My heart was pounding. Racing so hard I could feel it in my throat. And I didn’t know if it was from fear or anger or the way he was looking at me. The way he’d defended me withouthesitation. The way he’d barely held onto his humanity because someone had insulted me.
“Your wounds aren’t healing,” I said, because apparently my mouth had disconnected from my brain.
He glanced down at his chest. At the bandages I’d put on him five days ago, now dirty and coming loose. Some of the cuts had reopened. “They heal slower in this world. I am not as strong here.”
“You need new bandages.”
“I will manage.”
“You’ll get infected and die, and then what? I’ll have a dead werewolf behind my bookstore and even more rumors?” I grabbed his arm without thinking, started pulling him toward the stairs to my apartment. His skin was warm under my fingers. “Come on.”
He followed without resistance, and I heard that rumble again. Softer this time. Satisfied. The sound sent heat straight through me.
This was a terrible idea. The worst idea. But I couldn’t just let him walk around bleeding and half-healed, looking like an extra from a zombie movie.
Even if he was a werewolf who’d been stalking my bookstore and almost murdered a customer. Even if he made every rational thought I had fly out the window. Even if being near him made that pull in my chest go from annoying to overwhelming.
I pulled him up the stairs, trying to ignore the way my hand fit against his arm. Trying to ignore the way he moved beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body.
We reached my apartment, and I finally let go of his arm. Immediately, I felt colder. The pull yanked at me, trying to get me to close the distance again.
I turned to face him. He was watching me with those intense eyes, standing in my tiny apartment in just a blanket, looking at me the way a wolf looked at the moon.
“Sit,” I ordered, pointing at the couch. “Let me see those wounds.”
He obeyed without argument, settling onto the same couch where he’d been unconscious days ago.
And I tried really hard not to think about what I was doing. About how close I’d have to get to him to change his bandages. About the way my hands were already shaking as I reached for the first aid kit.
About the way part of me, the part that had felt a surge of satisfaction when he’d defended me, was glad he’d been there.
I grabbed the first aid kit from under my sink and turned back to find him watching me.
Always waiting.
“This is going to hurt,” I warned him.
“I have survived worse, little mate.”
I was really starting to hate that nickname. It made my stomach flip every time he said it.
Fuck him.
5
— • —
Malachar
I tried not to wince as my mate examined my wounds. Failed. The injuries pulled with every breath, reminding me of how weak I had become in this cursed world.
But the pain was worth it. She was close. Close enough that I could smell her. That intoxicating scent that had driven me mad for the past five days. Nerves and coffee and old books and underneath it all, her. My mate.
My wolf was clawing at my insides, desperate to get closer. To touch and claim. I had to clench my jaw to keep from reaching for her.
She bit her lip as she studied the wounds across my ribs, and I had to suppress a groan that had nothing to do with pain. That lip. Plump and soft and begging to be bitten. My wolf wanted to taste it. Wanted to taste all of her.
Down,I told the beast.Not yet. She is skittish. We must be patient.
