“I’m thinking we need to talk to him when he wakes up and take it from there.” That’s greeted with nods from around the table. For all we know, Luke has family, a pack, waiting for him somewhere. “Anything else that can’t wait?” I don’t bother to hide my need to get back to Morgan. There’s no point when they can all smell the desperation on me.
“You gonna bite him?” Jet raises both eyebrows when I snarl at him. “Everyone’s thinking it. They’re just too fucking polite to say anything.”
Probably true.
And I can always rely on Jet to not give a fuck about niceties.
“He smells like FB’s,” he adds, like I’m not fucking aware. “I don’t know how you’re not going mental every time you get near him.”
I grit my teeth, searching for the control I know I’m supposed to have, but it’s hard when he throws it in my face like that. “It’s not his fault.”
“I’m not saying it is.” He sits forward, arms on the table. “But it’s not yours either, and if you don’t sort that shit out, it’s gonna drive you insane.”
“Fuck’s sake, Jet,” Callum snaps, but I shake my head because he’s not wrong.
“I hate it,” I say softly. It feels wrong to admit it aloud, but the people around this table are family, and I need to be honest with them. “Every part of me knows that he’s mine, but when I get near him... he smells like someone else’s, and I want—” I grip the table, swallowing down the urge to shift, because that won’t help anybody, least of all me. “He’s already been bitten once, against his will. I fuckingrefuseto even suggest that he needs to go through that again.”
“But if you told him what it’s doing to you, how bad?—”
“No. End of discussion.” I meet the gaze of every fucker around this table. “I’m not going to guilt-trip him into taking my bite. I’d rather fucking die.”
I’ve madethis walk up the stairs to the hospital rooms more times than I’ve ever wanted to these past couple of weeks. But the Morgan waiting for me this time is a far cry from the one I first saw here.
He smiles when he sees me, wide and welcoming, and my stomach clenches with raw need. I want him so fucking badly, but I stop and lean against the doorjamb instead of walking right up to his bed and pulling him into my arms like I want to.
Firstly, I need a moment to acclimatise to the smell of another pack on him, ofBirch. Showing any signs that it affects me more than I’ve let on isn’t something I’m willing to risk. I inhale, slow and steady, hands clenched as his scent reaches me.
It’s wrong.
Fundamentally wrong on a base level.
I can’t describe the way my insides twist, the way my wolf rebels at knowing that Morgan isminebut smelling evidence to the contrary.
I’m also not prepared for the way his smile falters and his eyes narrow as he copies me and takes a deep breath in. “Why do you smell like that?”
My eyebrows shoot up in shock. “Like what?” He’s been a shifter for less than two days, with no support. I expected him to be as clueless as Nico where shifter senses are concerned.
He rakes a gaze over me that makes me want to take a step back.
Far too fucking knowing.
Then he tilts his head, and it’d be adorable if I wasn’t on the verge of panic. “You smell... like fear. And anger. And pain.” He waves a hand about. “It’s all mixed up and I’m new at this.” He reaches up and pulls at the collar of the T-shirt he’s wearing, exposing the scars left from Birch’s bite.
I don’t react quick enough to stop everything he just described from spiralling out of control for the one, two, three seconds it takes for me to snap a lid on it all.
His eyes are like saucers, his mouth open as I watch everything click into place.
“You lied.” Instead of being angry, he grins wider than before and I... I don’t know what to do with thatat all.
“And that makes you happy?” I manage.
“Are you fucking kidding?” He jumps out of bed, and before I get the chance to tell him to take it easy—he’s still recoveringfrom the effects of aconite poisoning—he jumps at me and gives me no choice but to catch him.
This close, it’s practically shoved in my face, and I growl, fingers clenching his thighs so tightly it has to hurt. “Morgan.”
“No.” He leans back enough to meet my eyes, with a fierce gaze of his own. “I thought it fucking bothered you as much as it does me.” Again, his eyes narrow accusingly. “You even said this hurt to look at.”
He pulls at his T-shirt again but I don’t look down. Can’t with my mouth this close to his throat.
