Page 112 of The Vixen

“Stop.” I shake my head. “We’re getting distracted. Let’s just…” I take in a steadying breath and gesture toward the other Dregs. “Sit here and try not to get attacked.”

“He just wanted me to understand.”

“Cool.”

“It helped. It really helped me move past my anger and?—”

“Good.” My voice comes out too harsh. “That’s… That’s really good, Liberty. I’m glad airing my dirty laundry helped you.”

“Why do you have to be like that?” The thin arches of Liberty’s brows pull together, full lips pouting. “I’m offering you an olive branch.”

“Keep it.” My lips spread into a tight smile, and I almost,almostleave it at that. But the more my mouth moves, the more desperate I am to spit the sour taste off my tongue. “If I wanted your approval, you wouldn’t be here.”

She huffs a laugh. “Talking to you is exhausting.”

“Thenshut the fuck up.” My voice ricochets through the cell, louder than I intend.

Heads perk as several people look this way. I catch the eyes of a man wearing my ratted T-shirt, stolen weeks ago. He smiles.

“He bothering you, baby?”

I break from his gaze while Liberty wraps her arms tight around her knees, eyes pointed down. We sit in silence while tension weaves between us, our shoulders like magnets gently repeling one another, even as our legs occasionally brush.

When the Dregs lose interest, I close my eyes and lay my head back against the wall, hands grasping my shins.

Memories flood that are quickly replaced with a string of numbers. Each digit floats past in shades of green and blue.

My count is in the ten thousands when all hushed conversation cuts off at once. I open my eyes to see men kissing dirt, their arms stretched in front of them.

Liberty follows suit with a tremble in her shoulders that swells my throat. This is not a woman who bows—this is a woman who spits, who growls, who fights. I would know better than anyone how hard it is to break this woman…

I should’ve asked if she was okay.

She turns her head as I pat her back and jut my chin to signal for her to rise. As soon as Luna appears outside the bars, Liberty sighs so hard it pulls her torso forward like she’s going to fold.

“Come on,” I whisper, taking her hand to help her up. I guide her in front of me and pick the piece of rock from her hair as a Keeper opens the cell.

As we step out to meet Luna, hair shields her face as she half turns. I don’t offer a greeting. I avoid her eyes with as much conviction as she does mine.

She leadsthe way out of the mine, her gait not quite hers. There’s a hitch in her step, like someone cut an inch off one leg and filled her waist with concrete. I didn’t realize until now how familiar her poise had become.

When we get to the exit, she stops to speak to Aiden’s friend. Her poise may be compromised, but it doesn’t stop her shoulders from squaring.

“Who is the one who mated with Liberty without my authorization?”

Her voice is as deadly and cold as I’ve ever heard it. The tops of the Keeper’s pointed ears change colors as he looks at me. As if I owe him any help.

“Alaric, Your Grace,” he says at last. “But he had the authorization of The Chief Elder himself.”

“Ah.” Luna’s chin rises with a nod. She pulls something from her pocket, something reddish orange and cylindrical—a clay medicine bottle. It clunks on a rock by her boot and cracks as she crushes it with her heel. The sharp stench of gunpowder carries in the wind as a puff of black dust billows from the clay.

The Keeper’s cheeks fall as the whites of his eyes brighten. He stares down at the broken clay as if waiting for the black dust to deliver instructions.

“Let Alaric know he’s been challenged.”

With that, she leads the way into the snowy forest where the three of us walk without a word. Liberty and I exchange a look, the tension between us loosening.

After several minutes of silence, the smell of rotting flesh sours the air. Liberty covers her nose and slows her steps as the source of the odor comes into view. A coyote lies with its leg caught in a spring trap, its tongue sticking out and dead eyes staring ahead. As I slow to Liberty’s pace, I pull my shirt over my nose and take a deep inhale. My Father’s voice intrudes my thoughts. The memory is so far back, I’m not certain it’s real.