I let him show me to the en suite. He rummaged around in a drawer beneath the vanity and came up with a new toothbrush still in its plastic packaging. Then he pulled out towels, and a fresh soap bar, and a clean washcloth—placing them on the counter next to the sink like offerings at an altar.
Once he’d gone, closing the door behind him with a soft click, I stared at my face in the mirror. I looked like a zombie—gaunt and pale and red-eyed. It was worse when I pulled off the silken pajamas Tony had brought me. My bones jutted beneath translucent skin, sharp edged and dangerous.
How could he possibly want something like you?The snide little voice whispered its poisoned words inside my mind.Broken and bitter and worthless...
I’d put Gage’s pack leader in the hospital. I’d wished Matthew Knockley dead with every fiber of my being. And even now, underneath it all, the scent-match sung its quiet melody of belonging to both of us.
But I didn’t have to think about that yet. We were pretending... and it was so much better than any part of reality had been since I was a tiny child.
I brushed the sour taste of vomit out of my mouth with a clean new toothbrush and minty toothpaste. I ignored the brand-new bar of soap still wrapped in its waxy paper, instead turning the shower on as hot as I could stand it and scrubbing my body with Gage’s body wash. I lathered Gage’s shampoo through my straggling platinum-blond hair and rinsed it out, feeling the hot needles of water pepper my nerves.
He didn’t use conditioner on his close-cropped buzz cut, but it wasn’t like I did either, most of the time. For me, it was usually a quick shower in a gym locker room, using whatever soap I could afford. This was luxury.
When I eventually got out and dried myself off with a soft, fluffy towel so big it practically swallowed me, there was a white button-down shirt hanging from the doorknob. Steam billowed in the enclosed room—but my sinuses were clear now, and I could smell the yeasty fresh-bread scent coming off it, cut through with that sharp hint of citrus.
I froze, looking at the barely worn pajamas lying in a crumpled pile on the vanity... and back at the shirt. Gage was a towering mountain of an alpha. His shirt would practically be a knee-length dress on my five-foot, three-inch frame. I rolled my lower lip between my teeth, torn.
We’re pretending, I reminded myself, and grabbed the shirt.
Gage’s scent surrounded me in a comforting haze as I shrugged into it and did up the buttons. It immediately quieted my thoughts, dropping me into a sea of soft serenity that made me feel almost drugged.
He was waiting when I opened the bathroom door and walked out. A pleased expression brightened his heavy features when he saw me wearing his clothing, and a low, possessive rumble rose from his chest.
I shivered, unused to the feeling that was rushing through my veins like warm honey.
With a deep breath, Gage seemed to master himself. “Hungry now?” he asked.
Hunger? Was that what this strange, wanting feeling in my belly was?
“Yes,” I said. Outside the window, the sky was pitch black. I gestured vaguely in that direction. “But it’s the middle of the night.”
Gage shrugged. “Kitchen still works at night. C’mon. You like pancakes and bacon?”
“I like anything,” I said, as my stomach gave another loud grumble.
I sat on a stool as Gage heated skillets and poured ingredients into a huge bowl. Food started appearing on a plate set before me—crispy bacon that melted in my mouth when I bit down on it, and fluffy pancakes topped with an obscene amount of syrup and fresh fruit and whipped cream from an aerosol can.
My stomach felt like a black hole, but I slowed down after the second plate. I knew from bitter experience that dumping too much food on it after days of barely eating wouldn’t end well.
“Are you full?” Gage asked. “Here, have some more orange juice. You need to replenish your fluids.”
I drank most of the glass of tangy juice he pressed on me, trying not to wonder if it tasted like Gage’s skin.
“I’m full,” I assured him. “Reallyfull.”
“Good,” he said. “There’s always plenty of food here, Jez. When you’re hungry, I want you to say so, okay?”
The perfect illusion wavered like heat haze.
“After you stick me back in the attic, you mean?” I asked, the words slipping free without my permission.
Abruptly, I saw exhaustion on Gage’s face that mirrored my own. His control slipped, and his entire body seemed to sag for a moment before he straightened his shoulders again.
“We need to do this different, Jez,” he said. “It can’t be like it was before. Heath ain’t gonna like it, but he’s wrong. But the thing is—if it’s going to be different, it’s got to be different on your end, too. You understand what I’m saying?”
I did, but it didn’t stop the shiver of cold that trickled through me.
“What if Knox dies?” I whispered.
