I’m not dripping wet anymore, so my teeth aren’t chattering, but it’s still freezing, especially after I’ve gotten used to the warmth of Ash’s arms. He’s almost like a furnace.
“And that would’ve been a fate worse than me ripping your fucking throat out and you bleeding out on this concrete floor,” he growls. “I’m amonster. The last thing you need is to be biologically chained to someone like me for the rest of your life.”
“I don’t think you’re a monster.”
His gaze drops to my arms and the faint red outlines of his handprints.
“Well, then I think you’re dumber than you look,” he grits out.
“Oh,” I say, resting my chin on my knees.
He blinks at my reaction. He seems to do a lot of blinking when I catch him by surprise. I’m so curious about what he’s thinking about.
I don’t think he’d actually give me an answer if I asked.
“You’re insane,” he mutters. “You should run as far away as you can from me, so why are you still sitting here?”
“You didn’t mean to hurt me,” I answer plainly. “The handlers here hurt me because they like it. Or because it serves a purpose in their plans. This,” I say, nodding down to my arms, “Was an accident.”
He narrows his silver eyes at me, and a frustrated growl leaves his throat.
“Fucking come here, you’re freezing,” he says, scrubbing a hand down his face.
I scoot closer to him, and he pulls me between his legs, tucking me into his chest. His hold is surprisingly gentle, all things considered.
He traces the outline of where he pinned me down, his calloused fingertips brushing along my skin and sending sharp sparks of electricity up my arms.
“Does that happen often?” I murmur softly.
He stiffens behind me, the warm muscles of his chest flexing against my exposed back.
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“Sometimes,” he says after a pause. “It’s been happening more frequently. I feel like I’m going fucking insane.”
“Do you want to talk about it? I’ve heard from people I’m a good listener.”
“You’re the only one who’s bothered even asking for as long as I’ve been here,” he says, his laughter harsh. At this rate, I don’t know if he’s capable of any other laugh.
“And how long have you been here?”
“About eight years.”
“That’s a long time for no one to ask how you’ve been doing,” I say, grabbing my messy hair and sliding it over one shoulder so I can turn and see him better.
He gives me an incredulous look.
“I know you haven’t been here long, but you’re fucking joking, right? Has anyone askedyouhow you feel about being dragged around, chained up, and stripped down like an animal? No one here gives a shit about anyone but themselves.”
I flinch at his harsh words.
The reality of the situation is obvious in everything around us: my nakedness, the cold concrete floors, the chains. But I think part ofmy brain forgets how terrible things are when I’m wrapped in his arms, surrounded by his charred sage scent. When he’s not terribly upset, the woodsy and herbal sage soothes my frayed nerves like a drug.
“Someone cares about me,” I say weakly. “Two someones, actually.”
“Really? Who?” He scoffs.
“Well, Rowan. He’s really sweet. And there’s Griffin, too. He was really protective.”
