by J. D. Tyler
Taking a couple of calming breaths, he was able to tell Mac what she wanted to hear. Not necessarily the unvarnished truth. “I hated him, for a while. Or thought I did. But the second I saw him—was it last night?”
“Yes.”
“When I saw him last night, and he was so torn up over it… I knew it wasn’t Jax I hated.” Liar. He swallowed and went on with difficulty. “It was Chappell and his whole operation. If it weren’t for them, humans and shifters wouldn’t be suffering the terrible things being done to them. It’s Chappell’s doing, and his minions’, and they’re the ones who deserve to pay. I’ll live for the day that happens.” Okay, that last part was true, but his heart still held a load of pain and inner conflict with regard to the choice Jax had made. Regardless of how much he’d deserved it.
She studied him a long moment before replying. “All right. You’re saying the right things, but I’ll want to schedule a couple more visits in my office before I release you as fit to work.” She held up a hand to stave off his protest. “I have to make certain your head is together before you get back in the field. An operative harboring suppressed rage makes mistakes, and mistakes get innocents killed. You’re too good a Pack member not to understand that.”
“Fine.” He sighed. “But I don’t have to be thrilled about it.”
This earned him a full-fledged smile. “No, you don’t. Rest and I’ll check on you later.”
Persistent woman. Aric contemplated Mac long after she left, mostly because he had nothing else to do. She was lovely and wonderful, and a genuinely nice person. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing she “did it” for him. He was damned sick of being alone. But even if there’d been an attraction on his part, it might’ve been too late.
Mac was wearing Kalen’s pentagram. Interesting. Maybe he’d ask her about that later.
Aric began to fidget, plucking at the sheets and picking at the bothersome tape holding his IV in place. He really needed to talk to Nick about getting televisions installed in the infirmary rooms. Even the crappiest of hospitals had TVs, for God’s sake.
He’d just decided to close his eyes and try to take a nap when the door opened again. At first he couldn’t place the woman who walked in and couldn’t imagine why a stranger would be at the compound, much less visiting him. She was tall, probably only three or four inches shorter than his six-foot, two-inch height. She wore her shoulder-length sable hair pulled back into a ponytail, and her angular face was fresh-scrubbed, very attractive though she wore no makeup.
As she turned to close the door, he couldn’t help but notice that her jeans fit her long thighs and rounded rear end like a glove. Not too tight but emphasizing the junk in the trunk that made his mouth water. Manna from heaven to an unrepentant ass man like himself.
Turning to face him, she approached his bedside, curiosity—and maybe fatigue—in big, chocolate brown eyes that were shadowed underneath as though she’d had little sleep. Tired or not, she carried herself with her spine straight, shoulders back and head up. Totally in control of herself and any situation she encountered, assessing him openly.
“I saw you last night,” he realized out loud. “In the lab, when my team came.”
She held out a hand. “I’m Rowan Chase, Micah’s older sister.”
“Aric Savage.” Automatically he started to raise his right arm, but the tug on his hand reminded him of the IV, so he gave her his left one instead.
The instant their fingers curled around each other’s, a jolt shot down his arm and through his chest at the contact. What the hell? His visitor looked as surprised as he did by the zing of electricity, quickly snatching her hand back and wiping the palm on her jeans as if he had a contagious disease. Inside, his wolf paced restlessly, distressed at the broken contact. Aric covered his confusion with the obvious question.
“How’s Micah?”
A small smile tinged with sadness graced her lush mouth. “Alive, but he’s got a long road ahead for recovery. He’s—” She cleared her throat, obviously restraining her emotions. “He’s not healing all that fast, not like I’ve been told a shifter should. I don’t think he’s fighting too hard.”
That answered a couple of questions. One, she knew what they were. Which meant Nick had probably filled her in. Two, Rowan loved her brother very much.
“Listen, I know for a fact that Micah loves you more than anything,” he told her. “Once he realizes he’s been rescued, and that you’re here, nothing will stop him from getting well.”
“You sound so certain.” Her voice held so much hope.
“I am.”
He studied her closely, and she returned the favor right back. She wasn’t the most model-gorgeous woman he’d ever met, but there was something about her that attracted him. She radiated inner strength and a spine of steel, but her sharp features were softened by a hint of vulnerability that made him want to take her in his arms and not let go. A new awareness crept in, and it took a few seconds before he recognized what it was.
Rowan’s scent.
It didn’t jolt him as her touch had done, but rather, filled his senses slowly, like the aroma of a lit candle finally reaching him from across the room. An ocean breeze and tropical flowers. That was the beautiful essence of her, and it sank into every cell of his body, calling to him—and to his wolf—as nothing else ever had.
Underneath the sheet, his cock swelled rapidly, filling until the damned thing was rock hard and aching. Aw, hell. He raised one knee a little, hoping she didn’t notice his problem. He wasn’t easily embarrassed or made uncomfortable, because he just didn’t give a fuck what most people thought. But this sudden, overpowering need he felt to press his naked skin to hers, to be inside not just any woman, but her, baffled him. And scared him a little.
“Sounds like you know my brother well,” she said.
“We were in the SEALs together, and later joined the Pack. I guess when you practically live with guys for years, you sometimes know them better than their own families do.”
Stark pain crossed her face. “Too true.”
“Shit, I’m sorry,” he said, frowning. “I didn’t mean to imply I know Micah better than you do.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m sure in many respects you do.” Pausing, she looked down, absently regarding his IV. “Micah never told me he left the SEALs and joined Alpha Pack. I’m assuming you were all forbidden from telling your families where you were and what you were actually doing?”
“Under Terry Noble’s leadership, yes. Nick urges us to be careful what we say to our families and old friends outside this place, but he’s not quite as rigid as Terry was. He trusts our judgment.”
Pinning him with her gaze again, she asked, “What do you tell your family?”
“Nothing,” he said shortly. “I don’t have a family anymore. My mother is dead.”
Beryl, the bitch, and his stepfather didn’t count. He didn’t give a damn where the old bastard was now or what had happened to him, and the next time he met up with Beryl, he’d tear out her throat.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too.” He tried a reassuring smile. “It was a long time ago. I shipped off to the Navy and she died after my first deployment.”
He hadn’t been able to leave home fast enough after she’d married the asshole. Had waited years for his freedom, then joined the service and never saw her again. The pain and guilt never healed.
Rowan didn’t seem to know how else to respond, and settled on steering the topic to her brother again. “You were held captive with Micah.”
So here it was—the real reason for her visit. He’d wondered when she’d get around to it. “Yeah, but I didn’t know he was there until right before we were rescued.”
“Did he say anything to you about what they did to him?” Anxiety laced every word.
“He wasn’t conscious by the time I was placed in the cage next to him,” he said carefully. “Until he wakes up, we can only speculate on what he went through.”
�
��But they were experimenting on people in that awful place.”
“Yes.”
“You, too?”
Nope, not going there. “Look, I don’t have the answers you want. I wish I did—then maybe I could help him.”
For the first time, her posture slumped. “That’s all I want, too. I’d just hoped… well, never mind. You’ve obviously been through the wringer and I’ve kept you awake. Thanks for talking with me.”
“Anytime.”
She turned to go and he realized he meant that—he’d like to be there if she needed him. In fact, he didn’t want her to go at all, but there wasn’t a good way to encourage her to stay without sounding like a creeper, what with being a stranger and Micah being so sick.
Before she reached the door, she looked at him over her shoulder. “I hope you’re feeling better and out of here fast.”
“I feel better already,” he replied softly. He held her gaze to make sure she got the message.
A quick smile, and she was gone.
Aric sagged into the pillows with a heavy sigh. “Jesus, what’s wrong with me?”
Already he hated her being away from him. Where he couldn’t get to know her. Touch her.
Fuck her against the wall.
Hadn’t something similar happened to Jax when he’d met Kira?
“Oh, shit.”
No. That was not what was wrong with him! His neglected libido was reacting to an unattached female, nothing more. Wait—was she single? He hadn’t seen a ring, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a boyfriend.
His wolf snarled, totally pissed off at the notion that there might be another male in her life. Someone waiting for her, wherever she was from. His lungs constricted, it became hard to breathe, and he knew one thing for sure.
He. Was. Fucked.
Closing the door behind her, Rowan leaned against the wall, allowing her composure to crumble. The man—Aric—was every bit as delicious as she’d thought when she saw him last night. More so, with the beard gone. Deep auburn hair falling around that sexy-as-sin face, startling green eyes that had seen too much. Intelligence sharp as the blade of a knife. He was—
“What the hell am I thinking?”
Micah was deathly ill, and he needed her at his side. She had to help him pull through. That was why she went to see Aric, to find out if he had any insight into what had happened to her brother. Not to moon over the wolf like a teenager.
Wolf. Crap, was she actually starting to accept all of this? Looked like she had no choice, really. Hard to refute what was right in front of your face, and last night had been the clincher. Thanks to a crash course, her thinking about the world and the creatures in it was already changing.
Pushing away from the wall, she walked two doors down to Micah’s room and padded inside. The silence was eerie, life evidenced only by the beep of a monitor and the rise and fall of her brother’s chest. Pulling up a chair, she sat and gazed into his now clean-shaven, but still ruined, face, willing him to open his eyes.
Heart aching, she rested her arm on the bed and stroked his hair. During the long, lonely night, she’d attempted to brush it, thinking the action might stimulate him somehow, but the locks were such a snarled mess it would take a haircut and several washings, plus a good conditioner, to have it looking decent again.
“You’ll feel better when your hair is clean,” she whispered to him. “You’ll see. We’re gonna make sure you eat well, take lots of vitamins. When you’re stronger, we’ll work out together and I’ll beat you at the hundred-yard dash like I always have. Right?”
The man slept on, and she had to wonder if he was dreaming. If she gave in to exhaustion and drifted off, would she be able to reach him? Faced with days ahead of watching him lie there like a corpse, she was desperate enough to try anything.
As it turned out, she didn’t have to coax her tired brain to cooperate. Her head felt so heavy, she needed to rest it on the bed next to his shoulder, just for a little while. The instant she did, sleep claimed her.
A loud keening noise burst into her awareness and quickly ramped into a hideous, drawn-out scream. Rowan bolted upright, pulse pounding, hand automatically reaching for the gun that still hadn’t been returned to her. A glance at Micah cleared the cobwebs in a hurry.
Her brother’s body was taut as a bowstring, dark head back, eyes screwed shut as he gripped the sheets, screaming as though he was being skewered and sliced into little pieces.
“Oh, my God! Micah!” Without thinking, she laid a palm on his chest, hoping to calm him. Instead, he began to thrash. “Honey, it’s me, Rowan!”
At that, he flung himself sideways off the bed. Where he got the strength she had no clue, but she made a desperate grab for him and was taken to the tiled floor so hard the air left her lungs in a rush. They landed in a jumble of limbs and his IV line, and the rolling thing that held the bag of fluid crashed to the ground as well. He fought like a wildcat—or a terrified wolf—as she pushed him facedown and lay across his back in an attempt to subdue him.
“Micah, stop!”
“No! Ahhhhh!”
He was completely out of his head. Fighting his tormentors. He bucked wildly, shouting, trying to get the leverage to dislodge her.
“Someone help me!” she yelled.
Even in his horrible condition, Micah’s well of strength was incredible. Drawing up his knees, he flung himself backward. Rowan was along for the ride and the back of her head slammed into the floor, pain blasting through her skull. Her vision grayed out, but she saw Micah looming over her, lips pulled back in a feral snarl, his normally brown eyes gone black. His nose began to elongate into a snout, fur sprouting around his face.
He’s going to kill me.
“Micah, no!” she cried, shoving at his chest.
The door crashed open and Micah’s weight suddenly disappeared. The sounds of fierce growling and snapping, furniture being shoved, reached her ears, the unmistakable fury of two canines battling it out. Sitting up, she clutched the back of her head and gaped at a pair of wolves—one brown and one red—fighting for dominance.
They were a blur of speed and motion. The brown wolf rolled, dodged, but the red one advanced, teeth bared, backing him into a corner. The brown wolf was smaller, his coat dull and matted when it should’ve been as full and lustrous as that of his red and cream counterpart. The brown, she guessed, was Micah.
As evidenced when he toppled over and passed out… and then changed back to human form. The red wolf approached his fallen companion, sniffed, and whined softly. Then his fur slowly retracted, limbs reshaped, and became a human male crouching where the wolf had been.
A very naked male. Aric.
Later, she would appreciate the memory of the view. At the moment, she stood on shaky legs as he did the same, scooping her brother into his arms and carrying him to the bed. A woman she hadn’t met before, who by the white coat she presumed was a doctor, and a young male nurse, hurried to help Aric get Micah into another gown and settled once more. The nurse fussed with the IV while the doctor checked his vitals, listened to his heart and lungs.
Aric righted an overturned visitor’s chair and pushed her into it. “Are you okay?” His tone was quiet and concerned, and he brushed away her hand to examine the back of her head. Fingers probed gently at a lump forming there, and she winced. “You’re going to have a bit of a headache, and you were already about to drop. Why don’t you go to your room and lie down for a while?”
Her throat tightened with fear. Misery. “I can’t. He needs me.”
“He needs you to stay well,” Aric countered. “He doesn’t know you’re here right now and a few hours’ sleep will only help you.”
“That wasn’t my brother,” she whispered.
“I know, honey.” His knuckles grazed her cheek.
The small act of caring was nearly her undoing. And suddenly, a man calling her “honey” wasn’t so bad either, coming from this man. Hanging her head, she struggled to hold back the flo
od of tears that threatened to spill.
“Go ahead and cry if it’ll make you feel better.”
She gave a watery, humorless laugh. “You know, I was shocked and grief-stricken when that asshole told me Micah had been killed. But now I don’t feel a whole lot different, except I might be losing my mind.”
“No way,” he teased gently. “The limit on crazy is one sibling per family.”
This time, her laugh had a bit more heart. But only just. She turned to look at him, kneeling by her chair, handsome face full of nothing but concern. Against her will, her eyes did a quick tour south, but in his position, with the arm of the chair blocking her view, she could see only see his sculpted upper half. His chest was broad with a nice sprinkling of dark hair and two bronzed male nipples puckered from the air-conditioning.
God, he was beautiful. And it had been too long.
Shaking herself, she looked away and fell back on her cop persona. “Normally I arrest people for walking around like that.”
Ignoring the doctor’s humph of agreement, he snickered. “Encounter a lot of streakers, do you?”
“Some. Especially around Halloween.”
“Hey, here it’s Halloween all the freakin’ time.” He waggled his brows. “What a bonus.”
Glancing up from her patient, the doc grumbled, “Put on some damned clothes, Savage.”
“You’re just jealous ’cause mine’s bigger than yours,” he shot back. “Mel.”
The glare the other woman leveled at him told Rowan how much she appreciated that nickname.
“It’s Melina, dickhead.” To Rowan, in a marginally nicer tone, she said, “Dr. Melina Mallory. I already know you’re Rowan, Micah’s sister. Believe me, we’re going to take really good care of him.”
“Thank you.” She looked at Aric. “And thanks to you, too, for intervening when Micah lost it. I think he would’ve hurt me.”
“Not you, the demons in his head. He wasn’t seeing you at all.”
Not a comfort. Recalling the incident, she thought of something. “How did he have the strength to lunge out of bed like that? I mean, I’ve subdued plenty of perps who were high on all sorts of drugs, and although the shit in their systems can make them seem almost superhuman, I can usually take them down. Physically, I was nowhere near my brother’s match, weak as he should be.”
