Silent Captive (Wren's Song 2)

It seemed the males really did want her to get better. Even if it was for their own selfish purposes, it made her feel like more than just a hole to fuck.

Kieran had carried her all the way from the hospital, pensive after their mating, to set her down in this transient place. He’d then ordered her to rest on that gross bed.

She had tried, but Wren was too…

Happy. Grateful. Hopeful for the first time in years?

There had been nothing in the world like watching Mikael talk about things he’d seen on the Cinema hologram. She’d never been able to provide anything but old junk she’d dug up, ancient tech, and now he had access to the panel in his room and the wonders people who mattered in the city enjoyed every day.

And now he wanted to star in holos.

Cute did not even begin to describe his enthusiasm.

Mikael was a good boy, but he’d never been a particularly optimistic one. And now he was going to be well; he was going to know the feeling of a full belly. He was going to thrive.

She’d make it happen no matter the cost.

She’d find him a place far away from the mud. Already a plan was forming. Caspian had promised her a year’s worth of water when he was done. She would offer that with the boy to someone who could teach him a skilled trade. Someone would take him, train him; someone she got to hand-select.

Of course, they would take Alec too. That one wouldn’t want to leave, there was too much of the wild thing in him, but she’d convince him. She had to.

The farther both of her boys were from The Syndicate the better. There was no future in the mud.

The ghosts of kids buried behind her house could speak to that. And Wren had sworn she’d never bury another. It wasn’t in her. Not again.

Not ever.

Heart thrumming on this high, genuinely delighted, Wren ignored Kieran’s order to rest and went to the small desk where paper and pen had been left for her use. The joyous minutes were filled with putting all that feeling onto paper.

Gratitude. An explanation of love. A promise.

Heartfelt letters written and folded.

Before she could contain herself, paper grasped in her fist, Wren threw back her door and rushed through the pipeworks so she might give them to Caspian herself.

Slaves—she would not mock their position by calling those mulling about paid workers—gawked at her. Several tried to grab, but she was fleet-footed and had a sense of where to go.

It was as if a glowing cord lead her right to him—a world of possibilities. Instinct.

That should have been her first warning.

Her heart sang. It led her to turn right, go down stairs, make a left, and scurry over some scaffolding. It called her forward past dangerous men marked with the black hand of The Syndicate, Wren’s white drawstring pants and large borrowed shirt Kieran had dressed her in before leading her out of the hospital flapping at her back.

She could see the Alphas, all three of them gathered on the same deck where she’d gone to barter for her boys a week ago. She saw them and she smiled.

Toby’s eyes glowed as if he’d waited just for her, already gazing in her direction in anticipation of her rush from the shadows. Toby, grinning despite a face pinched with many cuts and terrible bruising.

Was his arm in a sling?

It was. The sight of it slowed her feet to the point she almost tripped head over ass. Instead that momentum kept her shuffling forward, her clumsy approach immediately noticed by the rest of the party on the platform.

Kieran gave a sharp shake of the head in a definite signal for her to leave at once, but Wren was determined: to thank the First who paid for Mikael’s care. To thank the Third who saw that she’d been treated for a disease far worse then she’d suspected. Kieran had already been thanked with the willing use of her body and… what she suspected he really wanted. Wren had held him after the knot had diminished. She’d held him and purred, toying with his hair as she would have cuddled with her boys.

And because it was secret and because there had been no one to see, he had closed his eyes and reveled in it. For all his odd ways and his little cruelties, he might be the most damaged out of all Caspian’s pack.

Yet there he was, glaring.

She would make this quick then.

On the catwalk ahead, Rosie hung on Caspian’s arm, her blue summer dress splattered with rose print and unbuttoned down to her waist. That loud pattern was fitting, glamorous even, for a woman so beautiful. It showcased the perky breasts still on display, drew the eyes to dark nipples that jutted toward the mouth of the man bent over her.