Greykin Mountain

| 51 | Bleed

          "Wilson's uncle," Jackson muttered. "Did he talk to you in person or send you an email like he did with me?"

          "Email."

          Jackson didn't have the energy to think about Holt Snider right now. "What else?"

          Thomas glanced around nervously. "Um...he asked if I knew where any of the others were, but I never found anyone when I came looking for them. I got to Farrydare...and then I got kidnapped."

          "Do you know where Wilson might have gone?" he asked desperately. "Was he here?"

          "No," he said, shaking his head. "Wilson left before I got taken. He invited me to go with him, but...well, I'm not the kind of person who...hangs around with Caeleste, I guess."

          Jackson frowned. "What do you mean?"

          "W-well, Wilson was with these other people—n-not that I have anything against Caeleste, I just...don't feel safe hanging around with a group of people who are bound to get into like fights and stuff because of other Caeleste and hunters and stuff."

          "What other people?"

          "He said they were...hunters? He said he'd been moving around with them for a while."

          Wilson was travelling with hunters? Why would he be doing that if he was Caeleste?

          "They were heading to Silverlake. That's all I know."

          "Silverlake City?"

          He nodded.

          So...Wilson was still alive, and he was on the way to Silverlake City—if he wasn't already there, that was. Jackson had to get there—he had to find Wilson.

          But then reality slapped him hard. For a moment, he'd forgotten he was locked up in a cage like an animal. He turned his head and stared at the bars, sinking back into dismay.

          He wasn't going anywhere.

          Jackson sighed deeply and leaned his back against the wall.

          What if he tried to escape? Damon had been teaching him to use the enhanced strength he now had thanks to his wolf. He could probably bend the bars or punch the cage door off.

          He shuffled closer to the bars, but when he gripped two of them with his hands, the metal burnt his skin—

          Jackson inhaled sharply in shock and pulled back; the skin on his palms was singed, and pain throbbed in both his hands.

          "What did you do that for?" Thomas questioned with a frown.

          He looked over at him. "What?"

          "Silver is deadly to wolf walkers...."

          The cage bars didn't look like silver in the dark. He pouted, sighed, and leaned back against the wall. He really wasn't going anywhere.

          For the next while—which felt like forever—Jackson sat in the corner and stared aimlessly ahead. He had no idea what time or day it was, and the sound of whimpering people and snarling creatures was starting to give him a headache.

          He should probably be freaking out and panicking about what Ridge was going to do to him, but his depression forced him to feel nothing but empty and hopeless. He was trapped either way, so what more could he do? He'd never find Wilson, he'd never see Damon again, and everything he thought he knew was all a lie.