Chapter Three
Mal stared down at the woman in his arms. Running with dead weight wasn’t easy. Especially when he had to make sure he wasn’t jostling her wound. He didn’t need a medical degree to know she was getting worse. Sweat streaked her forehead and made her hoodie damp. And the scent of her blood… Infection raged. His wolf was on edge, worrying over her. Not that he was offering up any advice on how to make this situation suck less. Or that there was a damn thing they could do to help her. If Hollis had been here, he’d have her patched up and on her feet in no time. But Hollis and Finn and the rest of his pack were God knows how far away.
Thinking of Hollis reminded him of what the girl told him. Motherfucking Cyrus. The Alpha of the motherfucking Others had planted someone in Finn’s pack? How was that possible? How did Finn not know, not sense, that there was danger? He didn’t want to worry about them—they’d left his ass. They could fend for themselves. But there was a part of him—his wolf—that refused to desert them. If they were in danger, he needed to tell them.
“Ice cream,” she mumbled, her voice high and petulant. The mumbling was nothing new, but she hadn’t mentioned ice cream yet. “It’s hot.”
He sighed, holding her still, glancing at the snowflakes that had begun to fall. They took shelter under some trees, long enough to pry the collar off. She started thrashing around so he’d had no choice but to pin her down. She tried to pull away, so his grip tightened. All the tossing and turning had stressed her wound, making it ooze—announcing their presence to the whole fucking planet.
“Chase…” Her voice broke. “Where are you?”
“Hush,” he said.
Her hands gripped his shoulders. “Please don’t leave me.”
He frowned. That’s exactly what he should do. Leave her. But his wolf wouldn’t let that happen. The more worked up she got, the more protective it became. He didn’t like the effect she had on his inner beast. Rage. Aggression. Hunt. Kill. These were things he and his wolf could see eye-to-eye on. Worry. Apprehension. Fear—no way in hell. Not over some nameless chick who probably wasn’t going to make it another twenty-four hours. His chest grew heavy at the thought.
“Please,” she repeated, desperate and fragile.
“It’s fine. I—I’m here.” He ground out the words. The wolf wanted him to say something else, something calming and soothing. He pressed his lips together.
It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t remember. If she even heard him now, which was unlikely.
She crumpled against him. From rigid and clinging to limp and pliant. It was so quick he panicked a little. Was she dead? Dammit.
He rolled her onto her back and pressed his ear to her chest, trying to shut out the sweet scent of her skin and the hint of flowers from her silky hair. Her heart beat. Rapidly, uneven… Unconscious. He rested his head, slumping in relief and wishing Hollis were here. Not that he was especially fond of the uptight son of a bitch, but Hollis was a doctor. He wouldn’t lay here, holding her and worrying, letting her bleed—it was all pointless.
Her fingers slid into his hair, startling him. “You’re so warm.”
Not unconscious. Her voice washed over him—and the wolf. He closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment’s weakness. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him with a gentle hand.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “For getting me out of that place. I don’t know who they were or what they were going to do to me, but I know it was bad.”
That sounded almost coherent. He looked up at her. “You’re awake?”
“Doubtful. If I was awake there wouldn’t be a naked guy on top of me.” Her fingers kept stroking his hair. “And I wouldn’t be lying in the woods.” She paused. “Or in so much pain.”
He grinned; he couldn’t help it. “So, you’re dreaming?”
She nodded, her fingers slid along his neck. “Well…” She seemed to think about this. “Why am I wearing clothes when you’re not?”
“It’s cold,” he said. It’d be better if he could shift. He could keep them both warmer that way.
“You’re being naked makes even less sense, then,” she argued. “Besides, I’m not cold.”
He pressed his palm to her forehead. She was still burning up. “Is that the only reason?” he asked, racking his brain for options. If he’d learned one thing in the last few months, it was finding motivation to fight. She needed big motivation. “Chase? What happened to him?”
She shivered. “I’d rather this was a good dream.”
“Chase is bad?” he pushed.
She made an angry little sound at the back of her throat. “No. Sometimes. I love my brother, but I’m so mad at him.”
Mal grunted. He knew how that was. Not that he loved Finn or the rest of his pack. Being part of a pack was more binding, more permanent, more complicated. And irritating as shit. But he did know all about being mad. Pissed as hell was more like it. “He did something?”
“I jumped in between him and that mountain of a man and got stabbed. He left me.” Her voice grew soft and thready. “He left me… Alone.”
Those words did something dangerous to his wolf. Before, the stupid animal had felt some sort of misguided defensive instinct. Now—Mal knew he was in trouble. The wolf wanted blood, specifically Chase’s. The surge of fury that raged through his blood was welcome, but the cause was not. He didn’t give a shit about Chase. He was a dick for leaving his sister, but Mal had enough to deal with without developing some sort of guardian complex for this girl. The wolf had other ideas, though. He wanted to make Chase suffer. He wanted to rip into him. Mal sighed.
“What sort of brother does that?” Her tears were sudden and hard, shaking her body. “I… I put up with a lot from him.” She was sobbing.
“Goddammit,” he hissed. “Stay still.”
“It’s your fault. You mentioned Chase…” She slid her arms around his neck and buried her face against his neck. “I wanted a good dream.”
He held her close, one hand at the base of her spine, the other pressed firmly between her shoulder blades. Somewhere deep inside he ached for her. They had this betrayal in common, too. It was an ugly reality to accept. He needed her to calm down, to relax. She responded, slowly easing. Her sobs lessened enough for him to say, “Tell me about this good dream.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “It wouldn’t be here.”
“Where would it be?”
“In a bed, with soft sheets and lots of blankets.” She broke off. “And maybe mirrors.” She sighed.
He eased his hold so he could look at her, reeling. Was she serious? Her eyes were pressed shut, her features relaxed, and a slight smile on her face. “A sex dream?” Maybe she was still slightly delusional.
Her smile grew. “Yes, a sex dream. Virgin, remember?”
She’d said a lot of things, very few of which he’d listened to. He froze. The wolf froze. “You’ve never had sex?”
Her eyes popped open. “Virgin.” She pointed at herself, shivered, and slid her hand between them. “Now I’m beneath some naked, hot, hero guy. The leap to a sex dream doesn’t seem that surprising.” She smiled.
And dammit, he smiled back at her. “Mirrors?” The wolf wanted to wrap itself around her, warm her up… Claim her. Mal swallowed, forcibly ignoring the wolf.
She pressed her eyes shut, a nervous giggle escaping. “Dream. So of course it will be amazing and we’ll look gorgeous.”
It was his turn to chuckle. “Right.” He looked at her—really looked at her. She was pretty. Her body, pressed against him, was tempting—even when feverish and delusional. Men would have wanted her. Plenty of men. The wolf growled.
“I feel weird.” She pressed a hand to the side of his face. “Really weird.” Her hand trembled. “Am I going to wake up?”
She was asking him? How the hell was he supposed to know? What was he supposed to do or say? He cleared his throat, wrapping his fingers around her wrist. Her pulse was erratic. If he could leave her, he might be able to determine where they were—how close help was. As much as he hated to admit it, she needed help he couldn’t give. “You need to be strong.” It was all he could do now.
“I am strong. I don’t feel very strong,” she murmured.
Her body was weakening, but her mind was sharp. She’d need it to fight.
Her smile was slight. “Is it really as magical and life-altering as people say it is?”
“Sex?” Mal bit out.
She nodded weakly.
“It’s been a while,” he grumbled, smiling at her laugh.
“Are you avoiding the question?” she asked.
He sighed. “Yes.”
“Yes, you’re avoiding the question? Or yes, sex is magical and life-altering?”
He was losing control of this conversation. “What’s your name?”
She opened her eyes. “Oh. My name is Olivia Chase.”
“You talk a lot, Olivia Chase.”
Her eyes were huge and fathomless. She grinned. “You have a name?”
“Mal,” he murmured, appreciating the slight dimple in her left cheek. He was wrong. She was more than pretty. She was vital somehow. Real and human. And dying.
“Mal. Can you do me a favor?” she asked.
“Depends. What?”
“Talk to me?” Her blink was sluggish, like her lids were weighted. “Feels like I’m underwater, like my head’s breaking the surface only part of the time. Maybe hearing your voice will help me stay afloat.”
What the hell was he supposed to talk about? “I’m not a conversationalist.”
“I sensed that.” She sighed. “Never mind.”
His wolf growled, thoroughly disappointed. He’d been trying to give her the motivation to hold on, then when she told him what she needed he couldn’t find something to say? “I’ll try.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
It was a hell of a smile. Soft and sweet and inviting. The whole virgin thing was very hard to believe. Harder not to think about. “You ever been kissed, Olivia Chase?” he asked, his voice gruff.
Her eyes widened. “Not properly.”
“How about improperly?”
“I’m not sure I know what that means?”
...
Olivia held her breath, her fingers clasping the back of Mal’s neck. Why was he looking at her like that? Was he going to kiss her? And why was she so excited about the prospect of being kissed by some dangerous naked man in the middle of the woods?
“I am dreaming,” she murmured.
“You are,” he agreed.
The pad of his thumb traced her lower lip, mesmerizing her with its warmth and texture. Her lips parted, drawing a sharp hiss from Mal. Had she done something? Everything was liquid and hot—in a good way. Breathing was becoming a challenge. But the way he was looking at her… The flare in his dark eyes made her forget about the shooting pain in her leg.
“Mirrors are overrated,” he said.
Her heart thumped. “Are they?”
He nodded. “But, since you’re dreaming, I’m going to kiss you.”
“Properly or improperly?” Her voice shook.
The corner of his mouth curled up. “I only do improperly.”
“Oh good.” Her fingers slid back into his hair and tugged him down.
She thought she saw a flash of surprise on his face, but then his lips were on hers and she didn’t care. Feather light—her turn to be surprised. But there was nothing soft about his kiss. From light to demanding, his mouth descended, his tongue sweeping her lower lip and invading her mouth. He devoured her, and she never wanted him to stop. Breathing wasn’t necessary, but holding on to Mal was. Not to push him away, but to draw him closer.
She liked the feel of his arms cradling her, the slide of his hands under her shirt and along her back. She wanted to arch into him, to be closer… It wasn’t enough.
His teeth nipped her lower lip before he sucked it into his mouth. He pressed kisses up the side of her neck, along her throat, then latched on to her earlobe. She moaned at the feel of him, of her skin, engulfed in his warm, wet mouth.
“Dammit,” he bit out.
Seconds later, the world was cold and painful again.
“What happened?” she asked, her hand searching for him.
“Stop,” he growled. “You need to stay still. You’re bleeding again.”
“I am?” she asked, still dizzy from the effects of his mouth and hands and…everything.
“You are.” He sounded angry—and breathless. “We need to move again.”
“You’re mad?” She was all tingly and euphoric, and he was angry and ready to hit the road? That was disappointing.
“I am.”
“Oh,” she murmured.
He sat with his back to her, illuminated by the moon. The moon was enormous. It was missing a slight sliver, just the edge. But out here, it was like a second sun. Of course, the light of a thousand stars helped. She blinked. And…it was snowing? Why wasn’t she cold? Right, she was dreaming. “I’m ready to wake up now,” she whispered.
He looked back at her and stood, swinging her up into his arms.
“I didn’t mean to make you mad.”
He started walking. “You didn’t. Pissed myself off just fine.” He paused. “You asked earlier where we are. I have no idea. Someplace up north, far north. Maybe Alaska.”
“I go to school in Alaska,” she said. “I just started.”
“School?” He looked surprised.
“Getting my doctorate,” she answered. “Anthropology.”
“You’re from Alaska?” he asked.
“No.” She was so tired. She’d been tired for the last year or so. And stressed. There were things you couldn’t unlearn, couldn’t erase from your mind, no matter how hard you might want to.
He wrapped the coat around her. “You’re shivering.”
“Am I?” she asked, immediately turning into him and placing her hand against the warmth of his skin.
His broken groan startled her. “Stop moving,” he hissed, shifting her against him so her head rested on his chest. “Relax.”
She did, instantly. With him close, there was no choice. She felt comfortable, safe—protected. And she was so, so tired.
“Why Alaska?” His voice was fading.
“My brother,” she answered, his steady pace rocking her. “One of his clients lived there—he said it was nice. He was always moving me around. Now I think maybe it was because someone was looking for him. Or me?”
His hand rhythmically stroked her back. “What does your brother do?”
The frustration she’d been fighting with the better part of a year boiled up. “A year ago, I’d say he sold foreign and luxury items. He took over my father’s company when Dad died. Suddenly, he was going by Chase, not Eddie—his real name. It’s like he’s a rock star or gangster or something? He’s making new friends and keeping odd hours and more protective than ever. Chase decided to change things up. I don’t know exactly what he’s doing. I’m not sure I want to know. Last time I was home, something was wrong. Late night calls, people coming and going at all hours, Chase always stressed. And now shady guys with big knives are involved.” She paused. “I’m not sure that answered your question.”
Mal’s grunt was the only answer.
“I think my brother’s the bad guy, Mal.” She chewed on her lower lip, the sting of tears burning her eyes. “I don’t know what to do, you know? These people that did this to me—do I go to the police? Do I report them and, in all likelihood, hand my brother over as well?”
No answer.
“Are you listening?” she whispered.
“Yes,” he growled. “I’m listening to every damn word you’re saying. Give me a minute.” His arm tightened, just a little.
She smiled.
“This client in Alaska—do you know them?”
“No… Chase and I have money, Mal.” She lifted her head. “Do you think that’s what this was about? Money? Were they going to ransom me?”
“You’re moving,” he bit out.
She rested her head again, relaxing in his hold.
“It’s possible. Why was Chase there when you were attacked?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I had no idea he was coming. I had the flu and was walking across campus from the med clinic, and there he was, waving at me. Next thing, this guy pulled up in a van. He and Chase started talking, they fought, and the guys started shoving Chase. I ran up then, put myself between them, and you know what happened.”
“You didn’t hear anything they were saying?” he asked.
“Something about a bad shipment, not what he’d promised.” Olivia burrowed closer. “Aren’t you cold?” she asked, her hand stroking his chest.
“No.” His hand covered hers, stilling it.
His heart beat under her ear, the steady thump a soothing lullaby. She’d almost drifted off when his voice woke her.
“Olivia? Did you hear me?” he asked.
“No,” she murmured.
“It might have been a kidnapping. Or payback against your brother for this faulty shipment.”
“I was almost asleep.” She yawned.
“I thought you said this was a dream,” he pointed out.
“Payback?” she asked, her brain still foggy from sleep.
“Chase’s visit wasn’t planned?” Mal asked. “But this happened at your university?”
“Right.”
“Then they were there for you.” The razor-sharp edge in his voice jolted her awake. His hand slid beneath her shirt, pressing his palm against her back, as if he understood she needed comfort—that his touch would give her what she needed.
There for you. What did that mean? What would they have done to her?
Clearly these people were capable of horrible things. She felt her wrists, remembering the sting of the rope—the feel of the needle in her flesh.
When she’d first seen Mal, he’d been chained to the wall, beaten and bruised and so menacing she’d wanted to hide from him—if she’d been able to move. They’d done that to him. And yet, he’d rescued her.
“Why did you save me?” she asked, holding her breath.
“I almost didn’t,” he said.
She smiled. “But you did. With a knife in your shoulder. And no clothes. Not knowing a thing about me.”
He stayed silent.
“Mal?” she pushed.
“I had to,” he whispered.