In some ways, Ivory Towers didn’t feel all that much different from home. It was all white. All the staff spied on me. And the schedule was strictly regimented.

That was where the similarities ended. My small room was nearly bare. I had only a thin, rough sheet over the hard, narrow bed. The toilet and sink perched in the corner of the room. There was no furniture other than the sink, the toilet, and the bed.

I had access to "social" areas a couple hours a day, plus meals, which were unremarkable. I did my best to eat as much of the bland, unappealing food as I could, even when the nausea set in on my second day. I hadn't realized pregnancy symptoms kicked in so quickly, and it was killing me to not be able to research it.

The guards, or nurses—it was hard to tell if there was a difference—just gave me bland smiles and assured me everything would be okay, no matter how much I insisted I needed to see a doctor.

And then there was the silver. Something Dad had failed to mention was that Ivory Towers was a shifter facility. All the windows were laced with silver. The manacles, for those unlucky enough to be subjected to them: silver. Air vents, door frames—anything that we didn’t need to touch on a daily basis and could hinder any possible escape attempt—silver.

I was just as much a prisoner here as I had been in that cabin in the mountains. I doubted there would be any alphas bursting in to save me this time, though. Especially not Noah.

It angered me how much I thought of him—how much I yearned for him. If only we hadn't exchanged bites, maybe I wouldn't be able to feel this connection to him still, reminding me of the brief, shining moment where I thought I'd found something I never knew I had been looking for.

The early morning light made the room look gray. I could only guess at the time—I certainly wasn't allowed a clock, let alone a watch or a cell phone. I lay half awake for what seemed like days as the room slowly brightened. The light above me turned on automatically as it had yesterday morning. It must be on a timer. If I had to guess, I'd say it was seven or eight in the morning, then.

Shortly after that, a soft tap followed on my door, and it opened. The man outside, dressed in the same white scrubs as the men who'd taken me from my father's home, smiled. It wasn't a welcoming smile, though. It oozed across his face, and his eyes scraped over my body as his nostrils flared. His hair was stringy and too-long, as if he was balding on top, but trying to make up for it by letting the rest grow out.

There was something about this man that made my skin crawl. His skin was pale, and his eyes an ice blue. His scent, though covered by antiseptic, indicated he was a jackal and an alpha.

"How are we this morning?" he asked, laying a fresh set of clothing on the bottom of my bed. I didn't like him coming so close to me, but my father had taught me knowledge was power. I couldn't let him know how he was affecting me.

I tried to think of my father as little as possible. His betrayal far outweighed Noah's. With Noah, I had fooled myself, thinking he was a dream man who would rescue me. It was my fault, really. I hadn't kept my feet anchored in reality. But my father... no. I couldn't call him that any longer. No father would do this to his child. And his grandchild.

The creeper waited expectantly, silently. Jerry, his name tag said.

"I am terrible," I stated. "Locked up against my will, again, after being kidnapped once. Who gets kidnapped twice in the same week? That has to be some kind of record. And is it impossible to get a decent meal in here?"

Jerry listened with the same blank smile all the others had responded to my protests with, but there was something more predatory underlying his gaze.

I sat up. "Not that you care."

"Of course we care," Jerry said, his voice slick like oil. "We care about all our residents' well being."

"My being is not well and will not be until I get out of this prison you call a retreat."

Jerry stood silently. Waiting.

"Well, are you going to leave so I can change?" The guard yesterday hadn't. But I wasn't going to just strip and do the hula because it was expected of me.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Preston." His eyes took on an eager gleam. "If you refuse to change your clothes on your own, I will have to assist you."

The guard yesterday had said the same thing, but he hadn't looked so happy about it. I couldn't bear the thought of Jerry's grimy paws touching my body. I snatched up the clean clothing, a simple shirt and drawstring pants and scratchy boxers.

Turning my back to Jerry, which felt instinctively wrong, I changed as quickly as possible, picking up my dirty clothes and handing them to him. I'd argued more yesterday, but today, I wanted to get away from Jerry as quickly as possible.

"Off to the finger painting room?" I asked. Not that we were allowed anything so entertaining, but the "social" room felt like an empty kindergarten classroom.

"Your father has asked for a visitation." Jerry motioned me out before him.

"Oh, hell no." My response was immediate and sharp. "Unless he's come to get me out, he can go fuck himself."

"Language like that is not appreciated here, Preston."

Jerry could go fuck himself, too. But I doubted that's what he had in mind.

"Are you resisting?"

There was that gleam again. This guy got off on fear. I could see it. I'd met a few men like that—never anyone I'd dated. I was too smart for that. But politics drew people who yearned for power—all kinds of power. Fear was just one flavor.

"Fine, let's get it over with."

I walked past Jerry, jumping when his hand grazed the curve of my ass. I looked back with a glare, and his grin just dared me to say something. To "resist" him.

Not today, creepy ass fucker.

He touched me several more times, never so blatantly, but his hand lingered too long on my arm as he guided me through the unidentifiable repetitive hallways.

I paused just inside the final door, surprised. I had expected one of those setups with a counter and a clear pane of glass between me and my dad, maybe a phone thing. Like a jail. But this was more like a waiting room. Or a shitty cafeteria. Or both. There was a couch and two armchairs on one side of the room, and a few square tables with chairs on the other side.

Predictably, Dad—no, the senator—had chosen one of the chairs.

I jumped away when Jerry patted my butt, and he closed the door behind me.

"Preston. Sit, please." The senator gestured magnanimously to the couch next to him. I swallowed through the hope that he was here to take me away. No more false hopes.

Mutely, I walked over and sat. What was I supposed to say to this man?

"The staff has informed me you've been asking for a doctor. Does that mean you've come to reason?"

"I don't think it's particularly unreasonable for me to want to see a doctor to confirm my health after my ordeal." The words came out stiffly, but unwavering. Which was good, because I felt like I was losing control of everything.

"And the fetus?"

I wanted to launch myself at him. Slap him, scratch him. Force him to acknowledge it was a child I was carrying, not a problem.

"It would be reasonable to want to confirm my child's health as well." My voice slipped, squeaking, and the rage came over me in waves.

The senator sighed. "I'd hoped a couple days would help clear your mind of this ridiculousness."

I wasn't full of ridiculousness. I was fucking pregnant. I was tired. I was lonely. I wasn't supposed to be parted from my mate so soon after bonding. The words came pouring out of me, the dam burst, my control shattered.

"I used to blame mom for choosing drugs over us. Over me. Now? I don't blame her one bit, if you were as terrible to her as you are to me. You're a monster, Senator Patrick Tierney. You hide behind a smiling mask while you rip out the hearts of those closest to you."

The door behind me burst open, but I didn't care. I was flying at my father, hands flying, scratching, grabbing at his hair. Hands pulled me away and I kept screaming accusations at him. Every hurt that he'd caused me welled up and poured from my mouth in a torrent. As the men in white secured my thrashing body, I was able to at least take satisfaction in my father's disheveled appearance.

He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at a scratch I'd left on his cheek. He'd have fun explaining that to the press. He'd probably just cover it up with makeup though.

"Stress isn't good for the baby," Jerry's oily voice whispered into my ear.

I stopped immediately, hating that he was right. Hating the fear that wound through my core and the tears that suddenly sprang from my eyes, running down my cheeks.

The men took the opportunity to shove me into a straitjacket.

"A few more days, I think." The senator's eyes were hard and dark as he looked over me. "As soon as the problem is gone, you can come home, Preston."

"Why don't you just force me to have an abortion?" I was terrified at the words coming from my mouth. What if it gave him ideas?

"Contrary to your belief, I am not a monster, Preston. I just want what is best for our family. No matter your decision, you will not be coming home with a child. But whether that is soon or in three months is up to you." He nodded at the men to take me away.

What did that mean? Would he have my child killed after I gave birth? Surely not. What then, adoption? I would never sign the papers in agreement. I would fight tooth and nail and search the entire country to find my child if he tried that.

I didn't even care about Jerry’s wandering hands as he and the other guard dragged me back to my room. They had to lay me on my bed, I was so limp with terror. I couldn’t move my arms, but I curled protectively around my stomach, the nausea rising and threatening to send me to the toilet. They couldn't kill my child. They couldn't force me to give them up.

But what if they did...

A soft song, one I hadn't thought about in years, sung by a sweet, female voice, echoed through my head and I started humming, then singing along.

Somewhere over the rainbow

Skies are blue

And the dreams that you dare to dream

Really do come true

"I will protect you, my little dream," I whispered to the life I carried.