“On it.”
Morgan is sat on top of the covers, propped up against the pillows. I let my gaze travel over him, not bothering to be subtle about it. He’s got his legs crossed, relaxed in a way that suggests he’s not in pain. No lingering effects from collapsing in the stairwell. I know Corey took his stitches out earlier—I wonder if Morgan’s realised yet. “Feeling better?”
He hesitates, like it’s somehow a trick question. “Yes.” Then like it hurts to do so, he grudgingly adds, “Thank you, for... getting me out of the stairwell.”
I could let it go at that. But a part of me wants to poke him, to get a reaction. “How did you know it was me?” I’m pretty sure he wasn’t fully conscious when I picked him up and carried him in here.
His eyes narrow, but there’s a blush staining his cheeks that stirs the animal in me.
I want to know his answer. I shouldn’t, it won’t do either of us any good, but I selfishly want to hear it anyway.
Does he remember being in my arms? Or the reckless way I kissed his forehead. Only the barest brush of lips against skin, but the taste of him lingered for hours. His scent clings to me under my clothes because I haven’t had time to wash it off yet.
I like it way too much.
I raise an eyebrow when he still doesn’t say anything. “Well?”
Instead of giving me what I want, he shrugs. “I just assumed it was you. Maybe I was wrong.”
He’s lying. Every part of me knows it, but I can’t call him on it, not without giving away how much I want him to tell me.
Another beat of silence.
I can hear Flint talking quietly to Nico, explaining about Morgan, but I tune them out.
“Are you going to kill me?” Morgan asks, and I smile at his bluntness.
He might be scared shitless, but that doesn’t stop him asking the hardest question. And it deserves an honest answer. “No. But we can’t exactly let you walk out of here either.”
The sigh he lets out drains the tension from him and he sinks into the pillows behind him. Guilt hits me low and hard, but I don’t have time for it. Yet another thing I shove to the back of my mind. It’s getting awfully fucking crowded back there.
He plays with the edge of the sheet, sliding those long fingers back and forth, and I suddenly find myself following their path. “What happens now?” he asks softly.
I don’t fucking know.
Now I’m up here with him, my plan seems like the worst idea I’ve ever had. Including saving him in the first place. But I’ve set it in motion now. And even if I wanted to pass him off to someone else, the thought of anyone spending the next few days with him sets my wolf on edge.
I’m like a runaway train with the end of the track in sight. I know I need to stop or it’ll end in disaster, but I can’t get the brakes to work.
Morgan draws his bottom lip between his teeth. His scent changes the longer I take to answer, and it’s the hint of fear that finally snaps me out of my head. It’s exactly what I should be aiming for, what I need him to feel if we’re going to keep our secret.
But it’s not what I want.
“You have the next few days to persuade me that you can keep our secret. That you don’t pose a threat to me or my pack.”
He scoffs. “And then you’ll let me go?”
“If you do what you said you would and leave town for a while.”
“As easy as that?”
I shrug.
He fiddles with the edges of the sheet again, and I wait, wondering if he’ll ask the obvious question or if he’s too scared of the answer.
“And if I can’t?” His jaw has that stubborn set to it that’s fast becoming one of my favourite things. He’s still so feisty, even though I know he’s scared.
I almost don’t want to answer. But he deserves the truth. “Then we’ll have to use plan B.”
