Page 64

The memories of the last few weeks were easy enough. The first day alone in the trees was a little fragmented, more a series of images and scents than anything else, things the beast remembered while I'd fought my way through whatever kept my mind in a fog.

Going back further, I hit a wall. Our eyes were still closed, lessening the distractions, but every time I tried to remember what came before running away, all I could see in my head was a white wall, fuzzy around the edges.

What are you doing? The beast gave up his efforts for a moment, maybe realizing how distracted and disconnected I was. Something told me that if I truly wanted to, I could hide my thoughts from the beast and keep our minds separate. Why would I want to, though? We were two different beings, but we were the same.

"Trying to remember." I tried to dig through my memories, and again, all that came up was that wall.

Why? It doesn't matter anymore.

He had a simpler, more animalistic take on our situation. The past wasn't important to him, only the present and, to some degree, the future. Even then, the only thing he truly cared about was making sure Quinn was part of that future.

"Whatever happened in our past is the reason those soldiers hurt Quinn," I reminded him. "If we can remember, maybe we can protect him better."

I deliberately found the memory of Quinn coming home with those marks on his throat and fear in his eyes, lingering on it, reminding the beast what was at stake.

We do not need to remember if we kill them all.

"We can't, though, remember? That's why we're trying to change forms."

Our human body wasn't capable of producing a growl like the beast's body could, but he gave it his best shot, a deep rumble starting in our chest. The scent of other humans in Quinn's space was a distraction, tugging at something at the edges of my mind.

In our head, I ran up against the wall again, but didn't immediately give up in frustration. I lingered, focusing on the wall itself. At first, I thought it was just a representation of my lost memories, but the more I studied it, the more detail emerged.

This wasn't some foggy, nebulous wall. It appeared to be white cinderblock, broken up here and there with… cages? No, not quite. There were bars like I'd expect to see on a cage, but these covered panes of dark glass. Windows, but not like the ones in Quinn's cottage. I couldn't see through these, but somehow I knew whoever was on the other side could see me. Their scent slipped through despite their precautions.

They were always watching.

The beast's quiet growl surprised me. "You remember more? Why didn't you tell me?"

I didn't remember before. I remember that, though. Humans always watching us through the bars. I could smell them.

I pushed back through the hazy memories, trying to focus on the dark glass windows. Occasionally I caught a flicker of movement, something that wouldn't have been possible without the beast's enhanced sight.

"What were they doing? Why did they watch us?"

He didn't answer, and for the first time, he felt closed off to me, like he'd withdrawn somewhere in our mind.

"We need to remember if we're going to help," I quietly reminded him.

He still didn't respond, but I felt something shift within us, like a curtain being drawn back. A moment later, memories filtered through our shared consciousness. It was still a jumble of images and scents and feelings, but it was more than I had.

In the mess of memories, one person stood out. A tall, older man appeared in nearly every one, his hands behind his back, completely at ease. Power radiated from him even in the beast's memories. This was a man who was accustomed to people listening to him. His face was hard and cold, devoid of any emotion. What shocked me most, though, was the fear associated with every image of this man.

In his true form, the beast was an apex predator, designed to scare his prey before destroying them. Everything from his long fangs and razor-sharp talons to the venomous tail was for the sole purpose of killing. Yet, when he thought about this man, he might as well have been one of Quinn's kittens facing down a mountain lion. He seemed to be wholly human, but the beast was terrified of him.

"Who is he? Why was he always watching us?" I whispered. Some of his fear leaked into me, and I took back control of my body, opening my eyes to peer around the room. This man couldn't be here, but that didn't mean the idea didn't scare me anyway.

In most of the memories, the older man was standing beside a woman, usually a step behind her, but no less scary for not being the center of attention. The woman was smaller than him, barely reaching his shoulder, with grey-streaked auburn hair and a rounded face that seemed made to smile. If she had, though, we'd never seen it. She watched us nearly as much as the man, but at least when she looked at us, there was a sort of odd, almost fond detachment. He studied us as if we were property, a tool to be used. In his eyes, we belonged to him, but we were no better than vermin, and he'd crush us in an instant if he needed to.

She looked at us like we were mice in a cage. She would study us, then tap away at something she held in her hands, then stare at us again. Her lips moved, and I caught a flash of conversation in the beast's memories.

"How is it holding up?" The man studied us, arms crossed over his broad chest. For once, they weren't hidden behind the dark window. They were in the room with us, but neither of them smelled of fear.

"I haven't seen any signs of deterioration like in the others. The procedure seems to be holding up," she replied, glancing up from the tablet in her hands.

"When can we start training?"

The memory disappeared in a wave of pure, sickening horror. The beast recoiled violently, but not before I caught a disjointed flash of images and feelings. A collar with a small box attached. Searing pain in every limb. Crimson blood on a white floor. The collar again. A body lying on the ground in front of us, twitching.