“The more times you rebuild,” Sascha had said, “the stronger each shield will become. You’ll instinctively begin to fill in any holes, patch up any vulnerabilities. We’ll practice more complex shields as we carry on, but a strong base shield of each type will give you a solid foundation.”

Prior to the lesson in shield mechanics, the cardinal had—with Memory’s full agreement—taken a careful look at Memory’s mind. She’d linked them telepathically so Memory could follow her footsteps and so Sascha could directly show her the problem areas.

Memory had seen the bruises, seen, too, the healing at the edges. In the aftermath, Sascha had made contact with an M-Psy who worked in the field of Psy brain injuries, and discussed Memory’s situation without specifics, while Memory listened in.

“She’s a NightStar doctor,” Sascha had explained to Memory before making the call. “Faith NightStar is pack. We have access to the NightStar medics through her—and they’re world experts in brain trauma.”

Memory knew little of the Psy who saw the future, but even she’d heard of NightStar. According to the comm reports she’d seen, its foreseers had the highest rates of accuracy in the world—and Faith NightStar was their violently gifted cardinal. To see the future . . . what did that do to a person? That the famed clan had brain trauma specialists on call was an answer in itself.

This specialist had asked to see a telepathic snapshot of the bruised part of Memory’s mind, which Memory had okayed. While Sascha only had telepathy to 3.5 on the Gradient, it had been enough to bounce the scan to the medic, as NightStar had a small base right up against DarkRiver land.

Memory would ask about the politics of it all later. Today, she was simply grateful that the specialist had backed Sascha’s call that her brain bruising would heal without any permanent effects.

“Hard day.” Alexei’s voice vibrated in her bones.

Soaking in the intimate sensation, she lifted her lashes and looked out at the falling night. Time had passed quickly in the cabin. At one point, Alexei had left to bring them food. The leopard outside had stayed, keeping watch while appearing to nap like a giant kitten.

“I feel as if I’ve traveled a thousand miles in the space of a single day.” The Memory who’d entered that cabin was not the Memory who’d left. “Sascha insists I’m an E.”

“I guess you’d better get used to being in the Collective—word is, once you’re in, there’s no chance of parole.” Amusement in the statement. “Es hold on to their people.”

“I’m beginning to understand that.” Regardless, it’d take her time to process. Going from believing herself a monster to accepting the label of an empath was no easy matter. “Ashaya’s so . . . real, but Amara . . .”

“Yeah.” Alexei shoved his hair off his forehead.

Her attention shifted, snagging on the silky golden strands.

He shot her a highly wolfish look—a highly Alexei look. “Remember our deal. No touching unless I can touch back.”

Memory’s toes curled; she was nearly certain he wasn’t just talking about hair. The idea of his rough-skinned hands moving from her nape to lower down her body . . . Her abdomen tensed, the strange, fluttery feeling returning. It almost made her forget the state of her hair.

Lifting her hand to her matted curls, she shook her head. “Not yet.”

Alexei jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I picked up a few things from your list when I went to grab food. No talk of debt, lioness. It’s a ‘welcome to the territory’ gift.”

Memory went quiet. No one since her mother had ever just given her something with no expectation of a return. Renault had only fed her so she’d be strong enough to drain. He’d given her access to education only so she could pass for normal when he had use for her in the world. Even Jitterbug’s food had a catch attached—Renault had brought it in only so he could use her pet to control her.

Alexei wanted absolutely nothing from her in return for the items in the box on the backseat—or for the food he kept giving her. Her heart felt too huge in her chest, her skin not enough to contain it.

“It doesn’t hurt to let someone help you,” Alexei grumbled, his hand tight on the steering wheel.

Memory wanted to open her mouth, explain to him—but how could she explain her overwhelmed reaction to a wolf who’d grown up surrounded by pack? She’d felt Alexei’s intense loyalty to his alpha—and she’d felt the same loyalty coming from the other direction. He could have no comprehension of what it was like to grow up with only a psychopath for company.

He growled into the silence. “I saw you not eating most of your food, by the way.” Shoving a hand into his pocket, he dropped another bar in her lap. “Granola. It’s good.”

Beware of wolves bearing food.

Sascha’s amused voice echoed in her mind; the cardinal had made the comment when Alexei returned with their meal. He’d winked and told “Sascha darling” that she was safe. At the time, Memory had taken it to be a wolf-leopard joke, but she was no longer so sure. Narrowing her eyes, she said, “Does it mean something if a wolf brings you food?”

Alexei’s eyes gleamed when he shot her a look. “In this case it means I was brought up to look after tiny starving Es who think they’re lions.”

Gritting her teeth, Memory reached out and poked him in the arm again. He didn’t threaten to bite her, just sent her an amber-eyed glance that said her punishment would keep. Her breath caught, her toes curling inside her shoes.

“If you don’t like the granola bar,” he said after returning his gaze to the forest track, “tell me what you will eat and I’ll make sure you have it.”

Since the only reason she’d picked at her earlier meal was because it had been too close to her encounter with Amara, her stomach slightly nauseous, she opened the granola bar and took a cautious bite. Her eyes widened at the mix of sweet and salty, richness and nuttiness. Examining the wrapper, she saw it was a flavor called “Salted Caramel Almond.”

The wolf in the driver’s seat made a pleased rumbling sound in his throat when she devoured half the bar in a matter of seconds. Memory couldn’t even be annoyed with him, not when he’d blessed her taste buds with this divine deliciousness. “Do you always have these in your pockets? I’m going to rob you if you do.”

A sharp grin that made him beyond beautiful. “Heart-stopping” might be the better description. Memory wanted to sit on his lap and trace that grin with her fingers, just drink it in. Probably he’d bite her if she got her fingers that close to his mouth.

She squeezed her thighs together against a sudden deep ache low in her body.

“I usually grab a couple of different bars from the boxes the kitchen puts out. That’s from yesterday. Flavor the day before was peach with dark chocolate, another day it was dried cherries and walnuts.”

“Will you bring me more?” she said on a wave of wild joy in this moment with her golden wolf . . . and felt her spine lock. As an adult, she’d made it a point to never ask Renault for anything—it had only ever meant humiliation. Only for Jitterbug had she broken her rule, taken the abuse. But Alexei wasn’t Renault.

He said, “If you promise to eat them.” A dark look. “No granola bars if you’re determined to stay a skin-and-bones lioness.”

Memory glared at him. “I’m eating this, aren’t I?” She took a big bite for good measure. “And why do you keep comparing me to a lioness? I’m Psy.”

“You have the ornery temper and mental roar of a she-lion,” Alexei said with a mock wince that earned him another glare. What he didn’t add was that she had the heart of some big, wild creature, too; Memory was a survivor, a fighter, and he liked being around her, aggravation and all.

His fingers flexed on the steering wheel on a sudden wave of guilt. How could he grin on today of all days? Brodie had been fucking executed a year ago today. Twelve months without his brother and his sister-in-law. Three hundred and sixty-five days since the second-to-last remaining member of his direct paternal line went rogue.

Grandfather. Father. Brother.

Hell of a family history.

Then the E who kept on derailing his thoughts poked him in the biceps again. His wolf growled, wondering if it really should bite her. Just a nip to warn her not to aggravate peaceful wolves. “What?”

“You went into a dark place,” was the stark answer. “It’s not good for you.”

“Empaths,” he muttered instead of snapping at her, because snapping at her for sensing his emotions would be like her yelling at him for scenting her fear or pleasure. “Can’t even let a man brood in peace.”

But Memory, as he’d already learned, had a steel core to her; she wasn’t about to be distracted. “What’s wrong?”

Alexei’s jaw grew hard, as hard as he wished his fucking heart would become. He was ready with a flip answer when he glanced at her and saw that she was holding herself very still, her eyes staring out the rain-splattered windshield with fierce concentration. Though he was no empath, he knew that she expected to be rebuffed, expected to be treated as if she didn’t matter.

Fuck that.

“My brother died a year ago today.” His blood boiled, his skin hot. “The bastard’s in the ground and I can’t fucking kick his ass for being gone.” He couldn’t even bring himself to visit the place where he’d buried Brodie. No marker, no headstone, as was the SnowDancer way, wolves simply returning to the land that was their heart.

Some chose to be scattered on the winds, others to rest forever beneath ancient trees.

Alexei had chosen an outlook above a breathtaking drop Brodie would’ve loved to rappel down while Etta watched proudly and took photos. Brodie had always shown off for his mate, like a young boy trying to impress a girl. The two of them had been inseparable despite the fact Etta was as calm as Brodie was wild.