Scout’s POV
"Twenty-three hours, forty minutes," I whispered to the damp stone.
The silence of the cell didn’t answer. I leaned my head back, feeling the grit of the wall dig into my scalp. Every breath was a chore. My ribs felt like they were being squeezed by a vice, a dull ache that matched the rhythmic throb in my chest. That was the mate bond. It felt like a fresh bruise, purple and tender, pulsing with a life of its own. I tried to pull my mental shutters down, desperately attempting to lock my pain behind a wall of cold iron. If I could feel him, he could feel me. And I refused to let Alpha Nixon know he was winning.
I was failing. My energy was gone, and the shield was full of holes.
On the other side of that invisible link, his presence felt like a storm. I could taste his bit
