Wilder's Mate

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This is for Molli, the fastest beta in the west—er, or anywhere, for that matter, and KA, for answering our horse questions even though she was on her way to Hawaii. As always, thanks bunches, ladies.

This is also for Joy, who is the only person we actually hang out with who’s allowed anywhere near Wilder.

Satira would have been on a horse and halfway into the sunset by now if the lift from the laboratory hadn’t broken.

Steam from a broken pipe billowed up from beneath the lift’s cab, heating the metal walls until sweat slicked her skin and curled wild strands of her hair. The furnace that powered the lift would burn through its fuel before dark, but that wouldn’t help her now. Not with the temperature rising and the new bloodhound due within the hour.

At least she had her tool belt. Satira pried the last corner free from the panel covering the lift’s controls and sent it clattering to the ground. The floor was hot enough now to be uncomfortable, even through the thick soles of her boots. She dug her teeth into her lower lip and eyed the tangle of copper wires, wishing she’d paid more attention the last time Nathaniel had tried to teach her how their elevator worked.

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