“Makes sense.” She looked at their hands, twined together. “The reserve isn’t a reserve? It’s a cover?”
He shook his head. “There are wolves there.”
“Tell me about the pack. There were five?”
“Finn, the Alpha. Me. Hollis—he’s sort of the resident doctor and wolf expert. Dante and Anders.”
“And Finn’s son?” she asked, releasing his hand to sweeten her coffee.
“Oscar.” Mal nodded. “He was a baby. Finn’s mate was expecting.” He’d known Finn’s mate a few days before she’d been kidnapped by the Others. In that time, he’d felt the bond between Jessa and Finn. It had been amazing—and terrifying.
“So, they’ve been together for a while?” she asked. “That’s nice.”
He shook his head. “Oscar had a different mom. The Others killed her. Jessa was helping Finn take care of the baby when…when they became mates.”
Olivia arched a brow. “I’m assuming that’s different than your average human relationship?”
“Wolves mate for life.” He muttered the words, sat back, and drank his coffee.
“She’s a wolf?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Just his mate.”
“I’m confused.”
“Join the club,” he answered. “He didn’t turn her. At least, he hadn’t when I saw her last. They are the good guys. The Others are bad. Cyrus, their Alpha, is a twisted son of a bitch I can’t wait to rip to pieces.” He looked at her, eyes narrowed. Except now, ripping Cyrus to pieces was no longer his top priority. “Since being turned, life’s revolved around staying alive and protecting my pack. Which is you.”
She smiled. “And Finn and the rest of them.”
“We’ll see,” he said, not ready to let them back in yet.
“How long have you been gone?” she asked softly.
He shrugged. It could have been weeks or months. “Too fucking long.”
She took his hand again. “They must have been missing you.”
He stared at their hands, watching her fingers stroke his, the way they smoothed across his knuckles and the length of his thumb. He grabbed her hand, holding it securely in his. “If someone had you, I’d go after you,” he said. “My wolf wouldn’t let me give you up. Not without a fight.” His words were thick. “They never came.”
Olivia slid around the booth bench, pressing herself against his side. “They thought you were dead.”
“That’s bullshit. An easy answer,” he grumbled. “You’ll understand once you shift. Your wolf, my wolf—there’s a sort of sharing of thoughts and emotions—” He broke off. He wasn’t sure how it would be between them, or if he was ready to be vulnerable with her.
She was smiling at him. “You must hate that.”
He stared at her, reaching up to tuck one soft curl behind her ear. “I do.”
Hazel eyes, warm and searching, bored into him. The longer she stared, the more curious he became. “What are you thinking?” he asked softly.
“Are you sure you want to know?” Her answer was equally soft.
He arched a brow. “You’re not thinking about sex again?”
“I wasn’t.” Her cheeks flushed. “But thanks for taking me there again.”
“What were you thinking?” he asked, refusing to lose himself to thoughts of Olivia and sex.
She cleared her throat. “Part of me wants to run screaming from the diner—far away from all of this.” She swallowed. “I want my life back, without wolves, rules, bad guys chaining people in cells, being mauled by bears, and you. No matter how calm and sane you appear, there’s nothing sane about any of what you’re telling me.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I miss home. Television and takeout Chinese food, fuzzy slippers and naps and lousy roommates and unreliable brothers. I want boredom, security, and safety. The known. None of this.”
His wolf whimpered. “And the other part?”
“Wants to take away the hurt and anger in your heart.” She shrugged. “I want this bizarre connection between us to be real. Which is ridiculous. I’ve known you for, what, a few days? I’m still confusing simple human emotions—like lust for love. Even I know it’s not possible to fall in love over the span of a few days, so this you and me thing is all wolf. But it’s so intense.” She stopped. “Honestly, I still keep expecting to wake up.”
He wished she were dreaming. Then none of this would be real. He didn’t want to be here any more than she did. He didn’t want to be responsible for her, for any of this. And he sure as hell didn’t want to hear her say things like love, not to him. “You’re awake,” he mumbled. “So, pick one.”
“I didn’t think there was a choice,” she said, cradling her cup with both hands.
He looked at her. “If there was, what would you pick?”
She spun the cup slowly in her hands before meeting his gaze. The air grew heavy again, weighted by the magnetism of their connection. He was rooted there, waiting for her answer—terrified and hopeful.
The phone rang.
...
Olivia glanced at Mal. Whatever was being said on the telephone, he didn’t look happy. But, to be honest, he rarely looked happy. He was a master of the blank expression, with the occasional don’t-talk-to-me-or-I’ll-hurt-you glare thrown in. There was also the look of confusion she brought out in him…and the other look. The one that made the pit of her stomach warm and liquid and her toes curl and her lungs empty.
She shook her head, mulling over his question—which hadn’t been a real question. If this was real, all of it, of course she couldn’t leave. And, improbable as it was, she was beginning to believe that might be the case. She took a bracing sip of hot coffee—
An odd shiver shot up her spine, from her tailbone to the base of her skull, a flash of heat—a warning. The air around her seemed to ripple. A ripple. Something she’d never felt before, something that made her feel nauseated and uneasy. She stood, knocking the table and spilling her coffee onto the speckled laminate. Her gaze swept the room as she tugged her hood up. No one else was there. Not yet. Her gaze fixed on Mal as she made her way to him in the phone booth.
His expression made the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up. Tension rolled off of him, his posture ramrod stiff. “They’re here,” he said into the phone, pausing briefly. “Now.”
“Mal?” A whisper was all she could manage.
He pulled her against his side, easing her at once. “We’ll be there. Get her out of here. No matter what.” He hung up the phone, his gaze sweeping the room. “In the truck stop.” Grabbing her hand, he headed down the hall to the bathroom. He locked the door behind them, eyes narrowing as they inspected the window placed high in the wall. “Can you fit?” he asked.
She nodded, accepting his help as he gave her a boost. “Mal—”
“I’m right behind you,” he said, shoving her up. “Go.”
She didn’t want to, but somehow she was pushing the window wider and crawling out into the snow outside. The air was cold and clean, the ripple less pronounced. Breathing was easier, but there was nowhere to hide—and her gut told her to hide. The fluorescent exterior lighting seemed too bright, almost as if its sole purpose was to announce her presence. The urge to run grew, so that the sudden touch of Mal’s hand on her back made her jump.
“Stay calm, Olivia.” Mal grabbed her hand and tugged her behind him.
She was struck by how silently he moved. While she was shuffling along, tripping over her own feet, every footfall echoing, he crept between the semis on soundless feet, alert and ready for—she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
He stopped occasionally, forcing her to brace herself or teeter on tiptoe to avoid plowing into his back. And every time, Mal reached back to steady her.
By the time they reached the edge of the parking lot, her nerves were shot. She didn’t like feeling clumsy. She wasn’t clumsy. She did yoga and took her kickboxing classes regularly. But doing yoga in studio or kickboxing in the gym hadn’t pr
epared her for running for her life. And the voice in her head, the one she was beginning to recognize as her wolf, was certain that was the case.
She did her best to follow Mal’s example. She moved when he did, breathed when he did, and tried not to act like she was on the verge of a panic attack. When they reached the cover of the woods, he stopped.
“Your heart’s racing,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry?” she squeaked.
He turned to face her then, his hands clasping her shoulders. “Controlling your fear takes time. You’re doing great.”
“I am?” she asked, stunned.
He nodded, rubbing her shoulders. His gaze wandered beyond her to the truck stop and its blindingly bright parking lot. Snow was falling, carpeting everything in white.
“Are we safe?”
His grin was tight and his voice was low. “That’s always the question.”
She stepped into him. “Mal? Are we?”
He glanced at her. “Close your eyes.”
“What?”
“Close them,” he repeated.
She did, instantly.
“Concentrate—tell me if what you felt is gone.” His voice was low and deep, lulling her into submission. “Are we safe? Or are they still here?”
Olivia stood still, but her mind was racing.
“Focus. Take slow deep breaths and concentrate.” His breath stirred the hair by her ear, his heat was at her back, one hand resting on her stomach. “Don’t overthink this. Just listen.”
Focus. On Mal. His warmth, his touch, the even brush of his breath at her temple. But getting lost in him wasn’t what he was after. And even though she appreciated the comfort he offered, she’d never had much luck relying on people. Focus.
She heard the snow falling.
The gears of a truck shifting.
A bell? The truck stop door opening.
People talking. Inside. Not just people.
Something else. Something different.
The newcomer’s heartbeat was a little faster, a little stronger than the others. A wolf.
“Inside,” she whispered. “Just one?”
His hand pressed her back against him, blanketing her in warmth. “Little things like scent, pulse, and breathing are important. Sweat is more potent—sour—with stress. Pulse is strong and rapid when hunting. When breathing is shallow and rapid, chances are they’re hunting a scent.”
Olivia listened again. “Shallow breathing.”
“He’s still looking,” he said. “Let’s keep moving.”
She opened her eyes, her senses processing. It felt like having an all-over rug-burn, prickly and sensitive. All the newness prodding. All overwhelming.
“Olivia?” he whispered, turning her in his arms. He was so close, so solid.
“Out of sorts.” She ran a hand over her head, pressing her fingers to her forehead to silence the sounds. “And noise.” It was a dull roar, voices, noises, rolling over her in waves. Her equilibrium was off. Her nerves stung. “Just so much feeling.” It didn’t explain things, but it was true.
His arms were heavy around her, steadying her. She leaned into him, pressing her eyes closed and shutting out everything but the solid thunk-thunk of his heart. Her hand rested on his chest, absorbing the rhythm—and the comfort of him. Because nothing said comfort like cuddling with a werewolf-man.
“Look up,” he whispered.
His softly spoken words had her looking up. Her breath caught, stunned by the brilliance of the stars in the sky. Never in her life had she seen a night so clear. Midnight blue, patches of pitch, scattered with a million brilliants. The clarity was startling, the black deep and vast and breathtaking. It was oddly exhilarating.
The moon was massive, almost full.
“Tomorrow?” she whispered. “Should I be scared? Excited?” Her fingers gripped the thick flannel jacket he wore. “Because I feel really lost.”
He didn’t say anything. What was there to say? But his hand stroked the length of her back and that was enough.
“I’m going to be okay?” she asked. “It’s okay if you lie to me, Mal. It’s just…I really need to think this is all going to be okay.”
“I don’t lie,” he argued, his tone sharp.
“Mal,” she pleaded, tugging on his shirt and staring at him in the dark.
“I never lie,” he repeated.
Those words washed over her, buoying her spirits and making it easier to breathe. For a man that used words so sparingly, those three words were exactly what she needed to hear.
“You’re going to be okay.” His hand gripped hers, tugging her forward. “Let’s go.”
To the refuge.
Where she’d be surrounded by werewolves—or crazy people that believed they were werewolves. Considering tomorrow was the full moon, she’d know soon enough if she should be scared of the crazy or the wolves. But then, she’d be a wolf, too, so there would be no reason to be scared.
How was any of this okay? Nothing felt okay. She didn’t remember what okay was at the moment. Just fear and confusion and total sensory overload.
Mal’s fingers threaded with hers. You’re going to be okay. His words weren’t the easiest to believe, but she believed him anyway.
Chapter Nine
Mal wanted to shift. He’d kept his fury caged since they’d taken him. No matter how many times they’d beaten and left him bleeding and full of silver, he’d refused to give up. Vengeance gave him something to fight for. A purpose beyond giving the Others entertainment. Now he was free. He could shift whenever he fucking felt like it. But one thing was stopping him.
Olivia.
Not that it was her fault. No, dammit, she was blameless in all of this. Innocent. A quality he’d almost forgotten existed.
If Olivia weren’t there, he’d wait for the motherfucker to come out. His wolf would stay out of sight, toy with him, then bleed the son of a bitch out and rip him into pieces so small it’d be impossible to identify who or what he once was.
But Olivia was with him.
There was no choice. He’d tuck tail and run back to Finn. Even if it was like rubbing salt in a big-ass wound. She was his responsibility. Warning Finn about the Others was his responsibility, too, dammit. He hoped Hollis was right—that the pack’s safety hadn’t been compromised. But he needed to find out for himself.
He glanced over his shoulder at Olivia. She stared, wide-eyed, around her, moving quietly and staying in his tracks. Her hand clung to his as they trudged through the snow, following his lead without thought. And he liked it a little too damn much. Maybe it was his wolf pressing his agenda on the man. Maybe it was the unnerving attraction they shared. Maybe it was because she was a decent human being that deserved to live. Whatever it was, he was beginning to—grudgingly—like having her around.
And that made things so much worse.
His wolf already knew. The traitor jumped ship before they ever got out of that damn cell. As far as he was concerned, Olivia was his pack. Worse, the animal wanted Olivia as his mate. No matter how badly Mal objected to the latter, the wolf wasn’t giving up.
They walked until the chattering of Olivia’s teeth was too hard to ignore.
“Cold?” he asked, teasing.
“Y-y-yes,” she tried to snap back.
Knowing she was miserable wasn’t amusing. Cold as it was, he’d no doubt that adrenaline and fear was ramping up her reaction. He tended to block memories of Finn’s attack, being turned and the horror that followed. It had been bad—a waking nightmare. Sensory overload, mood swings and exhaustion, excitement and terror. He’d had time before his first shift to come to terms with what had happened and understand what to expect.
Olivia had no idea. All she had was his word…and her wolf. He could sense her waiting on the periphery of Olivia’s mind, eager to be fully realized. Pure energy and enthusiasm, naïveté and endless strength—tomorrow night was going to be one hell of a ride.
She froze, going perfectly sti
ll and drawing him up short. The sound was faint at first. His wolf knew what it was before he did.
“Is that a helicopter?” she whispered, pressing herself against his side.
He was impressed. She’d heard it before he had. “Finn.”
She relaxed against him.
They might be about to get rescued, but they weren’t out of danger—not yet. And relaxation was the last thing on his mind. The louder the helicopter grew, the more agitated he became. The pack was coming for them, so why wasn’t he happy? Why couldn’t he forget the hurt and anger their desertion caused? It was a splinter festering deep, one he couldn’t ignore—not yet.
Maybe it was a good thing. His anger had given him the fight to survive the shit-storm of captivity. The future was still uncertain. Just because they were excited about his homecoming didn’t mean they’d welcome Olivia with open arms.
Maybe calling Finn had been a bad idea. He’d been taking care of them just fine on his own, and Olivia was smart, her instincts were kicking in. They’d be a good team—he could tell. Except that wasn’t fair to her. Keeping her to himself, living on the road, on the run—she deserved better. Once she’d settled in with the pack—with Finn—Mal could do whatever the fuck he wanted. On his own.
His wolf whined then growled. Leaving Olivia didn’t sit well with his inner beast.
The chatter of her teeth pulled him from his internal argument. He glanced down at her, frowning. She was watching him, her face too shadowed to reveal what she was thinking. Which could be a good thing. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head.
“Tell me,” he urged.
The helicopter was in view now, a spotlight sweeping the newly fallen snow.
“You’re w-worried,” she managed. “About me? Where I-I fit, what to do with me?”
He sighed.
“Because you’re not sure you still belong with this pack? Or because of the you and me thing?”
He shook his head. “Because I don’t know what’s best for you.”
“So, making me a werewolf suddenly renders me incapable of making my own decisions?” she asked, the hint of anger creeping into her tone.
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