Now that she’s all cuddled up against me, the wave of exhaustion I’ve been keeping at bay threatens to crash over me.
Tonight’s fight was a nasty one.
“Get some rest,” I say. “Alphas run warm, I’ll be okay.”
“Oh. Um, could I have your name?”
Damn. I really am a fucking asshole. I’ve seen this girl naked as the day she was born, and I didn’t even bother asking for her name.
I guess being held captive for nearly a decade will do that to a guy.
“Ash,” I say. “You?”
“Mirabelle, but my friends call me Mira.”
“Cute.” I bury my face into the crook of her neck and let out a sigh. “Get some rest, Mirabelle. Those assholes are probably going to wake us up in a few hours.”
“Okay, goodnight, Ash.”
I should’ve known passing out would be a terrible idea.
CHAPTER 11
Mirabelle
Ash’s eyes are a mesmerizing silver with green flecks when you look really closely. Well, they were silver.
Now, as he snarls above me, pinning me painfully to the concrete below us, his pupils are blown so wide you can barely see anything other than darkness.
I was surprised when we were left alone. With the way Jett made things seem, he expected me to die tonight. Even though Ash was growly and a little mean, he didn’t hurt me. Or tear my throat out, as much as he threatened it.
But now? I’m not so sure.
Ash was flinching in his sleep, making these guttural noises that woke me up. It sounded like he was in pain, so I reached out to shake him awake.
I’m realizing that was probably a terrible idea.
All the handlers here had been calling the fighters feral. It wasn’t until now that I realized why they’re called that.
Ash’s hold is punishing. There’s no give. No chance of escape.
His chest heaves, and his lips are curled back in an unnatural snarl. There’s no sign of recognition on his face. He’s... lost.
I could tell from the moment that I focused on him, after Jett and the other handlers left the room, that he’s the type of person who’s always thinking.
As I stare up at his face now, my heart pangs in my chest. It must be torture to be stuck in a body that locks away his own mind.
My limbs fall limp as I relax into the hold he has, pinning my wrists beside my head. If he sees me as prey, then fighting back will do nothing to help me.
His smoky sage scent thickens, almost suffocating me with its intensity. It’s like the entire barn is burning around us, and I’m caught in the firestorm that is him.
He lowers his head, and his teeth scrape along the base of my neck.
“Mine,” he grits out.
My heart almost explodes out of my chest.
With the way his scent twists in the air, the murderous rage seems to fall to the backseat behind an overwhelming wave of pure, unadulterated need.
