping as she stumbled to her friend’s side. With clammy hands she took Carrie’s wrist.

No pulse.