I sit quietly, my fingers laced together on my lap, my mind eager and lost to my thoughts. Natalia is alive. And that little fact changes everything. The old copy of Wuthering Heights I’ve pulled out from one of the bookshelves in Dmitri’s study lay on his table; closed.
I’d attempted reading, but I couldn’t focus on the words talk less of the story behind them.
I sigh and sink lower in my seat.
Every slight sound makes my back straighten, as I watch the door with anticipation; good or bad; I can’t tell.
Apparently, Marcelo had been trying to get a visitation to come see me ever since I’d been unconscious after that terrible torture. But Dmitri never granted or allowed him —or any of my family, anywhere near the pack house. Had he been scared that I’d be triggered into a panic attack w
