by Tera Shanley
“We’re in a room down the hall,” Wade said as they parted ways.
“Wait, we’re not all staying in a room together?” Panic flared, filling her until it was hard to focus. She couldn’t stay in a room by herself. Distraction was the only thing keeping her from falling to sniveling pieces.
“I’m staying with you,” Grey said as the others disappeared into a doorway three rooms down.
Two parts relief, one part terror seized her.
Whatever he saw on her face seemed to make him fumble over his words. “Look, I’ll sleep on the sofa and you can have the bed. All right? I think it would be better if you weren’t alone tonight. I was going to ask you what you wanted to do, but I didn’t want you to shut me out. I mean--shit.” He shook his head and pursed his lips like they’d betrayed him.
She nodded slowly, testing how she felt about sharing the room with him. “I think I do want you here with me tonight. On the couch. You’re right, I don’t want to be alone right now.” She hesitated before she continued. “Grey, I’m not ready to talk about what happened down there. I don’t know if I will ever be ready.”
He stared at her for a loaded moment and then nodded. “Okay, whatever you need.”
The keypad beeped and flashed green with the swipe of the room card and Grey shoved it open and waited for her to pass. This was usually the part where she dropped her bags and explored an unfamiliar hotel room, but all she wanted was to find the bed and stare at the wall until everything made sense. The room was a suite with a living area and separate bedroom. It even had a functional kitchenette and dining table.
A room-service menu sat on the television stand and Grey handed it to her. “I’m starving. Tell me what you want and I’ll order it so you can go clean up.”
Ten dollars for a baked potato? “This is really expensive,” she said. “We should go out and pick something up.”
“Fine.” He snatched the menu from her and plopped down on the couch. “I think I’ll have the tenderloin, maybe lobster, asparagus is a must, garlic mashed potatoes, sautéed vegetables--”
She yanked the menu out of his hands with a growl. He was trying to make this ordeal better. To wash away some of the memories by making new ones, and he was doing it with food. Clever werewolf. “I’ll have the lobster bisque.”
“And?”
“And then all of what you said. I like my steak cooked medium.” She tossed the menu to him and found the bathroom to wash up.
Miniature shampoo, conditioner, and lotion bottles lined the sink. Shower caps and spa soaps, facial moisturizers, a brush and comb set, and a small stack of plastic-wrapped cups sat atop a flyer encouraging her to contact the office if she needed any other toiletries. The countertop was of shining black granite and a mountain of fluffy white towels lined the edge of a sprawling soaking tub.
She was stalling.
She’d looked everywhere but at the large decorative mirror above the sink. Don’t be a wuss.
Her face was unrecognizable, swollen and resembling a gargoyle statue she’d seen on a church once. Stitches, discoloring, the works. Holy ships, she looked like road kill. The vain part of her mind said, I can’t believe Grey is seeing me like this, while the rational part of her mind told the vain part, Stuff it in a blender. She didn’t even know if he wanted her in that way anymore. She had never been filthier in all of her life. Sleep sounded like heaven and dew drops and unicorn feathers, but she would never be able to rest comfortably until she was clean.
Next decision. Bath or shower? She couldn’t move her right arm up too high or her ribs screamed, but she wanted to shampoo the basement-floor slime from her hair. Was there even a way to scrub her entire scalp using only her left hand?
A soft knock sounded against the restroom door. “Morgan,” Grey said, “I’m going to run out and get you new clothes. The hotel said they’ll bring the food up in about forty-five minutes, but I should be back by then. There is a store right down the street that should have everything you need, so I’ll be right back.”
“Okay, could you pick up--” Oh good grief, she couldn’t even bring herself to ask him to pick her up undergarments if she tried. She was desperate for them, and they would make her feel human again, but she couldn’t imagine him whistling down the lingerie aisle picking out panties for her. Kill a pack of werewolves bent on hurting her? Yes. Asking the lingerie sales lady what she thinks would look best on her minimal décolletage? Not in a million. “Um, never mind.” She would have to do her shopping later.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Under her breath, she muttered, “just trying to figure out how to bathe myself.”
He opened the door and peeked his head inside. Stupid werewolf hearing. She didn’t even bother covering herself this time. Cocking her head, she arched her eyebrow. What was the damn use? He had already seen her in all of her black-and-blue naked glory anyway. And it wasn’t like he would be attracted to her looking like an amoeba face.
He strode in and turned the bathwater on hot, and took a brush from the set of complimentary toiletries sitting by the sink. He faced her away from the mirror and combed through the snarls and tangles of her long stands.
“Lana misses you,” he said. “I’ve talked to her on the phone a few times since yesterday, and Rachel and Marissa are keeping her busy. She hasn’t talked about the night you were taken yet, but I bet she will if we give her time. I don’t think she really understands what happened.”
“I don’t understand it either. Lana wasn’t the Montana pack’s target after all?”
“You were the target all along. They just used her as bait. She’s fine other than a bruised backside. She doesn’t have a single scratch on her.”
“On her outsides. Being taken by a stranger like that will be something she’ll likely remember though. Grey,” she whispered before she could change her mind. “Thank you for saving her. Right before you showed up, there was a moment where I thought I was done. John and Marshall said you were dead, but I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t. I had to think that when I died, you’d be there for Lana.”
The only sound in the room was that of the rhythmic rush, rush of the comb running through her hair.
“How did they get into the house?” Grey asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I left you in the house thinking if you locked the door you would be safe. I was afraid to bring you with me because if the wolves had Changed you would be an easy target, and we didn’t have time to wait for you to Change. How did they get into the house?”
“Oh, I heard scratching at the back door, and I thought it was you telling me you had Lana, so I opened it. It doesn’t have a window or I would have looked first. A wolf jumped on the door as soon as I turned the knob and I fell backward. He was careful with his teeth, like he wasn’t trying to hurt me, only restrain me, but I still fought him. Marshall kicked in the front door and I fought him too, but he hit me over the head with the corner of the metal key box on the hall table. And the rest I don’t remember. I woke up in the basement.”
Grey turned off the water to the tub, unwrapped her ribs, and she stepped in, groaning softly as hot water hit sore muscles. Grey gently shampooed her hair, careful to avoid her injuries.
By the time she was finished scrubbing her skin raw the bath water had turned brown from all of the dirt and dried blood that had washed off of her. Grey pulled one of the robes from a hook on the door and wrapped it around her.
“Can you still smell him on me?”
A flash of anger flooded Grey’s face before he snuffed it out. “A little.”
A wave of devastation and helplessness washed over her and she dropped her gaze. How could she still smell like that psychopath? She’d practically scrubbed the top layer of her skin off. Where was her breaking point? Surely she was close to it.
A soft knock sounded against the room door.
“I think the food is here,” he said
quietly.
He didn’t say much over dinner, though whether it was from anger at her poor decisions or his obvious inability to look directly at her maimed face, she couldn’t tell. She threw another longing glance at the king-sized bed with its clean, turned-down sheets and pillow mesas. She could sleep for a week and still wake up tired.
Even the energy to cut up her steak seemed to drain from her, so she stood. “I need sleep.” He sat across the table but there might as well have been an ocean between them. Longing to kiss his cheek and melt into his arms brought shame and warm creeping into her cheeks. Anything--she would give anything for this to be some romantic vacation. But the truth of the matter was she’d broken both their hearts months ago, and they had both just been through hell. Until her mind and emotions were clear, she couldn’t torture them with affection neither of them would know the meaning of. And worse, he could push her away. “G’night,” she said, turned and eased into the bedroom. The door clicked a lonely sound as she gently shut him out.
* * * *
From his seat at the table, Grey watched her until the door was closed, letting his gaze linger on the door handle. He stood, wincing as the stitches pulled, and sat on the couch, his back to her room. Morgan was crying. She was trying to be quiet about it, he could tell, but he could still make out the soft sighs and sobs of a breaking heart. He would never know even part of what she’d lost down in that room, and he wouldn’t ever be able to fix this for her. It was his fault. He should’ve protected Morgan and Lana better. Every tear she shed gutted him. Even Wolf had withdrawn, feeling shame and loss over his inability to protect her from this. If only he could find a way to take her pain and put it onto himself, he’d gladly do it.
When the sound of her breathing steadied and deepened to that of sleep, he grabbed his wallet and left to buy her clothes. Tomorrow, he’d take her home, but she needed a few things for the trip. And filling that need took away from the sting of his failure.
The store was a short walk away, just a couple of blocks. Large and well stocked, he would find everything he thought she would need there. If he forgot anything, he would simply come back later. Less pressure that way. She wouldn’t want clothing hugging too tightly on new injuries, so he found a light green vintage soft T-shirt with dark green, cartoon flying saucers. The caption read They Do Exist. When he got to the jeans, the sizes threw him off, so he picked forest-green cotton shorts instead. They had small, medium, or large, and his odds of hitting the right size were greatly improved. A bin of flip flops had him guessing at her size and picking out a pair of black ones.
Victim shoes, Wolf called them. How will she run away from danger in them?
Grey picked out some dark blue and white sneakers from the bin right next to them instead. Next he grabbed a couple of toothbrushes and some toothpaste. He had saved the hardest part for last. He knew she needed underthings.
Simple was best. He grabbed the first comfortable-looking small-sized cotton panty and bra set he could find. On second thought, he put the white one back and grabbed the same kind in hunter green. Might as well stick with the theme. He held it up. The color would look nice with her eyes. He looked around, embarrassed, and moved to the checkout before anyone else noticed he’d lost his danged mind.
By the time he made it back to the room, it was dark. The painkillers had worn off long ago and he was exhausted. When was the last time he’d slept? Definitely not since he’d left for Montana. The couch’s thick cushions looked inviting, calling to him. He retrieved a blanket from the closet and lay it down over the couch, protecting it in case his bandages seeped. He grunted as he sank into the lush seat pillows and let his muscles relax one by one. Visions of Morgan chained to the floor battered the backs of his eyelids as he drifted to sleep.
Chapter 9
Morgan screamed and tried to escape the dream, but it had its clawed talons sunk so deeply into her she’d never be whole again. She was sinking into the grime of the basement floor. Only her nose touched air and she was losing ground. She struggled to suck as much air into her lungs as she could. How long could she last before she didn’t exist anymore? Before she was buried in that prison grave, never to see light again?
Two gold pinpoints in the dark anchored her.
“Morgan, it’s okay. You’re in the hotel, remember? You’re safe, you’re safe,” Grey crooned as he wrapped his arms around her.
She gasped for air, clutched onto his warm skin. It wasn’t real. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I guess I was dreaming.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice sounded strange, almost monotone, and she eased back. With his fingertip, he moved a long strand of damp hair out of her face.
“No, I’m okay,” she said shakily. “It seemed so real. I’m okay, really. I’m all right.” Who was she trying to convince? She was so completely not okay.
Yellow eyes watched her steadily as he crouched over her. The planes of his chest were smooth and firm around his bandages and the muscles of his arms and shoulders flexed as he stroked his knuckle up the side of her neck, following its movement with his inhuman gaze. He was warm and alluring, and while the vent blew cold air across her skin and raised gooseflesh, his stayed smooth, as if he were unaffected by their surroundings. His eyes were pure spun gold with no trace of the blue she breathed for.
“Grey?”
Moonlight drifted through the oversized balcony door and bathed one side of his face in soft blue light. The other was shadows, but it was enough for her to see a slow smile crook his lips. “No.”
The air seemed to seep from the room and her breath shook as she tried to breath. “Wolf?”
He gave a slow nod.
Survival instincts screamed to flee, to live, but he wouldn’t hurt her. Not her. He’d killed for her, but Wolf would never hurt his mate. But then he didn’t know she was still his mate, and what if he sought revenge before Grey came to? Oh God. She tensed and pressed into the pillows behind her until she was cornered. He followed, arms on either side of her.
“I can smell your fear.” Leaning forward, he scented the air against her neck. “I’d never hurt you.” He brushed his lips against her skin, and she closed her eyes as fear melted into a wanting so deep, it consumed her. “Talking about what happened won’t help animals like us, Morgan. We’re creatures of action.” He pulled back, inches from her lips and she opened her eyes to swim in the lupine color of his.
“There she is,” he whispered, brushing his thumb just below her lashes. “Those men scared you, made you feel out of control, made you feel violated.” Warmth branched out from her stomach downward as he slid his hand up her bare leg. “I can make you forget about them for a while.”
Oh, that tempting oath. Confidence dripped from every word and made it hard to think clearly. Clenching the pillows beneath her hands as he grazed his finger up her hip, she bit her lip and tilted her head back. Invited his lips to drink her in again.
This was wrong. Grey was still asleep in there somewhere and their relationship was about as complicated as it got, but Wolf’s touch stirred wants she hadn’t dared to have in so long. Escaping the remnants of that awful nightmare, that horrible basement that was meant to be her grave, suddenly overwhelmed any thoughts of right and wrong. She loved him. What else mattered?
His touch turned her molten as he brushed her stomach, then lower. His body blocked out the moonlight, the room, everything, and a flash of the basement ran across her mind. Squeezing her eyes closed, she concentrated on his touch, on his finger as he slipped it slowly inside of her.
She had another flashback, this one of Marshall’s hand coming toward her face as the chain held her helpless. She tensed.
Wolf eased back, question reflecting in his churning eyes.
“I feel trapped,” she breathed.
Her shirt looked fragile in his grip as he pulled it gently over her head. He trailed kiss after tender kiss down her arm as he rolled her to the side and la
y behind her. His erection pressed against the small of her back as he slid his hand in between her legs again. Rocking against him, she groaned and pressed his hand more firmly against her, guiding him, setting the rhythm. Each stroke brought her closer to the edge of a cliff, and as he pulled her tighter against his chest, bucking and biting into her shoulder, she fell. Felt like she’d fall forever and happily. Pulse after pulse rocked her as warm wetness exploded against her back.
She lay panting and shaking. Ecstasy and regret pulled at her in turn. It had been perfect. Exactly what she needed, but she wished more than anything that Grey had been the driving force behind the comfort, not Wolf.
She relaxed into the comfortable mattress and found a cool spot on the down pillow under her face. The fan whirled lazily above her in the dark and she tried to match her heartbeat to it. Grey was still behind her, his breath the only sound besides the motor of the fan. If she asked him to stay, he would say no. And if, by chance, he did say yes, it would be out of pity. She pursed her lips and swallowed the unasked question.
“That uncertainty you’re feeling?” he said in the dark. “That’s my revenge for you leaving me.”
She stared at a watercolor painting of a man in a sailboat that hung on the wall. She watched Wolf’s shadow in despair as he stood and left the room, shutting the door behind him.
The living room sofa creaked as he settled into it and his breathing slowed like he hadn’t a problem in the world falling asleep.
It brought her comfort to have him so close.
It brought her agony to have him so far away.
* * * *
A pounding headache woke Morgan. She stretched and squinted at the blackout curtains pulled tightly closed over the window and then to the alarm clock that read ten o’clock. She had slept for over fourteen hours. She reached up to scratch the side of her head and jerked her hand away as the side of her fingernail grazed her stitches. Hopefully, that would be her worst decision of the day, but hey, it was still early.
